Chapter 25

Chapter 25

There were no callers. Bridget was not especially surprised, for only Anthony was interested in her, and his attention was feigned. The only other man who might call was the Marquess of Thornton, and he was mercifully still absent. Across from her, Anna was occupied by painting the scene outside their window of the street and the rose gardens that lined the path.

"Do you think that Mr. Russell will make an appearance today?" Bridget asked.

Anna glanced up from her canvas. "He will not. David mentioned that he has business today and for the rest of the week."

"David, hm?"

Pink rose to Anna's cheeks. "Yes, David." Anna paused, and a dreamy expression crossed her face. "You must not tell anyone, but we kissed during the poetry reading."

Bridget gasped, feigning surprise. "No! I do not believe it!"

Anna smiled. She laughed, the sound low and rumbling. "I did not know that I was capable of such a depth of feeling. When I kissed him, I felt as if we were the only two people in the entire world, and I never wanted to stop."

She understood. Bridget had felt the same way when she kissed Anthony, and there was nothing in the world that she would trade that moment for. It was only unfortunate that Anthony had not felt the same. She stifled a longing sigh, her mind recalling with perfect clarity how his kiss had made her chest flutter in the most pleasant way.

He was only pretending to court her. Of course, the kiss meant nothing. Bridget tried to tell herself that the situation was truly quite simple. She could not manage to make herself really believe that, though. Bridget had seen the longing in Anthony's eyes when he gazed at her. He wanted her, even if he regretted the kiss. "You really love him a lot," Bridget said.

"More than I have ever loved anyone," Anna said. "He is such a gentleman."

"Has he spoken of proposing?" Bridget asked.

"Not yet," Anna said, "but I feel that he will before the Season ends."

"How can he not?" Bridget asked.

"And maybe you and His Grace will likewise become engaged by the end of the Season," Anna said.

Bridget nodded. The idea was unlikely, but it did give Bridget a thought. She had enjoyed the kiss, and it was impossible to deny her attraction to Anthony. Besides, Bridget liked him, and from that look in his eyes, she suspected that he also liked her. Would it be possible for him to persuade Anthony that they would be perfect together? Her heart thundered against her ribcage.

Was there the potential to let their feigned relationship blossom into something more? Bridget was nearly breathless from the thought of truly being courted by Anthony. Her mind was awash with delightful fantasies of heated touches and fervent kisses. She traced her fingers over the pianoforte and imagined them instead tracing the defined planes of Anthony's chest. She ached with thoughts of him, and that place between her thighs twitched and pulsed with longing.

"We shall see," Bridget said. "I do adore him, but I am unsure if he loves me."

Certainly, there was desire for her in his eyes, but it was impossible to know if he loved her or if he would be willing to let their relationship become something real.

"How could he not?" Anna asked. "I have seen how he gazes at you. Everyone in the ton can see his affection for you!"

Bridget bit the inside of her cheek. "There is still my engagement to Lord Thornton."

"It has not been announced yet," Anna said. "Lord Thornton could withdraw his proposal, and he would not even endure the embarrassment of having done so. Everything would be fine."

Anna made a good argument, but Bridget knew Anthony could not wed her. Even if he desired her, she had no dowry. If she pursued him, the subject of her dowry would inevitably be raised, and Bridget could not ask a man such as him—the Duke of Hamilton—to wed her without one.

"Has anyone else mentioned that Anthony looks at me like you say?"

"Yes," Anna said. "I have heard a few ladies note how affectionate he is with you. It has been difficult for him to be tender toward a woman since Lady Anastasia's death. I have heard that he really loved her."

The entire ton knew of Lady Anastasia's death. It was a great tragedy, that a young lady had died in such a terrible way. Bridget frowned. "I did not realize that he loved her."

"I am told that they were to be wed," Anna said.

Bridget pressed her lips together, thinking. "I believe he has mentioned her once or twice in passing. He has never spoken frankly about her, though."

"He must miss her dearly."

"Yes," Bridget replied. "I wonder if he…"

Perhaps his love for Lady Anastasia was the reason why he gazed at her with such desire and yet told her their shared kiss was a mistake. Maybe he wanted something more for them, and it was his love for Lady Anastasia that caused him to hesitate.

"Never mind," Bridget said.

She would need to think through her thoughts more. Poor Anthony! Her heart ached, thinking about how he must have felt when Lady Anastasia died. Bridget was unsure if she would ever be able to open herself up to love again if she had lost her beloved in such a sudden and tragic way.

"Girls!" Their mother swept into the room. "Lady Hastings has invited us to tea tomorrow."

"That will be enjoyable! I have heard that Lord Hastings has one of the most expansive art collections among the men of the ton."

Bridget's mother threw herself onto the settee, her smile bright. "Indeed. And it is very seldom that Lady Hastings arranges such invitations. I am surprised by how involved she has been this Season."

"I do not think she has ever invited us to any event," Bridget mused.

Bridget barely knew the woman; they were acquainted with one another only because they had occasionally attended the same social functions.

"She was present at the poetry reading," Anna said. "I recall seeing her there."

"Ah." Their mother's face pinkened. "I heard that the poem that Lord Elmonde shared was quite unusual."

Unusual was the most tactful way Bridget could imagine anyone describing it. "The poem was certainly one which provokes thought," she said. "I was startled to hear it read before such a crowd."

Anna smiled slyly. Bridget strongly suspected that she was thinking of Mr. Russell and how he had kissed her behind the shelf. With a sharp pang of longing, Bridget wished she could remember her kiss with Anthony so fondly.

"Lord Elmonde has always taken delight in having the ton gossip about him," their mother said. "I am unsurprised."

"Anthony did mention hearing talk of Lord Elmonde's poetry," Bridget replied, "when the lord attended Cambridge."

"Anthony," their mother said. "You and His Grace are rather fond of one another, are you not?"

Bridget nodded. "Very fond."

Fonder than she ought to be, truth be told. She swallowed hard and tried to calm her racing heart.

"Given that His Grace is so fond of Bridget," Anna said slowly, "I should imagine that a proposal will soon follow."

Bridget cast her sister a warning look, which Anna did not seem to notice. "Anthony has said nothing about a proposal yet," Bridget said.

"But surely, we must consider the possibility that he will," Anna argued. "Given that, it would surely be wise to rethink Bridget's engagement to Lord Thornton. Why should she wed a marquess when she can be a duchess?"

Their mother's brow furrowed. "That is an excellent question," she murmured. "Perhaps I could speak to your father about his decision to wed you to Lord Thornton. I am sure he is likely thinking of Lord Thornton's feelings. Your father must approach the marquess carefully, as I am sure Lord Thornton will be angry to learn that His Grace is courting you."

"Do you know why Father wishes for me to marry the marquess?" Bridget asked.

"I have not the faintest. I assume it is because the Marquess of Thornton is a friend of this family and your father's valued business partner."

Bridget did not think her mother was lying. It seemed she did not know the full extent of the matter, which was that their family was in debt. She considered telling her mother what she had overheard, but she could not bring herself to do it. If she told her mother all that she knew, her mother would be horrified. She might even confront Bridget's father, and Bridget would feel dreadfully guilty if her family was all upset with one another on her account.

"However," their mother said, "I am sure Henry will see reason. He has always insisted that you may have a love match, and it is quite obvious that you and His Grace love one another deeply."

"Yes," Bridget said. "So very deeply. He is all that I think about."

That was not even a lie. Her body felt so alive when she thought of him. Bridget found her mind lingering over him again and again, thinking of the kiss and the subsequent rejection.

"That is so romantic," Anna said, sighing. "It will be a wonderful Season, indeed, if both you and I find love matches!"

"Yes," their mother said. "You have both done very well on the marriage mart. His Grace is quite a suitable match for Bridget, and Mr. Russell is a good man."

Bridget privately suspected that good man was her mother's kind way of noting that Mr. Russell had a significant fortune to his name. The man was untitled and, therefore, less desirable. Bridget hardly cared for such things, but she knew some of the ton did. Although she was not one who indulged often in gossip with other ladies, seldom enjoying the company of women who were not Rose or her sister, Bridget had no doubt the ton was already alive with whispers and rumors about the unconventional match.

"A very good man," Anna said. "He supports numerous charities. Did you know that? He is evidently a much-lauded advocate for the betterment of working women. I have never seen a man with such compassion."

"I did not know that," their mother replied, "but I am pleased to hear it. Well, I wanted to make you both aware of the plans for tea tomorrow. I am afraid I have some obligations that I must attend to, so I will leave you to your arts."

Their mother left, and Bridget let her shoulders slump. She suspected her father would not relent so easily. Maybe if Anthony proposed to her, Bridget's father and Lord Thornton would respectfully decide not to follow through with the engagement.

Of course, she could only imagine that being a temporary solution. When Anthony inevitably broke the engagement or no wedding was forthcoming, her father would want to try again to see her wed. She sighed.

"I am sure you will be allowed to marry His Grace," Anna said. "It is so obvious that you are both deeply in love with one another."

"I do not know," Bridget said. "Sometimes, I think that he loves me, but other times, I fear that our love may simply not be great enough."

"Why not?"

Bridget considered the question. "You have kissed Mr. Russell," she said.

Anna's face reddened. "So I have."

"Did he regret it?"

"No." Anna paused, and her expression became soft and concerned. "Did His Grace indicate that he regretted some affection exchanged between the two of you?"

"There was a kiss," Bridget said slowly.

"Oh! And he—he regretted it?"

Bridget nodded. "He assured me that he would never kiss me again."

"But he is a gentleman," Anna said. "Perhaps he felt obligated to say that he regretted the kiss. That does seem like a very proper thing to do."

"But Mr. Russell did not say he regretted yours," Bridget said. "Honorable or not, I cannot imagine that any man who is truly besotted with a lady would say that he regretted kissing her."

"They might," Anna argued. "It is not as if either of us has much experience with suitors. Certainly, we have neither been so enamored with any men before. How can we say what a man would or would not do?"

"I suppose you are right. Maybe he was simply being honorable."

Bridget felt a flutter spread through her chest. If Anthony was simply being honorable, he might truly enjoy her company. It should not matter; they were only pretending. Nevertheless, Bridget could not deny that she rather enjoyed the idea that their ruse might become something real. She knew she was not pretending to like him; she truly did. He was kind, thoughtful, and honorable.

And if he was just being a gentleman, that meant he might love her, too. Bridget could scarcely breathe. Her mind was awhirl with images of the two of them in a darkened bedroom, his lean physique beautiful in the flickering candlelight. She imagined her hands tracing over the firm muscles of his back, and everything inside Bridget felt as though it might come undone in the most wonderful way.