Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Anthony sat in the duchess's chambers, staring at his favorite portrait of Anastasia. It had been painted for their engagement. Portrait painters often flattered their subjects, making them more appealing, but such adjustments were never needed for Anastasia. The painting accurately captured her delicate face, her thick hair, and her bright eyes. Even her lips had that familiar, amused lilt. She looked as though she carried some delightful secret, and if she liked you, she just might be willing to share it. A white gown gently traced over her elegant form, tracing her small, round breasts and narrowing to the blue sash at her waist.

"I love you," Anthony said.

He swallowed hard and slumped into the nearby chair, tilting his head back to meet the portrait's gaze. If Anthony could have anything he wanted, it would be Anastasia, whole and hale again.

Behind him, the door opened.

"Leave!" Anthony snapped.

There was a pause, as if the room itself was holding its breath. "Are you certain that you wish for me to leave, Your Grace?" James asked gently. "It might help to speak of what you are thinking."

Anthony's eyes burned. His throat was so tight and thick that he did not think that he would be able to speak, even if he wanted to.

"She would want you to be happy, Your Grace," James reminded him.

"I know." Anthony sniffed, trying to force back the threatening tears. He heard the door close, followed by soft footfalls. "I told you to leave," he said.

"I did not feel as though your heart was in the right order, Your Grace. Forgive me if I have erred."

Anthony curled his hands over the arms of the chair and sighed. "I know that she would want me to be happy, but I do not know if I can bring myself to find love again."

James said nothing. The silence stretched between them, and Anthony's gaze drifted once more to Anastasia's face.

"I feel as though I am betraying her by… by pretending to court Bridget."

"It is only a game."

"No," Anthony said. "I fear that it is not simply a game. I genuinely enjoy Bridget's company. Too much, truth be told."

"‘Oh."

"And it occurs to me that I cannot let myself love her," Anthony said. "If I do, there is the chance that she will not return my affections. What am I to do, then?"

"I think, Your Grace, that you should acknowledge your feelings. Any man in your position would feel similarly."

"That does not especially help."

"I know," James replied. "I have never been in love, you know. I am not exactly an expert on such matters."

Anthony laughed. "That is fair. I will grant you that."

"But I think you should consider what will make you happy, Your Grace," James said. "You must do what you think will make you happy, rather than worrying about a heartbreak that may never come."

Anthony smiled wanly. "Bridget makes me happy, but I do not know if I truly love her. I do not know if she can love me. I regret agreeing to this plan because now I do not know which of her actions are real and which are not."

"You could ask."

"I suppose." Anthony paused. "She reminds me of Anastasia sometimes. I do not know if she truly is like her or if I merely want to see Anastasia in her."

"She is her own woman," James said. "You seem to realize that, at least. Is it so unfortunate if she reminds you a little of Lady Anastasia?"

Anthony shrugged helplessly. "I do not know."

"Something to consider, perhaps. Is there any pressing need to know if it is love right this very moment?" James asked. "Surely, you have time to think about your feelings and decide the significance of them for yourself."

"I suppose you are right," Anthony said, "but that does not make the situation any less vexing. I dislike not knowing my own mind."

"I imagine all men do."

Anthony sighed. "In all likelihood, yes. Was there something you needed from me?"

"Indeed, there was. I wished to tell you that Lady Victoria and Lady Rose have returned."

"Ah, yes," Anthony said, "to the modiste. Bridget will finally have replacements for her soiled dresses."

"That is fortunate," James replied.

Anthony nodded, a little chagrined. He found himself wondering what styles and colors the young lady might have chosen. Bridget would be wearing something purchased with his money, and the thought gave him a strange shiver of delight. Even though he was only replacing gowns that he had damaged, Anthony enjoyed the thought of purchasing garments for Bridget. He liked the thought of her clad in the finest silk and muslin that he had purchased for her. There was something intimate about knowing that she would wear something he had paid for. The gowns would not be finished for several weeks and many more fittings, but his pulse quickened in anticipation of seeing her wear those fine garments.

"I should ask the ladies if they enjoyed their visit to the modiste," Anthony said. "That would only be courteous of me."

James gave him a knowing look. "They are in the parlor, Your Grace."

"Thank you."

Anthony gave a final glance to Anastasia's portrait before leaving the room, James following a few paces behind him. They parted ways then, James tending to his duties. It was odd that James had come to inform him of the ladies' arrival. Anthony wondered if his butler had specifically suggested that James come fetch him. His butler could be unusually astute sometimes.

As Anthony descended the stairs, he thought of Bridget. He imagined her in pale green silk, her eyes shining and soft curls framing her face. Anthony would never be able to remove those gowns from her slender, perfect body. He smothered a groan of frustration, certain that he would be unable to forget the wayward thought now that he had it. Every time he saw Bridget in one of those gowns, Anthony suspected he would also be thinking about what joy he might gain from removing those beautiful fabrics.

He entered the parlor. The ladies had seated themselves on the settee and were excitedly speaking to one another, while the parlor maid prepared tea for them. Seeing him, the maid curtsied. "Your Grace, shall I prepare tea for you, also?"

"That would be lovely."

Anthony lowered himself into the vacant chair across from the ladies, both of whom promptly turned to face him. "Did you enjoy the trip to the modiste?" he asked.

"It was wonderful!" Lady Rose declared. "Bridget chose the most beautiful blossom material for a gown."

Blossom! Anthony's mind readily conjured the image of Bridget in that bright, pink shade. It would suit her. The color would emphasize the rosiness of her cheeks and contrast beautifully with her green eyes.

"Were both of the gowns in blossom?" Anthony asked, feigning nonchalance.

"No," replied Lady Rose. "The other was a lovely fawn. It will look quite splendid in the flickering candlelight."

Anthony nodded. The thought of Bridget clad in fawn was even more alluring than his vision of her in blossom. He imagined her standing in a darkened room with only a few flickering candles. The shadows of the near-darkness would trace every curve of her body and every drape of the fabric.

"It was pleasant," Lady Victoria said. "It reminded me of my first Season. I enjoyed going to the modiste with the other young ladies. I have always admired the clever hands of seamstresses.'

"And did you enjoy the Duchess of Norfolk's company?" Anthony asked.

He had only spoken to Bridget's mother on a handful of occasions, so he had no thorough impression of her character. Perhaps his aunt might find a friend in her, though. Some friends might do well to raise Lady Victoria's spirits.

"She was quite nice," Lady Victoria said. "I learned that we both share an interest in botany. Her Grace has compiled extensive herbariums at the Duke's country estate, which she has invited me to examine once the Season has concluded."

"I am pleased to hear that you enjoyed her company," Anthony said.

"As am I."

"Her Grace also invited us to join herself and Lady Bridget at a poetry reading tomorrow," Lady Rose said. "We were asked to extend the invitation to you, also."

"I would be delighted to join you. I do not believe that I have any conflicting obligations tomorrow," Anthony said.

He was not entirely certain that was true, but any obligations that he did have could surely be moved. Attending the poetry reading would allow him to see Bridget once again. More importantly, he would be seen with her. If they were going to feign a courtship, a public gathering would be an excellent place to enjoy one another's company.

"It has been so very long since I have attended a poetry reading," Lady Victoria said with a sigh. "I used to love poetry so much when I was a girl."

"Do you not still enjoy poetry?" Lady Rose asked.

"Not in the same way, my dearest," Lady Victoria said. "I enjoyed poetry because I did not know what love was. Words moved me in a way that little else could. I enjoyed verse about lovers and beauty, sonnets to enchanting women and the like. Once I found love for myself, poetry somehow did not feel as fulfilling to me, and yet I found that I understood better than ever what drives poets to write."

"How so?" Anthony asked.

"Because love is an emotion so great that one cannot possibly put it into words. Poetry is our attempt to do precisely that."

Anthony thought of Anastasia. Lady Victoria was right; his love for Anastasia had been indescribable. Perhaps, it still was.

"Do you ever think…" Anthony trailed off.

He had thought much of Lady Victoria's grief over the Season, but it had only occurred to him to ask if she thought that she might ever love again.

"Yes?" she asked.

Anthony paused. Even if Lady Victoria might have some insight into his situation, he could not bring himself to ask. He might upset her, and if he did not, his query was sure to arouse some suspicion from both her and Lady Rose. They would want to know what lady had gained his affections, and he could not admit that it was Bridget. He was not supposed to have anything buy friendly feelings toward her.

After a moment, he forced a smile. "Nothing," he said. "It was a passing thought. Nothing more."

"Oh," Lady Victoria said. "Perhaps it will return to you."

"Perhaps."

Anthony gratefully accepted the tea that was placed before him and sipped it, enjoying the delicate blend of sweetness and mint. It was an appropriate distraction.

"I have never heard Lord Elmonde's poetry," Lady Rose said. "Have you, Your Grace?"

Anthony shook his head. "Elmonde wrote extensively during his time at Cambridge, and I heard discussion of his works. I have never read it myself, but everyone that has ever spoken of his verse has enjoyed it."

"I have heard that Lord Elmonde sometimes favors rather salacious subjects," Lady Rose said mischievously.

Lady Victoria gasped. "Rose!"

"I am only repeating what I have heard," Lady Rose said. "Evidently, there is a poem about Tristan and Isolde, which is quite sensational."

"I doubt that the poem he reads before the ton will be that sensational," Anthony said. "I am sure that he will observe the appropriate amount of decorum."

One would hope, anyway. Anthony forced down the lump that rose in his throat. Being so near Bridget would be difficult enough without having his less-than-gentlemanly thoughts accompanied by a salacious poem.