Chapter 21

Chapter 21

When Bridget thought of the kiss, she seemed to lose all coherent thought. She could not focus on the pianoforte. Every time she tried to play a piece, she found herself unable to focus. She missed notes and forgot what she was playing. After two hours, Bridget had yet to finish a single composition. Anthony's presence was simply too compelling to ignore. Kissing him made her feel as if she were truly alive for the first time.

She was not supposed to love him. They were only pretending to court. Bridget had enjoyed playing the role of Anthony's paramour. Everything had been going well until the kiss, and Bridget could not make sense of that at all.

"You seem distracted," Anna said.

"So do you," Bridget argued.

Anna raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

Bridget nodded. "Every time I glance up from the pianoforte, you seem to be on the exact same page of that book. I do not believe that I have seen you turn a single page."

Anna sighed. "I cannot help myself. I keep thinking about Mr. Russell. Oh, I adore him so!"

Bridget's face softened. "You both seem to have much in common."

"We do," Anna said. "And he is so terribly handsome. I think about him constantly."

Bridget bit her lip. She was still to be engaged to the Marquess of Thornton, and although she desperately hoped the pretend courtship spared her marriage to the man, she had no practical idea as to how that might happen. The kiss had thrown the whole plan into even more uncertainty.

"Have you spoken to our father about him?" she asked.

Anna sighed. "I have. He did not sound particularly happy with my choice. I suspect he fears that I plan to disgrace the family in some way."

"Maybe he thinks you plan on becoming an artist's model," Bridget said. "He does not wish to see your body exposed to the world."

"Knowing how our father is, maybe," Anna said. "However, Father says that I have his blessing to allow Mr. Russell to court me and see how our courtship develops."

Bridget nodded slowly. "That is good."

"I wish that he was so indulgent with you," Anna said. "I cannot believe that he still has not relented."

"I can," Bridget said.

She rested her cheek in the palm of her hand and glanced at Anna's painting across the wall. She sighed.

"Do you think Father will let you court His Grace ? Have you asked about him?" Anna asked.

Bridget shook her head. "I have not. His Grace seems inclined to help me, though. Our mother might be able to speak some reason to Father. She did agree to accompany Rose and me to the modiste."

"So that His Grace can finally replace those gowns for you."

Bridget laughed. "Indeed."

The thought of wearing gowns purchased with Anthony's money filled her with warmth. She imagined arriving at a ball, dressed in one of those exquisite gowns. Bridget liked to imagine that she would have a coy, confident smirk on her face and that Anthony's breath would catch at the sight of her. She imagined herself walking to him and saying, "Do you like the gown that you bought for me?"

"You like him," Anna said carefully.

"What?" Bridget asked.

Anna pursed her lips together. She tapped her fingers against the back of the settee and tilted her head a little. "You like the duke. You enjoy his company."

Bridget's heart thundered against her ribs. "You know I am only pretending."

"You do not act like you are pretending," Anna said. "I saw the two of you at the garden party. You seemed as if you truly enjoyed speaking to the Duke of Hamilton."

Bridget's mouth tingled when she thought of the kiss. She looked at the pianoforte, trying to focus her thoughts on something other than Anthony. If she did not, she feared her sister might guess that Bridget's relationship with Anthony was far more than they said it was.

Bridget did not want to give her sister false hope, and besides, Anna was a romantic woman. If Bridget implied any closeness to Anthony, her sister would expect them to be wed within a week's time. She would want to know every detail, and Bridget was not prepared for that.

"I do enjoy his company," Bridget conceded, "but I—I do not wish to court him. You know that."

"Why not?" Anna asked. "He is young and handsome. He has a title."

"So do many men in the ton," Bridget said.

"Yes, but you like him. He seems fond of you," Anna insisted. "If you do not wish to wed the Marquess of Thornton, why not try courting His Grace for real? You do not need to pretend."

"I do," Bridget said. "He enjoys my company, but he does not wish to court me. Besides, I do not love him."

But she did like him and thought more about him than a proper lady ought to. Bridget wondered if she might be able to learn more about these sensations that Anthony caused within her. There must be some text besides the mothering and child-bearing manuals that might provide some clue.

Still, being attracted to a man and having physical reactions to him did not mean she loved him. She had wanted a love match. Even if her father insisted on denying that to her.

"Are you certain?" Anna asked.

"Of course I am," Bridget said. "I would know if I loved him. You know that you love Mr. Russell, do you not?"

"David," she said.

Bridget arched an eyebrow. Anna tucked a curl back behind her ear as a light dusting of color spread over her cheeks. "He asked that I call him David. I forgot to mention that."

"Your courtship is moving rather quickly," Bridget said.

"It is. And I do—I think I love him," Anna said. "I like who I am when I am with him, and I like the way that he makes me feel."

Bridget bit the inside of her cheek. She did not dare ask her sister if she also felt strange, intense sensations when she thought of Mr. Russell.

"But how can I know?" Anna asked. "You act with His Grace in the same manner that I behave with David."

Bridget furrowed her brow. She felt as though her sister had some other concern weighing on her, but Anna was having some difficulty in expressing it.

"Are you worried that you do not truly love him?" Bridget asked quietly.

Anna slowly nodded. "I think I do, but I have never fallen in love with any man before. How can I know that I truly love him and will love him forever?"

Bridget hummed. She pressed her thighs together, trying to keep her mind away from all those confusing and scandalous thoughts about Anthony. Surely it was too early for either of them to be thinking about love. Bridget scarcely knew His Grace, and Anna had not known Mr. Russell for long at all. Still, she knew her sister wanted so desperately to fall in love.

"I am unsure if you can ever truly know," Bridget said. "Life is not like the romances. You do not see Sir Lancelot across a field and fall in love with him forever."

"But what do you do?" Anna asked.

She adjusted her position on the settee, folding her arms over the side of it. Her face was soft and vulnerable. Bridget found hope in Anna's face. She wanted Mr. Russell to be the love of her life.

"I suppose you have to follow your heart," Bridget said, "however trite that may sound."

Anna sighed, the sound tinged with longing. "He is so wonderful that I sometimes feel as if he cannot possibly be real. I feel as if I am undeserving of such a lovely man."

"You are more than deserving of him!" Bridget exclaimed with a small, disbelieving laugh. "How could you question that?"

"I suppose it is just difficult to believe that my life could be so perfect."

Bridget slowly nodded. She felt a small spark of envy at how easy everything was for her sister. Anna might not know if she loved Mr. Russell, but she had their father's approval to court him. Her sister was not being forced to wed the Marquess of Thornton, a man who was so much older than herself.

Bridget quickly smothered that ember of jealousy. She might not know how it felt to love a man, but she knew well that she loved her sister more than any other person on Earth, even herself. Anna was happy. That was what mattered. If they could not both be happy, Bridget would at least be pleased that her sister could have a chance for a love match.

"Nothing will go wrong," Bridget said.

"You think?"

Bridget nodded. "I do. Many ladies of the ton wed men they do not love at all. Even if you do not love Mr. Russell, it seems impossible that you will not be friends. That is already more than most in our position can accomplish."

Anna sighed. "You are right. You know, sometimes I envy common women. I know their lives are not easy, but I think that sometimes I would trade a life of leisure for the freedom to marry who I want. Women like that do not have to worry about being put on the shelf."

Bridget smiled. She tried to imagine it—her sister as a gentlewoman achieving fame with her paintings. Anna might do well for herself in that other life.

"I do think he loves you," Bridget said. "Maybe I am wrong, but he likes you. You like him. You have common interests, and I have no doubt that he will always be your friend, at least."

"And do you feel the same way about His Grace?" Anna asked.

Bridget chuckled. She felt vaguely as though she were caught in some clever trap that Anna had concocted, and she did not know how to escape. "We are friends," Bridget said, "and I imagine that's all we ever will be."

"But what is the difference between you and Your Grace and David and me?"

"You are not pretending," Bridget replied. "Besides, there is… I do not know what it is, but I feel as though Anthony is keeping some secret from me."

"Oh?"

Bridget slowly nodded, furrowing her brow as she tried to explain the feeling that she had deep inside. "There are times when he seems melancholy for reasons that I know not. It is difficult to explain, Anna, because he has never really said why he is sad. Sometimes, I even wonder if I have imagined his despair."

"How odd," Anna said.

"Yes. I wonder if it is something to do with his being the Duke of Hamilton. My understanding is that he did not expect to become the duke," Bridget said. "I am sure that he finds it difficult sometimes."

Anna hummed. "His Grace has lost both his uncle and his cousin's husband in a short amount of time."

"I do not know that Anthony knew either of them well."

There was much that she did not know about Anthony. Bridget swallowed hard. Obviously, she would know those things if she loved him. What she felt could not be love, then.

But she wanted to know those things about him. Bridget wanted to know why he was melancholy. She dared to imagine a softer greeting in the gardens, where they had not been interrupted by Anna and Mr. Russell. Bridget imagined Anthony with his forehead pressed against her shoulder, telling her about everything that distressed him. If he had, she would have run her hand through his hair and murmured all the comforting words that she could think of to ease his worries.

"Still, he would have taken on new responsibilities with their deaths," Anna said. "The dukedom and guardianship over Rose."

"Perhaps you are right. Maybe there is nothing else, save the dukedom and all that it involves," Bridget said.

Anna hummed and turned her head, facing the ceiling. "I hope that David comes to call today."

Bridget glanced at the empty doorway. Did she want Anthony to appear as well? She could not decide. Bridget had hoped that when she crossed paths with Anthony once again that she would have sorted through some of her thoughts about Anthony, but it was like an impossible knot. The more she tried to piece apart her thoughts, the more tangled they seemed to become.

She had not thought it was possible, but her thoughts were even more scattered than they originally had been. Bridget sighed. She was only pretending to love Anthony, just as he was pretending to care for her. That was it.

But how did she explain the private kiss? Or all the feelings the curled deep inside her when she thought of Anthony's hands on her? Bridget shivered.

None of it made any sense at all.