Chapter 18

"It is not true."

Anastasia said the words aloud, the silence around her echoing, seeming to defy the very notion. She gazed around the empty drawing room. The fire crackled in the grate, banishing the slight chill of the spring morning. The chintz-covered chairs were lit by the cloudy light that came through the windows. The long velvet curtains were open on the balcony, but she barely noticed the scene. Her mind was numbed by horror.

"He can't have," she whispered.

Her father had granted Lord Ridley permission to wed her. If Lord Ridley obtained the special license...then she would be married next week.

She gazed out of the window, unable to think.

Her mind filled with horror. Lord Ridley, riding with her in the coach, without Rachel there to protect her. Lord Ridley sitting across from her at tea, feeling free to say the most preposterous things, and pout and sulk at nothing. Lord Ridley being alone with her in any room of the house, with nobody to protect her.

"God," she whispered. "Please. Help me. I cannot do this."

Shock and fear twisted her stomach, making a tight knot that made it hard to breathe. She was usually able to think of a way to resolve almost anything—she was brave and resourceful. But now her mind was empty. All she could do was stare out of the window, trying to convince herself that it was all a horrid dream.

Except that it wasn't.

She had just spoken with her father, who had summoned her to his office. Mama and Lily had gone to town, so there was nobody to talk to, nobody to confide in. She wanted to run to somebody, to beg for help. She had pleaded with her father, but he had told her that she should be pleased, that it was honorable to be marrying a viscount and that Lord Ridley was sufficiently wealthy to provide amply for her.

"I cannot only live on silk handkerchiefs and roast pheasant, Papa," she protested. "What of my soul?"

Her father had shrugged. "Silk handkerchiefs and roast pheasant are good," was all he had said.

At the memory of that, Anastasia could not hold back. She began to sob. She had not known what love was when she met Lord Ridley—the beauty and joy of romantic love. She had only dreamed of it.

"Now I know what it is," she sobbed. She had met the Duke of Willowick, and he cherished and cared for her. He talked to her and listened. He held her hand and danced with her and gazed at her with love. He laughed and joked with her. He cared.

All she had ever got from Lord Ridley was accusations, fear, and belittling. He did not love her. He did not even seem to like her.

"God, please," Anastasia whispered.

She could not do this.

"Daughter?" a voice called from the hallway. Anastasia gasped, standing. Her eyes were wet with tears and her mother, who was in the drawing room doorway, ran to her, arms outstretched.

"My dear!" she exclaimed, hugging Anastasia tightly. "My sweet daughter. Whatever is troubling you?"

Anastasia held onto her mother, drawing strength from her calm, soft presence.

"Mama," she managed to say between sobs. "Please. Please talk to Papa?"

Her mother gazed at her, confusion knotting her brow. Then, slowly, it seemed as though she guessed what had happened, because her confusion cleared, replaced with care.

"Come, dear," she murmured. "Come and sit down."

Anastasia tensed. She allowed her mother to lead her to the chair, but she looked up at her before sitting down.

"Did you know?" she demanded.

"No," her mother answered. Anastasia gazed into her hazel eyes, and she knew that she was not lying.

"How can he?" Anastasia whispered. "How can he do this? I do not even like the man."

Her mother took a deep breath. "I did not know, but I thought it might happen," she said carefully. "Your father was clearly most taken with the man. His extreme wealth has been impressive to him, I think...and that is what has done this."

"I don't care if he's wealthy," Anastasia sobbed. "I can't live on gold alone. What will I do without anyone to care for me? Without anyone to talk to?"

Her mother shook her head. "I don't know, daughter," she said gently. "I will still be here. I will visit as often as I can. And Ridley Estate is not far away from London. We will, at least, see each other often."

"Mama..." Anastasia started to sob even harder. She had hoped her mother could do something, could help her in some way. But she seemed to have accepted the idea that Anastasia would wed the viscount without question.

"Sweetheart," her mother said gently. "I know it's not easy. But society is full of such arrangements. You will be well taken care of. That is something, is it not?"

Anastasia swallowed hard. She gazed at her mother's face. She could see care there, and concern, but her mother did not sound as though she really understood. How could she think that being well-moneyed would even matter? Whatever her material circumstances, being loved would always be more important.

"Mama...it's not just about Lord Ridley. You know I am in love," she tried to explain.

"With the duke," her mother said softly.

Anastasia nodded. "Yes. With the duke." She gazed into her mother's eyes. Her mother looked sad, but it still seemed as though she would do nothing to help.

"My dear, perhaps this is for the best," her mother began. "We all have hardships, and..."

"I would rather face material hardship. I would rather be on the street, and I mean it!" Anastasia said firmly. "Anything would be better than that...that..."

"Shh," her mother said gently, taking her hands in hers. "Mayhap it won't be that bad. After all, the viscount must have to be in London often. A man of such wealth is often busy in the town. Mayhap you will not see him often."

Anastasia cleared her throat, a lump blocking it. "Mayhap," she said softly. "But what of when he is at home? How can I bear it?"

Her mother shook her head. "I don't know, daughter," she said gently. "Your father and I were never close. I wed him because my own father arranged the marriage. I had wanted better for you, but perhaps there is nothing better. I cannot presume to tell you anything because I don't know more myself."

Anastasia gripped her mother's hands. Horror filled her. She was truly going to have to spend the rest of her life with that monstrous, oafish man. She longed to escape. She gazed out of the window.

"I am sorry, daughter," mama said slowly. Her own voice was full of pain. "I cannot compel him to alter his opinion. All I can do is assure you that I shall visit frequently. Lily shall do the same," she added.

"No," Anastasia sobbed. She wished she could accept what Mama was saying. But she could not lose them. She could not lose everything that mattered.

"My lady? Lady Anastasia?" The butler appeared in the doorway.

"Yes?" Mama asked.

"Lady Camilla is here. Should I show her..." he began. Anastasia shot to her feet with alarm. She had forgotten Camilla had said she would drop in. She was about to ask the butler to tell Camilla that she was in town, but then Camilla appeared in the doorway. She saw Anastasia's tears—as she had feared she would—and her hand rose to her lips.

"Anastasia! What is amiss?"

Anastasia sat down heavily. She could not hold back the convulsive sobs that had threatened to burst forth all morning. She had been crying, but in the presence of her friend, she did not feel the need to maintain the frosty exterior that she had held to. She sobbed so that her shoulders shook. Tears ran down her face and soaked her hair.

"What is it?" Camilla asked when Anastasia managed to sit up. Both of them were wet with her tears, a big stain on Camilla's white-and-green dress showing where she had leaned while she sobbed. She gestured to it.

"Sorry," she whispered.

Camilla shook her head. "It is of no mportance," she insisted gently. "What is amiss?"

Anastasia drew a deep breath. Her mother had slipped discreetly out while they talked, and she was grateful to her. She needed to be able to talk frankly to Camilla and she could only do that while Mama was not there listening to them.

"Papa just told me that he has accepted Ridley's offer," she told Camilla, the news no longer so shocking that she could not even say it. "He gave him permission to..."

"You have to marry Ridley?" Camilla exclaimed.

"Yes," Anastasia whispered. She felt strengthened by Camilla's horrified tone.

"No," Camilla said at once, as shocked as Anastasia herself was. "No. That is too much. I have heard of convenience, but that is...that is preposterous! The man is horrid." Her eyes were wide and round.

"I know," Anastasia whispered. "But I don't know what to do. Mama cannot help," she added sadly. She understood that.

If she were to have a child with Ridley, she would be unable to help them, too, in such a situation. She would have to do as he said.

"What about the duke?" Camilla asked instantly.

"Mama...mama said that perhaps this is better."

"No!" Camilla clasped her hand to her lips. "No. I cannot believe it!" She shook her head in outrage. "But...but what if he knew?" she asked slowly.

"The duke?" Anastasia gaped. "No. No...He cannot know."

Camilla frowned. "Why? He should know. He would do something, I think. You are the daughter of an earl. You don't need to wed a viscount."

Anastasia shook her head. "I don't want him to know."

"But why?" Camilla asked.

"He will believe that I always knew. He will think I was fooling him."

"He wouldn't think that," she answered instantly.

"Ridley is obtaining a license," Anastasia told her. "He wants to be able to wed by next week."

"What?" Camilla clapped her hand to her mouth. "No. I cannot believe it! So soon?"

Anastasia nodded. "I cannot do this," she said softly.

Camilla gazed back, a direct, firm gaze. "Nobody should make you," she said defiantly.

Anastasia shrugged. She knew that her family would not share that view. Her father saw wealth only. Her mother was too afraid to help. And Lily...she could do nothing. She was not even in society herself.

Anastasia took a deep breath.

She and Camilla talked for an hour, but neither of them could think of anything she could do. Anastasia felt assured by her presence, the kindness and compassion healing her.

She walked with Camilla to the door.

"Do not lose heart," Camilla whispered.

Anastasia nodded and squeezed her friend's fingers.

When Camilla had returned home, she went up to the drawing room. She sat silently, watching the fire. She had to come up with a plan, and soon.

She could not stay in London. If she escaped, it would have to be far away, right away. But that was impossible. She knew nobody outside London and the estate where she had grown up in the countryside. There was nobody she could run to.

There had to be something she could do. There had to be somewhere she could go, somewhere she could run to. There was some solution and the fact that it did not come to her immediately was frustrating—she was so good at thinking of solutions usually.

She sat gazing into the fire, but no plans would come. The horror swamped everything, outweighing all else. The answer was far from easy to spot. But she would find it.

And she had to think of it soon, before Ridley was an inescapable fact.