Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Anthony stared at the glass of brandy, lost in thought. He had not expected to see Lady Hastings again after so many years. Lord Hastings had a reputation for being reclusive, and he seldom participated in the ton's festivities during the Season. He was also not the manner of man who liked the thought of his wife attending social functions without him beside her, so Lady Hastings and Anthony seldom crossed paths. Seeing her again after so long was like a slap to the face.

He had wronged her, and he had not the faintest idea how to fix the situation. After so much time had passed, he was not even certain that it was worth the effort to fix the situation. Anthony ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to look instead at the ledgers for the dukedom. That was no better of a distraction, though, because when he thought of the dukedom, he thought of how he would someday need an heir to manage these same affairs. Then, he thought of Anastasia.

Sometimes, Lady Bridget, too.

Knuckles rapped on his door, and Anthony sighed. "You are beginning to make a dreadful habit of this, James. When do you intend to sleep?"

"When you do," James replied. "That is when my services will not be needed, after all."

Anthony hummed. "Well-reasoned. Have a drink with me. I find myself in need of a distraction."

"Indeed?"

James seated himself across the desk while Anthony poured another glass of brandy from the crystal decanter. He offered it to his valet, who looked delighted to accept. Anthony supposed that some spirits might, at least, make the late night more tolerable for the man.

"I saw Lady Hastings at the art show."

"Ah."

James idly ran a finger around the rim of his glass. Anthony expected a sly remark, but James offered nothing. Instead, he looked uncharacteristically contemplative. That was a relief. There were few people who would understand Anthony's situation and feelings involving Lady Hastings.

"How is she?" James asked, after a long pause.

"As well as you might expect. I did not see Lord Hastings, but I am certain that he was in attendance. He would not let his wife attend an event without him."

Anthony grimaced. Lady Hastings did not deserve that. While it was a man's right to tell his wife where she ought not to go, Anthony could not imagine ever insisting that the Duchess of Hamilton have his company to attend any function. It sounded like a miserable existence to him, and it was one that he had—if even inadvertently—doomed Lady Hastings to having.

"Do you blame yourself for her plight?"

"Do you believe that I ought to?"

"It is not my place to say, Your Grace."

Anthony swirled the brandy in his glass and furrowed his brow. "I should have anticipated that you would say something like that. You are correct. It is not your place to say, but I would still like to hear your thoughts about it. You remember when I was involved with Lady Hastings."

On a handful of occasions, James had even acted as chaperone when Anthony was with Lady Hastings, then Lady Abigail. James had been terribly negligent in his duty, but then, Anthony had also been unfair sometimes. He had dismissed more than a few of James's well-intentioned criticisms with a flippant, "Let me enjoy myself, won't you?"

"You were a young man," James said, seeming to choose his words delicately. "You made some errors, as all young men do, but you are not the one who forced Lady Hastings to marry that man. That was her father's decision. He could have insisted on the young lady marrying you instead, and I do not imagine that your father would have protested such a decision."

Anthony considered that. It was true, he supposed. Even as a young man, he had never understood why Lady Hastings's father had insisted on wedding his young daughter to Lord Hastings. Anthony would have surely been the logical choice.

"I have always thought that he married Abigail to that man to punish her," Anthony said, "or else because Lord Hastings offered something extravagant for her hand."

"Neither of those would be your fault," James said.

Anthony sighed. "I suppose that is true, but if I had not decided to have my dalliances with the lady, she would have never been faced with the consequences of my actions."

"Of her actions, also."

"She was young and na?ve," Anthony argued. "I took advantage of that."

"I disagree," James replied, taking a sip of his brandy. "Perhaps she did not know everything that you did about intimacy, but she knew the consequences of getting caught. She knew how much she had to lose."

Anthony sighed. "I told her that I loved her."

"And you thought it was true. You did not knowingly deceive her. No matter how hard you try to cast yourself as the villain in this matter, I will not agree with you, Your Grace."

Anthony's lips twitched in amusement. "Let us suppose that I order you to agree with me."

"In that case, I will lie."

Anthony raised his glass in a mock toast. "Truly, you are the best of valets," he said. "But I fear you cannot persuade me. Even if I did not force her marriage to Lord Hastings, I am nonetheless responsible for the event that caused it."

"Then why are we discussing this matter?" asked James. "If you will not be convinced otherwise, I do not imagine there is anything more to say, Your Grace."

Anthony sighed. "I suppose you are right. I suspect that, by talking about the matter, I had hoped to put it from my mind. I am thinking of so many things these days and about so many women."

"Ah, yes. Lady Rose's friend."

"I agreed to pretend to court her," Anthony said, his spirits lifting when he thought of Lady Bridget's lively green eyes.

He remembered the sight of her standing before that painting, and his pulse jumped. Anthony was not a man who particularly enjoyed hanging salacious art about his townhouse, but he fought the urge to purchase the painting and hang it in his bedchamber. He imagined taking Lady Bridget to the room, of watching her eyes grow wide and her coral lips part as she saw the painting. Anthony shivered in delight.

It was only a fantasy, a dream that would never come true, but he dared to imagine more. He thought of taking her to bed and ravishing her beneath that painting, of their bodies meeting in the heat of passion. That delicate flush of pink would spread over her pale skin, and she would throw her head back, curls fanning out behind her.

Anthony poured himself another glass of brandy. It was inappropriate of him to think about Lady Bridget in such a manner, especially after he had just thought of his own disgraceful behavior toward Lady Hastings.

"That sounds as if it will be entertaining," James said.

Anthony nearly choked on his drink. "Will it?"

"Of course—how many men in the ton pretend to court a lady? And with her consent, no less?"

Right. That was what their conversation had consisted of, not Anthony's desire to share his bed with Lady Bridget. It was all because of that absurd painting, too. He was certain that if he had not seen Lady Bridget gazing at the artwork with such sharp intensity, he would have never found himself interested in her.

"I do not know of any," Anthony conceded, "but I do not imagine there is a good way to raise that question in conversation. For my part, I shall try dearly to act as though I love her. I am sure I can manage that."

At least he could feign his affection until the Marquess of Thornton conceded defeat. Anthony was unsure how long that would take or if it would all happen as smoothly as they hoped. Still, it was worth a try.

"I feel like if I can help her," Anthony continued, "that it might be a small penance of sorts. Whether or not I am to blame for Lady Hastings and her unpleasant marriage, perhaps I can spare Lady Bridget from one. That will please both her and Lady Rose."

"Indeed." James paused. "Is it important that you please both of them?"

"What do you mean?"

James frowned. There was a certain expression that he adopted when he wanted to say something a little too bold, and Anthony knew it well.

"You might as well voice your thoughts," Anthony said. "It is the Season. Even if I were to take offense, I could not possibly rid myself of you. There is an impressive lack of effective valets in London."

"I am charmed, Your Grace."

"You should be. I do not deliver compliments lightly. Now, what did you mean?"

"I know that you have been unsure about your role as Lady Rose's guardian," James said. "That is all."

Anthony nodded. "That is nothing to do with Lady Rose herself. She is a lovely young lady, and I suppose I do want her to be happy. Hopefully, I shall find her a suitable match this Season. She is a very romantic lady. I suspect she hopes some knight in shining armor will sweep her off her feet and carry her away atop a white horse."

"I am sure some lord among the ton has armor."

Anthony chuckled. "Do you remember the suit of armor that my father used to show to everyone?"

James grinned. "The one that was worn by Henry VIII?"

"Allegedly," Anthony said, gesturing with his glass, "because all historical records relating to the armor's creation were conveniently lost to time."

His father had been a clever man in many respects, but he was dreadfully gullible in some others. He would buy anything and everything if the seller insisted that it was valuable, and in his later years, Anthony's father had devoted himself to studying medieval alchemical texts. He was the sort of person who the ton tactfully referred to as eccentric.

"He was a good man, your father," James said.

Anthony nodded. "The best. Even his flaws were so endearing that they could scarcely be considered flaws, and he left me with everything I needed to survive in this world. That the dukedom has not already burst into flames is due to his influence. I have no doubt of that."

It had been good that Anthony's father had taught him so much, for Anthony had never anticipated becoming the Duke of Hamilton.

"I wonder if Catherine will grace us with her presence for the rest of the Season," Anthony mused.

James stifled a yawn, and Anthony cast him a sympathetic look. He was not remotely tired, his thoughts still consumed with all the women in his life. It was strange how he had thought so seldom of the fairer sex following Anastasia's death, but now, his entire world seemed consumed by thoughts of women.

"It is time to retire," Anthony said. "I am not so cruel as to give you another sleepless night, James."

"It is not cruelty. I am pleased to serve you, even in the late hours of the night."

"Almost morning, now," Anthony replied. "I am truly fortunate to have you."

He was fortunate to have many things, Anthony thought, and among all those wonderful things, Lady Bridget's pretty face loomed large.