Chapter 11

"And I thought perhaps a plume or two for my hair. I...Anastasia? Can you hear me?"

Anastasia blinked. She was in the drawing room, she realized suddenly, sitting and taking tea with Camilla. Her mind had been with the Duke of Willowick. Ever since she last saw him in the street when she and Camilla had been shopping, just two days ago, she had been daydreaming about him.

"Sorry, Camilla," she murmured. "My mind was elsewhere."

"Oh?" Camilla's red lips moved into a grin. "With a gentleman, were they?"

"Camilla..." Anastasia made a shooing gesture with her hand, but a grin stretched across her face.

"You see! I'm right!" Camilla said delightedly. "Who was it? It wasn't Willowick, was it?"

Anastasia blushed. "And if it was?" she asked defensively.

"Anastasia!" Camilla shrieked. She was smiling, but her eyes looked worried. "He's...he's odd. That's what all of society says. And usually I wouldn't believe them, but..."

"He has a scar, Camilla," Anastasia interrupted gently when her friend paused. "He's not evil or anything. He's actually very pleasant," she added defensively.

"He is very odd to look at," Camilla countered.

"He isn't," Anastasia said a little crossly. "He bears scars, as I have mentioned. Yet, he is not unpleasing to the eye. His countenance is...rather captivating. Moreover, he is engaging, amusing, and possesses a delightful conversation."

"Oh?" Camilla blinked at her.

"He is. He can talk about all sorts of things. Music, art, plants and gardens..." she trailed off, thinking of all the topics they had discussed in what must have been a fairly brief conversation. Talking to him was like opening a box of assorted chocolates—there were so many delights that one did not know where to start.

"Oh, Anastasia!" Camilla exclaimed with a radiant smile. "You are such a fanciful creature. If only we all indulged in our reveries as much as you do."

Anastasia smiled. "I'm not sure that would be helpful."

Camilla chuckled.

"Had you described your outfit for the ball?" Anastasia asked, returning to their previous conversation. Before she became distracted, Camilla had been doing so.

"I did!" Camilla laughed. "I described the whole thing. But I would be happy to do so again, should you wish to hear of it?" her gaze sparkled with the teasing note in her tone.

"I do," Anastasia replied. Her cheeks felt warm. She had not meant to defend the Duke of Willowick so hotly—anyone listening would think she was falling for him. She frowned.

Am I?

The thought cannoned into her, distracting her from Camilla. She had to focus hard to bring her attention back to the description of the ball-gown so that she would not miss it a second time.

As she focused on Camilla's description of a gauze overskirt and white silk, she heard a commotion in the hallway and her gaze moved instantly to the door.

"My lord! I..." The butler, Mr. Shipley, was shouting.

"I will go where I please!" a pompous voice interrupted him. Anastasia stiffened.

She recognized the voice seconds before the man who owned it appeared, so she had a moment to tense nervously before Lord Ridley strode into the room. His pale blue gaze moved across the furnishings and focused on her.

"Lady Anastasia," he said formally. He inclined the merest bow. He did not look at Camilla, nor greet her, and Anastasia bristled at the rudeness. "I came to invite you to Gunter's Tea Shop with me."

"You did?" Anastasia stammered. She had danced with him once and endured his presence in Hyde Park. And now he felt he could walk unannounced into the drawing room and demand that she went to tea?

"When?" she asked.

"Now, if you please," Lord Ridley said tightly. He sounded as though she should have known that.

"Now!" Anastasia blinked at him. "But my lord! I have a guest. I cannot simply stride off."

"Yes, you can," he said lightly. "I have your father's permission to ask you," he added, sounding self-important. "And you must remember that he and I have conversed privately about this matter."

"This matter?" Anastasia gaped at him. She assumed he meant the matter of her attending tea at Gunter's, but were that the case, he could have said it directly.

"The matter I discussed with him," the viscount replied.

Anastasia gripped Camilla's hand where she sat across the low table. Camilla gazed at her.

"You do not have to..." Camilla began, but before she could speak, Anastasia's father appeared in the doorway.

"Daughter!" He beamed at her. "If you wish to change your clothing before attending tea, I will entertain the viscount while he waits."

"Papa?" Anastasia stared at him. He knew perfectly well that Camilla was there—he had spoken to her not half an hour ago, when she had arrived. And yet he expected her to depart posthaste, without so much as a word of farewell.

"If you wish to change into a different gown," her father said patiently. "I will wait here with the viscount."

"I know," Anastasia replied. "But Papa! I cannot just hurry off. What of my friend?"

"Lady Camilla will not mind. Not so, Lady Camilla?" Papa's gaze on Camilla's seemed to warn her to agree.

"I..." Camilla began. Her voice was wobbling but Anastasia knew her well enough to know she was about to argue with Papa. She stood up quickly, not wishing Camilla to have to face her father, who had a cruel temper.

"I shall attend," she reassured Camilla swiftly. "Pray grant me ten minutes to change my gown, Papa."

"Of course, daughter," her father replied, sounding friendly again.

Anastasia felt her stomach knot up. There was something very peculiar going on. She did not understand it, but it seemed that her father and the viscount were on the same side. She could not imagine what Lord Ridley had discussed with her father, but she likewise did not wish to think about it.

"If you could fetch my green dress," she asked Rachel as her maid appeared in answer to the bell, "and tuck these stray curls back into the chignon?" She gestured to her hair, which had come slightly loose during the afternoon. She had been dressed informally for tea with Camilla; wearing a pretty but worn blue muslin gown. The green dress was the only dress she felt comfortable in when Lord Ridley was there. His gaze on her was uncomfortable enough as it was without there actually being any visible skin for him to stare at.

"You might have hurried," Lord Ridley complained as she clambered into the coach. Rachel followed her, and then Lord Ridley swung up behind her and sat down. Anastasia stared out of the window.

"I hurried as much as I could," she said, not quite looking at him. "I also needed to be polite to my earlier guest."

"I was waiting," Lord Ridley said angrily. His blue eyes flashed as though nobody should dare to inconvenience him.

Anastasia inclined her head in agreement but said nothing. She did not wish to argue but she also did not wish to agree.

Rachel, beside her, looked concerned.

Anastasia looked at her with what she hoped was a reassuring look. She herself was sweating, her palms damp with perspiration that had little to do with the fact that she wore long sleeves. It was not cold, but nor was it particularly hot.

She gazed out of the window and watched the streets roll past. Soon, before she had expected it, the tall, gabled building with its stone facing appeared on the left of the coach. She felt her stomach knot with discomfort as they rolled up outside the tea shop.

"We would have been earlier," Lord Ridley complained as he helped her down. "Then we might have had a better seat."

Anastasia said nothing, just bit her lip and followed him up the stairs. There was no use arguing with the fellow—she understood that already. His pomposity required him always to be right and he would achieve that by bending the truth or accusing everyone around him.

"Now," Lord Ridley declared as they made their way to a table that was in full sun by the window. "I suppose you will take cake with the tea?" His expression was expectant.

Anastasia tilted her head. She had not wanted to eat anything—she had no appetite in his company. "I would prefer just tea," she began.

"Oh! Do you have to be so difficult?" Lord Ridley pouted. "I had planned to try the new gateau, and since you won't have any, then nor shall I."

Anastasia drew a breath. She felt a twist of guilt, and then she frowned. She had not told him not to eat cake—that was his own choice. Everything sane and safe seemed to slip away when she was in the company of Lord Ridley, who seemed to bend the truth to suit himself.

She sat down and Rachel sat wordlessly beside her at the round table. Lord Ridley sat opposite, and the proprietor came over.

"A pot of tea," Lord Ridley demanded, shooting Anastasia a sour glance as though she had spoiled everything.

Anastasia glanced at the tablecloth, which was fine linen. She tried to recall how it had felt to dance with the duke. It had been beautiful, a moment of pure bliss. Her cheeks flushed at the thought.

"Lady Anastasia?" Lord Ridley interrupted her thoughts. "What is your opinion on attending Almack's tomorrow...?"

"Almack's?" Anastasia blinked. He must have mentioned it earlier, but she had hardly heard him. She frowned. She had an invitation to a private ball at the Earl of Barrydale's home the following evening. At that moment, the proprietor appeared, bringing their tea. A tall man in a white apron who poured them each a cup and then walked across the room to address another table of guests.

"It's hot in here," Lord Ridley complained, forgetting his earlier statement.

"We could move to another table?"

"There you are again! Being difficult!" Lord Ridley said in an accusatory tone. "Can you not be content for two minutes? We are sitting here now."

Anastasia gaped at him. She was wearing long sleeves, the collar of her dress reaching to her neck. She was sweating and she was seated even closer to the window than he was. Besides, she was not the one who had complained. He had.

"Could you please pass me the sugar?" she asked.

He shot her a resentful look as though she had interrupted some deep musing. He lifted the sugar bowl and set it down in front of her.

They sat silently as she stirred her tea.

"At my estate we take tea at half an hour past ten, and then at half-past three," he told her pompously. "Exactly on time." His gaze moved to her as though it was her fault that it was later than usual.

"I see," Anastasia murmured. He acted as though she was a terrible burden, so why was he speaking again of the estate as though she might one day live there? It made no sense at all.

She sipped her tea while he talked about Ridley Hall and how pleasant it was in the summer. Anastasia tried hard to focus, lest he spring a question on her, but she could not keep her attention on him. She glanced at the clock, wishing she could run.

The peal of church bells made Lord Ridley look up. They were chiming the hour.

"Is that the time?" he asked, interrupting his own long one-sided conversation. "I must make haste. I have an engagement at the bank."

"Of course," Anastasia murmured, her heart thudding with relief. She pushed back her chair and, beside her, Rachel stood up in a hurry as if she, too, was desperate to escape.

They went down the front steps and out to the coach.

Lord Ridley was silent on the way through town. Anastasia sighed with relief as the coach drew up outside the townhouse.

"Good day," she murmured in a small, polite voice as Lord Ridley helped her down from the coach.

"I will call on you again soon," Lord Ridley said as though he was genuinely sure she wanted to see him. He smiled at her. "Until we talk again." He lifted his top hat.

"Until then," Anastasia agreed coolly.

She hurried up the stairs with Rachel following her and she felt relief flood her as the butler opened the door.

"Daughter! I trust you had a pleasant afternoon?" her father greeted her on her way past the drawing room. Her eyes widened and her heart fluttered, feeling nervous. He looked pleased, as though he approved heartily of Lord Ridley.

"I had a...strange afternoon," Anastasia began. She was not particularly close to her father, and she was unsure of how to confide in him about how unsettling the afternoon had been.

"Of course." Her father beamed. "Courting is always strange at first, Daughter. I trust you will become accustomed to it."

"Courting? Father? What?" Anastasia gaped at him.

"I must hurry," he said, walking past to the stairs. "I am late for a meeting at the club with investors."

Anastasia stared after him, horrified. Mama and Lily had gone to tea, so there was nobody to talk to. She stood where she was, rooted to the spot.

Her father had given Lord Ridley permission to court her.

Her heart sank. He was pompous, rude, and confusing as well as unpleasant. She could not court him. She could not!

She ran to her chamber, desperate to think of a plan. Nothing sprang to mind—her father was not one who would listen to her opinion, no matter how firmly she tried to deliver it. Nor would he listen to Mama—if Mama was not already half-convinced that Lord Ridley was good for her.

Anastasia ran a hand distractedly through her hair, heart pounding. She had no idea what to do. But she had to do something, and hopefully before the ball where she would doubtless see Lord Ridley. And where her papa would doubtless do anything that he could to stop her from seeing the duke himself, were he to be there.