“It couldn’t hurt,” Charity said. “Perhaps it is petty of me—”
“It is.”
“—But then I learned early on that turning the other cheek often yields only another slap.” Charity bared her teeth in a feral smile. “I haven’t got the least meekness within me, Your Grace, and I would not show it to you even if I did.”
To her surprise, the duchess answered, “Good. You will need that.” She took a sip of her tea. Frowned as if the quality had failed to meet her high expectations, and plunked in an additional lump of sugar. “A duchess has need of a sturdy backbone, especially one of your present social standing. People will say foul things of you. No doubt many of them will be true.”
“If you are expecting an apology of me for my past, then you are to be disappointed. I am neither sorry nor ashamed.”
“I hadn’t thought you would be. You don’t seem the sort. Nevertheless, people will try to make you ashamed—”
“As you did?”
The duchess slammed down her napkin with a ferocity that shook the table. “You called me a sad old woman!”
“Youarea sad old woman,” Charity said.
“Blast you, I am attempting to apologize!”
“Are you? You’re doing a piss poor job of it,” Charity remarked idly as she took a teacake for herself.
“When you attain the age that I have done,” the duchess said, “and have lost the things I have lost, perhaps you, too, will be asad old woman.”
A fair point, one well-made. The duchess had been narrow-minded and unkind, but Charity had been petty and insolent in return. She wondered if, in some small way, the duchess hadn’t been trying to pay her a sort of compliment. If she had not attempted to find a tiny something within her—for instance, her rigid, unbending spine—to admire.
“You’re right,” Charity said. “That was unfair of me, and cruel besides.”
“But not,” the duchess allowed, stiffly, “strictly undeserved.” She drew abreath, lifted her tea cup to her lips, and took a fortifying sip. “It has occurred to me that you will soon be my son’s wife, and the management of his household will fall to you.”
“I’ll admit to some pettiness,” Charity said. “But I am not petty enough to eject you from your home, if that is what you mean to imply.”
The duchess’ shoulders sank in relief. “Thank you for that,” she said. “I had wondered.”
“That is not to say,” Charity added, “that I do not intend to run my house precisely as I see fit.” But she did not need to remove Anthony’s family to do so. “Or that I will timidly accept aspersions cast upon my character—or Anthony’s—from those within it.”
“I expect you do not do much timidly,” the duchess said. She drew in a great breath, held it in her lungs, let it out in a trembling sigh. “You are not the duchess I would have chosen for my son,” she said. “I don’t expect you have the slightest sense of how to be a good one.”
And that—that was true enough, Charity supposed. She really did not.
“But despite that, I do believe that you will make my son a goodwife. As a duchess, I must despair of his choice. But as amother—as a mother, what matters most to me is my son’s happiness.”
Charity blinked in surprise, finding herself strangely touched.
“So I shall simply have to teach you how to be a duchess,” the duchess said, with a beleaguered sigh. “Even if it should take me the remainder of my life.”
Charity choked on a little laugh. “Careful,” she warned. “For just a moment there, you were doing quite well.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I am rather set in my ways. But I do love my son, Miss Nightingale, and I would prefer that we not be at odds, as it will make sharing the same household a less miserable experience. To that end,” she said, and set her reticule atop the table to pry open the little drawstring bag. From it she withdrew a small object, held in her closed fist. “I am certain Anthony has selected a ring of his own choosing, but I thought a family heirloom would be appropriate. You must be seen to have the support of the family, after all.” And she opened her palm to reveal a small gold ring set with an absolutely massive ruby.
Charity’s brows lifted. “You are giving me a family heirloom?”
“To welcome you to the family,” the duchess said. “Probably Anthony has chosen something less gaudy and ostentatious for you, something which will not weigh the hand down quite so heavily. While this maynot be suitable to wear every day, there will be occasions upon which it will be necessary to remind the public of your status, and this, I think, will do the job nicely. It is a perfectly suitable ring for a duchess.”
It was a perfectly suitable ring for a princess. A queen, even. But that the duchess had unbent enough to offer up a family heirloom, unprompted by her son—thatmeantsomething. A peace offering, Charity thought.
“Thank you,” she said, sincerely, as she accepted it. “I will wear it.”
The duchess gave a tiny nod, her hands curling once more around her tea cup as if to warm them. “Your first lesson,” she said, “is that a duchess does not saypiss.”
