Chapter 2

Chapter Two

" M iss, I must insist that you take your leave before His Grace awakes," Johnson hissed adamantly.

"And I insist that I stay until he does," the woman replied, her voice rising above Johnson's whisper.

Anthony stirred awake, the rustling of fabric and hushed whispers intruding upon his sleep. He blinked his heavy eye lids open, the dim morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. However, even the meager light that streamed in was enough to make his head pound.

His bedroom door stood ajar, and he could just make out his valet gesturing down the hall to a woman dressed in only her chemise.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Anthony's annoyance grew as he recognized her. It was the same one he had spent the night with, now standing in his doorway, looking confused and distressed. He felt a surge of anger.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, striding purposefully to the door. His valet grew pale as he saw the dark expression on Anthony's face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Anthony demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "I told you to take her to a carriage last night."

Johnson rubbed his face with annoyance and frustration.

The woman, trying to maintain her composure, smiled coyly and approached him seductively, saying, "I was so tired after you took care of me, Your Grace. I thought I could slip back into bed for a little rest."

Anthony's eyes turned icy, his tone cold and unforgiving. "You overstepped. This arrangement was for one night only. You are not to stay."

The woman's smile faltered, and she looked to the floor, embarrassed. "Surely, Your Grace, I may dress before I go?"

Anthony growled in frustration, "Fine. Do it quickly."

"Thank you, My Lord," the woman mumbled and swiftly put her clothes back on.

Once she was decent again, Anthony addressed his valet sharply, "Johnson, escort the lady out immediately, and fetch a servant to run my bath."

"Yes, Your Grace," Johnson replied, his voice weary. He reached for the woman. "If you'd follow me, madam."

Anthony stepped aside, allowing his valet to guide the woman out of the room. She hesitated for a moment, but the steel in Anthony's gaze brooked no argument. So, she followed Johnson out, her head bowed.

Anthony closed the door firmly behind them, his anger still simmering.

After a long, hot bath that helped to ease the tension in his muscles and dulled the ache in his head, Anthony dressed meticulously, choosing a dark green waistcoat that complemented his eyes. He descended the grand staircase, his mind already turning to the day's business.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his butler approached, bowing slightly. "Your Grace, Mr. Stoppard is here to see you."

Anthony frowned. "I was expecting him in the afternoon."

The butler, looking slightly uncomfortable, replied gently, "It is the afternoon now, Your Grace."

Anthony's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He glanced at the clock in the hall, noting with chagrin how much time had slipped away.

"Very well," he said, regaining his composure. "Show him to the study."

"Of course, Your Grace," the butler replied, turning to lead the way.

Anthony followed, trying to shift his thoughts from the alcohol fueled night before to the more concerning matters of the estate. As he entered the study, he saw George Stoppard, his estate manager, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

"George," Anthony greeted, adding with annoyance, "You are already here."

Mr. Stoppard turned, a warm smile on his face despite Anthony's curtness. "I have only just arrived from Redfern, Your Grace. How did your night go?"

Anthony waved a hand dismissively. "You know the answer to that, George. Let us get to business."

Mr. Stoppard nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he took a seat. "Very well, Your Grace. We have several matters to discuss today."

Anthony settled into his chair, focusing his mind on the issues at hand. He could rely on Mr. Stoppard to keep things running smoothly, and today was no exception.

The estate manager pulled out a stack of papers and laid them on the desk between them.

The man's usually calm demeanor was tinged with concern. "Your Grace, we have a significant issue to address," Stoppard began, his tone serious. "There is a substantial deficiency in the estate's financial accounts."

Anthony leaned forward, his frustration mounting. "What exactly has gone wrong, Stoppard?"

Mr. Stoppard pointed to the figures on the papers he laid out on the desk. "Over the past quarter, we have encountered several unexpected expenses. Firstly, the repairs to the east wing of the manor have far exceeded the initial estimates due to the extent of the structural damage we discovered."

Anthony nodded, recalling the necessary but costly renovations. "Go on."

"Additionally," Stoppard continued, "there has been a notable decrease in revenue from our tenants. Many of the tenant farmers have experienced poor harvests this year due to unfavorable weather conditions. As a result, they are struggling to meet their rent obligations."

Anthony rubbed his forehead again, feeling the weight of the estate's financial troubles pressing down on him. "And the investments?"

Stoppard sighed. "Several of our recent investments have not yielded the expected returns. The shipping venture, in particular, has been a disappointment. Delays and losses at sea have significantly reduced our profits."

Anthony's jaw tightened. "So, we are facing a considerable shortfall. How much are we talking about?"

"Approximately three thousand pounds, Your Grace," Stoppard replied gravely.

Anthony scanned the documents, his frustration mounting. "How did this happen, George? We should have been better prepared for fluctuations."

"I understand, Your Grace," Mr. Stoppard replied, his voice calm and measured. "We could not have foreseen all of these issues happening all at once. Unfortunately, your late father did not leave you with much in savings to cover these fluctuations. "

Anthony leaned back in his chair, the dull ache in his head pulsing more persistently. "Give me a moment."

"Of course, Your Grace," Stoppard said respectfully.

"We should start by reducing expenses," Anthony started, closing his eyes to think. "We should also pull out of that shipping venture my father felt so strongly about and reinvest in something safer, more stable."

Stoppard nodded, taking notes as the maid entered with a tray of coffee, setting it down on the desk before leaving quietly. Anthony poured himself a cup and took a sip, hoping it might alleviate his headache.

"And the rents?" Anthony asked, setting his cup down.

"We do need to be more assertive in collecting outstanding rents," Stoppard replied, his tone firm but fair. "Many tenants are behind on their payments."

Anthony nodded thoughtfully. "That was to be expected, given the poor harvests."

"Precisely, Your Grace," Stoppard agreed. "This is a challenging situation, but with careful management, I believe we can navigate through it."

Anthony leaned back in his chair. "What about sources of income? We could lease out some of the land."

Stoppard hesitated for a moment before responding, "That is a possibility, Your Grace."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Though it might upset the tenants."

"That is the risk," Stoppard acknowledged. "However, if we do things right, we might avoid a backlash."

Anthony sighed, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "It seems every option has its own set of challenges."

"Indeed, Your Grace," Stoppard agreed, "but I am confident that with your leadership, we can find a way forward."

Anthony took another sip of his coffee, feeling a bit more alert. "I appreciate your confidence, Stoppard, but you do not have to coddle me. Let us proceed with cutting costs. Work with the tenants and make some inquiries about leasing land."

Stoppard nodded, jotting down notes. "I will get started on these tasks right away, Your Grace."

Anthony stroked his chin for a moment, staring at the ledger before him. "Will this be enough, or will it take too long?

"I will have to run the numbers for you; perhaps I can do that this afternoon before I return to Redfern on the morrow."

Anthony's frustration grew. "Then what do you propose, George?"

Mr. Stoppard hesitated, his gaze steady but concerned. "There is another solution, Your Grace."

Anthony's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. "No."

"Your Grace," Mr. Stoppard continued, his tone firm yet respectful, "a handsome dowry would be the safest way to help the estate. It would provide the immediate influx of funds we need without the risks associated with market investments or new business ventures."

Anthony glared at him, the suggestion striking a nerve. "I will not marry for money, George. Or for any other reason. You know that."

"I understand, Your Grace," Mr. Stoppard said gently. "But given the current state of the estate, it is worth considering. A suitable match could secure the financial stability we desperately need."

Anthony stood up, pacing the room, his mind in turmoil.

The thought of marrying for convenience, for financial gain, went against everything he had vowed to avoid. Yet the weight of his responsibilities pressed heavily on his shoulders.

He stopped by the window, looking out over the expansive grounds of his estate. The headache throbbed insistently, a reminder of the urgency of the situation.

"I will not be forced into a marriage, George," he said quietly though his resolve wavered slightly.

Mr. Stoppard sighed, standing as well. "I understand, Your Grace. But please, consider it. For the sake of the estate."

Anthony remained silent, his thoughts a chaos of pride, duty, and desperation. The decision loomed over him, heavy and unyielding.

Anthony rubbed his temples, the headache from last night's drinking settling in with a vengeance.

"No, George," he repeated firmly. "Marriage is a ridiculous solution. I will not bind myself to someone just for money."

Mr. Stoppard looked at him with sympathy and resolve. "Your Grace, I understand your feelings, but you must consider the benefits. Marriage is not always a prison. It can be a partnership, a source of strength."

Anthony scoffed. "A partnership? For what? To parade around as some ideal couple while I sacrifice my freedom? I have seen enough loveless marriages to know I want no part of it."

"Not all marriages are like that," Mr. Stoppard countered gently. "I am married, as you know, and I love my wife and children dearly. My marriage is a source of great happiness and stability. It is possible to find that balance. And, of course, your friends, the Duke and Duchess of Whitehall—I have heard theirs is a great love match."

Anthony turned away, frustration gnawing at him. "That may be true for you, George, as well as for Edward and Diana, but I do not believe it is in the cards for me. I refuse to marry out of convenience or necessity."

Mr. Stoppard stepped closer, choosing his words with care. "Your Grace, I am not suggesting you marry without consideration. But a suitable match, someone who could understand and support you, could be the answer to our problems. You could find companionship and in time, perhaps even love."

Anthony's glare softened slightly, the words striking a chord he did not want to acknowledge. "I cannot simply marry someone on a whim, hoping for the best. That is not how it is supposed to work."

"No, it is not," Mr. Stoppard agreed diplomatically. "But neither is it impossible to find a match that aligns with your needs and desires. Consider the estate; consider the people who depend on you. A marriage could secure their futures as well as yours."

Anthony sighed. "I will consider it," he finally said though his tone made it clear he remained deeply conflicted.

Mr. Stoppard nodded, understanding the gravity of Anthony's concession. "That is all I ask, Your Grace."

Anthony sat back down, his opposition still strong. "I am not convinced, George. Even if there is a match, marrying for financial gain disgusts me."

Mr. Stoppard treaded carefully, his voice steady and respectful. "Your Grace, I fully respect your principles. But sometimes, difficult decisions must be made for the greater good. A marriage could restore the fortune of your family, ensuring the prosperity of your estate and the well-being of those who depend on it."

Anthony's eyes darkened, his resistance palpable. "You tread dangerous ground, George."

Mr. Stoppard met his gaze steadily. "I am aware, Your Grace. I would never suggest something I did not believe was in the best interest of you and the estate. Ultimately, the decision is yours and yours alone."

Anthony groaned, wanting the conversation to stop.

"Fine, get me a list of ladies with a good dowry," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But put the ones who are closer to my taste at the top: blonde, tall, slim, and so on."

Mr. Stoppard nodded, hiding his disapproval behind a mask of professionalism. "Of course, Your Grace. I will compile the list immediately. And after I have fetched the list for you, perhaps it would benefit you to attend some social events in London now that the season has begun. I am aware of your disdain for such events, but in this case, they are necessary."

Anthony's expression hardened. "I have heard enough, George. This meeting is over."

Mr. Stoppard bowed slightly, understanding the dismissal. "Very well, Your Grace."

As Mr. Stoppard left the room, Anthony was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on his shoulders. The headache throbbed incessantly, a reminder of the urgency and complexity of his situation.

Later that evening, Anthony pushed open the heavy doors of the familiar gentleman's club, the smoky air and lively chatter enveloping him like a well-worn cloak.

He scanned the room, quickly spotting his friend Christopher Archer, the Earl of Howerton, seated at a table near the back, a glass of brandy in hand.

The club was bustling with activity. Gentlemen in tailored suits engaged in animated discussions, some gathered around tables, playing cards or billiards while others lounged in leather armchairs, cigars in hand.

Anthony made his way over, ignoring the curious glances from other patrons. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from Christopher, who eyed him with amused curiosity as he shuffled a deck of cards.

"Well, well, well, look what peculiar gift has the day bestowed upon us?" Christopher said with his typically chirpy tone.

"Howerton," Anthony greeted with a roll of his eyes.

"So, my dear friend, whom I have known since, hm, the beginning of our mischievous youth—when were you planning to tell me?" Christopher asked with a dramatic flair, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Tell you what?" Anthony replied, signaling for a drink.

"That you are engaged," Christopher said, leaning back in his chair and studying Anthony's reaction.

Anthony laughed, shaking his head. "Indeed, and cows might dance a jig. I am not in the mood for jokes tonight, Christopher."

Christopher raised an eyebrow, swirling his brandy thoughtfully. "But I am not jesting, my friend. Word around town is that you are engaged to a certain Miss Eliza Huxley."

The bartender came to pour Anthony a drink, and Anthony took a long, deliberate sip, still amused. "You cannot be serious. This is a rather ludicrous jape."

Christopher's grin widened, clearly enjoying the situation. "I assure you, it is no joke. Your engagement is all over today's scandal sheets."

Anthony's amusement faded, replaced by irritation. "This is absurd. I have never even met the woman."

Christopher, highly entertained, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded scandal sheet.

"See for yourself," he said, laying it out on the table and pointing at the relevant passage.

Anthony leaned in, his eyes scanning the printed words. There, in bold letters, was an article detailing his supposed engagement to Miss Eliza Huxley.

He felt his blood pressure rise, confusion and anger boiling within him.

"This is ridiculous," Anthony muttered, pushing the paper away. "Who could have started such a lie?"

Christopher shrugged, still grinning. "It seems Miss Huxley herself made the announcement at some society gathering. Quite the bold move, would you not say?"

Anthony's headache returned with a vengeance.

"I will deal with this immediately," he said tersely. "But for now, let us focus on something more enjoyable."

Christopher nodded though his curiosity was far from satisfied. "As you wish, but do not think you can avoid the subject forever."

Anthony turned his attention to his drink. The night was young, and while he sought distraction, he knew that the matter of his supposed engagement would not be easily dismissed. Others in the club would want to know firsthand how Anthony could change his mind about marriage.

Anthony leaned back in his chair, fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Who on earth is this girl, and why did she dare to spread this lie?" he muttered, more to himself than to Christopher.

Christopher, still amused, took another sip of his brandy. "From what I have gathered, Miss Eliza Huxley is the niece of Lady Lymington. Apart from her generous figure, she is known for being quite… spirited."

A sudden flash of recognition crossed Anthony's face. "Eliza Huxley… Eliza… Oh, I remember her now. She is the Duchess of Whitehall's friend. Edward and I rescued her from another unfortunate engagement last season."

Christopher raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Rescued her? How so?"

Anthony sighed, recalling the incident. "She was engaged to Baron Haversham, a brute who assaulted the Duchess. Edward and I intervened and managed to get her out of that dreadful arrangement. I had hoped she would stay out of trouble after that."

Christopher's grin widened. "It seems she has a knack for finding herself in precarious situations. But why would she claim to be engaged to you?"

Anthony's eyes narrowed, angry and bewildered. "Perhaps she thought using my name would protect her from more unwanted suitors. Or maybe she is desperate enough to think this will somehow help her situation."

Christopher chuckled. "Whatever her reasoning, it has certainly made for an interesting development. What do you plan to do?"

"I will confront her immediately," Anthony insisted, in his mind wondering all the ways he could punish her. "She needs to understand the consequences of spreading such lies."

Christopher leaned back, his amusement undiminished. "This should be interesting. Do let me know how it goes."

Anthony finished his drink and stood up, the determination clear in his eyes. "I will. And when this is over, Miss Huxley will regret ever uttering my name."