“You are an odd pair to be such close friends,” Joan said. “Jeremy is so grumpy—well, not when he’s with us, of course, but in general. I always feel as if he’s on the edge of an outburst. And you’re so calm.”
“He is a good man,” Thaddeus said. “The best.”
A half hour later, when everyone had been greeted, curtsies and hugs exchanged, Joan found herself on a sofa with Betsy. “Thaddeus, huh?” Betsy said, giving her a wicked smile.
“He oughtn’t to marry me,” Joan said. Thaddeus was across the room talking to Jeremy. “Didn’t he once tell you that I was ineligible?”
“He did. Several times.” Betsy chortled with laughter. “Obviously, he’s changed his mind.”
“I won’t make a good duchess,” Joan said, smoothing her blue skirts. She wasn’t certain, though, and Betsy just smirked at her, amused and unbelieving. “A duchess oughtn’t to be illegitimate.”
“You don’t care who your father is,” her sister pointed out. “You never have. If you don’t care, society won’t either.”
“They have, and they do,” Joan retorted.
“But you don’t care. Duchesses set the tone,” Betsy said. “I didn’t understand it myself, but now I do. It’s a person’s inner confidence that matters, Joan. No one can say that you weren’t raised to the role. Aunt Knowe made sure every one of us could run Lindow Castle.”
Joan chewed her lip. “That’s true.”
“I was invited to Eversley once but didn’t pay a visit. Have you?” Betsy asked.
“The Duchess of Eversley,” Prism announced.
Thaddeus’s mother paused in the doorway, looking somewhat stricken. Thaddeus was far down the room, so Joan said, “Excuse me, Betsy,” rose, and went to meet Her Grace, who was wearing a gown of changeable pink silk taffeta, with a pink-tinted wig.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Joan said, dropping into a deep curtsy.
“Goodness me, I didn’t realize so many people were joining us,” the duchess said, looking uncertain.
“Not people, only Wildes,” Joan corrected her. “You’re wearing an enchanting gown this evening.”
“I thought I had a distinct resemblance to a rose beetle,” Her Grace confided.
Joan laughed before she could stop herself. “I don’t see any beetlelike characteristics! Where is your hard shell?”
“I am short and round,” the duchess said. “Rose-colored, obviously. I have antennae.” She gestured upward toward three ostrich feathers that had been painstakingly hand-painted in shades of pink.
“Mother, I believe that rose beetles are colored a metallic green,” Thaddeus said, appearing at Joan’s shoulder. “They are named for the food they prefer, not for their appearance.”
“Disappointing,” the duchess commented.
“On the other hand, the elephant hawk-moth is England’s most common moth,” her son said. “Its coloring is distinctly pink to allow it to blend in with willow herb plants.”
“Willow herb is a weed,” his mother said. “I don’t like to compare myself to an elephant. Round and small is acceptable; but an elephant’s girth is disheartening.”
Percy the pig, who was a beautiful, distinct pink, came to mind, but Joan thought better of mentioning it, only to find the duchess looking at her and bursting into laughter.
“We had the same thought, didn’t we, Lady Joan? My girth does remind me of that delightful piglet of yours. I visited Percy this afternoon, and was somewhat surprised to find him wearing a pleated collar that gave him a fetchingly Elizabethan air.”
Joan grinned at her. “My smaller siblings decided that he needed adornment. Percy is a great favorite in the nursery. I do hope that Diana brought her son Peter along with her. He’s three years old and the right age to appreciate an affectionate piglet.”
“Your gown is lovely as well,” Her Grace said.
“It was made from one of my stepmother’s favorites,” Joan told her. “The fabric came from France, before she married my father. One of the earliest memories I have of my stepmother is the first ball held at Lindow Castle in her honor, when she wore a sack gown in the French style, this gown. When sack gowns went out of fashion, we had it remade into a robe à l’anglaise.”
“How prudent,” the duchess murmured, her eyes approving. “Dearest, do bring me over to greet the new guests,” she added, turning to her son.
Joan curtsied and returned to the seat beside her sister, who gave her an impudent wink. “‘Her Grace’ has a nice ring to it,” Betsy mused. “I should talk to your darling Greywick. After all, I do know him. A bit. He courted me for at least two days.”
“Don’t embarrass me,” Joan said.
“Would I ever do such a thing?” Betsy asked demurely.
“Yes, you would,” Joan replied.
Betsy had the knack of behaving like the most proper lady in the room, but she could also pivot straight into mischief. Just now she was looking across the room with a distinctly naughty glint in her eye.
“Have you seen Viola?” Joan asked, catching her sister’s arm before she launched across the room.
“We only arrived at Lindow in time to bathe and change for the evening meal. Why isn’t she here? Prism told me that the baby hasn’t arrived yet. Everything is all right, isn’t it?”
“Aunt Knowe wants her to rest because her ankles are swollen,” Joan said. “I’m sure she’s hoping to see you; she’s frightfully tired of being confined to her bedchamber with her feet up.”
Betsy squinted at her. “That was positively Machiavellian, Joan. But successful.” She got to her feet. “Tell everyone where I am, won’t you?”
Later, after Betsy sent a message down saying that she would dine with Viola and Devin, Joan walked into the dining room on Jeremy’s arm. Betsy’s husband was one of those tall, brooding men whom Joan found frightfully attractive in the abstract.
But not compared to Thaddeus.
He walked ahead, his mother on his arm. She’d seen those shoulders unclothed. And his back, the way it narrowed to his hips. And then . . .
An elbow bumped her, and she turned to meet the amused eyes of her brother-in-law. “Does Greywick know your—ahem—appreciation for his figure?”
She elbowed him back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Jests aside, you couldn’t do better,” Jeremy said. “He’s a good man to the bone. I suppose if you take him, I’ll feel a little less guilty about stealing Betsy from under his nose.”
“You don’t feel guilty,” Joan retorted. “I wasn’t out yet, but I wasn’t blind. You hid out in the billiard room because you knew how much Betsy loves the game. You could find her there day and night. Likely unchaperoned.”
“Something like that,” Jeremy said, a contented, tender look on his face. “I give you fair warning, young Joan. I remember Thaddeus from our schooldays. If that man wants something, there is no stopping him from getting it.”
Joan thought about that and then smiled up at Thaddeus. “Sometimes I think the Wildes were brought into the world for one thing.”