Chapter 40

Chapter 40

"Ensure that Lady Bridget receives these," Anthony said. "Even if His Grace refuses to see me, those gowns are hers."

The butler left the gowns in the care of a maid before vanishing into the house himself. Anthony took a steadying breath and rolled back his shoulders, trying to look like a composed man. Inside, his emotions were a tempest of contradictions. He did not want to be at Crampton House; he desperately wanted to be there. Anthony could not repeat his errors. It was time to move forward.

It was much easier to resolve to make changes than it was to actually enact them, though.

The butler returned. "I am to escort you to His Grace's study."

Anthony stifled a sigh of relief. He followed the butler to the study, lightning thrumming through his veins. If Bridget's father would not see reason, he was unsure of what he would do, but he could not let Bridget suffer the same fate as Lady Hastings. He clenched his jaw, as he entered the study.

It was a lavish room, larger than Anthony's own study. The Duke of Norfolk was seated by the fire. He gestured toward the empty chair beside him. There was no formal greeting or even the fa?ade of friendliness. Anthony supposed that he deserved that. He lowered himself into the chair and fixed his gaze on His Grace.

"I understand that you are rather vexed with me, Your Grace."

His Grace scowled. "There is no need to stand on ceremony, Hamilton. You have disgraced my daughter and cost her a respectable suitor. It is apparent that you care little for formal conventions."

Very well, then.

"I am unsure that I would call the Marquess of Thornton a respectable suitor."

"He was more respectable than you."

Anthony clenched his jaw. "Bridget detested him. She was repulsed by him."

Norfolk's scowl deepened. "She would have married him. It was her duty as my daughter to think about what is best for our family and not to ruin everything by engaging in liaisons with the likes of you or anyone else."

"Her duty or not, she did not love him," Anthony said. "She tried to avoid marrying him."

"Did she try to ensnare you?" Norfolk asked, his anger overtaken by horror.

Anthony sighed. "No."

He told Norfolk almost everything—Rose's scheme and how he had participated in it with Bridget. He told about how he had fallen in love with Bridget but hesitated out of loyalty to Anastasia and his guilt about Lady Hastings's situation.

"And so," Anthony concluded, "I have arrived with the two gowns that I owe her, and I wish to have Bridget's hand in marriage if she will agree."

Norfolk pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "I do not know that you have left me much of a choice," he said. "The whole ton knows that you were in the gardens unchaperoned with my daughter, and both of you appeared disheveled when Thornton and Lady Hastings confronted you. She must marry someone as quickly as possible, and you have deprived me of her other suitor."

Anthony heard the condemnation in the other man's voice. He ought to feel guilty that he had caused Norfolk such distress, but Anthony could not muster a shred of regret. Instead, he felt as though he was lighter than air. He had received Norfolk's blessing to marry Bridget. Now, all he needed was for her to agree.

"I need to speak to your daughter," Anthony said. "If you will permit me to see her."

Norfolk looked as though he had tasted something unpleasant, but he nodded curtly. "You may."

***

Bridget was seated in the parlor beside her sister Anna. They had not yet noticed that he stood in the doorway, but Anna held aloft the blossom dress. Anthony's throat grew tight. It would look so beautiful when Bridget wore it.

He cleared his throat. Bridget's head snapped toward him, her eyes wide with shock. "Anthony."

"Bridget."

"I—I promised you that I would replace the gowns," Anthony said. "I am delighted that I can finally deliver on my promise."

"They are exquisite," Bridget said.

Anthony smiled. He took a step into the parlor, his blood roaring in his ears. Bridget's face revealed little aside from her surprise at his initial appearance. It was impossible to know if his presence was welcome or not. He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

"I am sorry that it took so long for me to come calling," he said. "There is much that we need to discuss."

When last they spoke, he had told her that he did not love her. He had watched Lady Hastings shove her down the stairs, her face pale and blood pooling about her hair. But Bridget was alive. The color had returned to her face, and although there was a tiredness in the way she sat—her shoulders slumped and her eyes fatigued—Anthony saw resilience, too.

"Is there?" Bridget asked.

He felt affection for her rise within him, so powerful that it seemed impossible for him to contain it. Anthony would not leave this room until he had proven his love for her. "So many reasons," he said. "I have asked your father for your hand in marriage."

Bridget gaped at him. "In—in marriage?"

Anna clapped her hands together. "How delightful!" she exclaimed. "While you speak, I believe that I will sit beside the fire."

Anna gently draped the gown over the nearby table and crossed the room in quick, dainty steps. She flung herself on the settee across the room, near enough to be a chaperone but too far away to overhear his conversation with Bridget.

Anthony sat in the vacant chair near Bridget's elbow. She frowned. "Anthony, you do not need to marry me."

He arched an eyebrow. She did not mean that; he was sure of it. "Why not?"

Bridget twisted her hands in the fabric of her gown. "You do not love me, so you need not marry me."

"But I do love you," Anthony said. "My desire to marry you comes out of love rather than honor. And I am dreadfully sorry for ever letting you believe that I did not love you."

"You love me, and you do not love me," Bridget said, her face softening. "I cannot endure this."

"Let me explain," he said.

She bit her lip and slowly nodded.

"I tried not to love you," Anthony said. "I did not want to disrespect Anastasia's memory. Nor did I wish to repeat my errors with Lady Hastings. I never imagined that I would ever love anyone after Anastasia's death, so when I began to develop feelings for you, I refused to recognize them for what they were."

"Lady Hastings warned me of that," Bridget said. "She told me you would be unable to free yourself of the past."

Anthony sighed. "She was right. It took me far longer than it should have. When you told me that you loved me, I panicked. I felt that I could not possibly be deserving of your love. I was certain that if I confessed my love for you, something would go terribly awry, and I cannot even tell you what exactly I felt would happen—only that it would. I was unkind to you. I did not mean to be, but nevertheless, I was. I am terribly sorry, Bridget."

Bridget's face softened. Her eyes searched his face with something like wonder.

He cleared his throat. "I hoped that we could be friends, for I did not see how we could be anything more. Not when I was in agony, trapped in my past, and unable—unworthy even—to accept the love you might have offered. The more my desire for you grew, the more I felt as if I was drowning."

"You are not and have never been unworthy of my love or of me," Bridget said quietly.

He gave her a pained look. "I could not make myself believe that, even though I wanted to. It was only once I saw you lying prone at the bottom of those stairs that I realized my mistake. I did not know if you would survive, and I wondered how I would possibly live without you."

Bridget stared deeply into his eyes, as if she felt every word he spoke down to her core. Her breath hitched. "I thought… oh, Anthony! I have fallen so madly in love with you! My heart felt like it would never be whole again without your love."

Anthony smiled. "Words cannot explain the depth of my love for you, and your plan only brought us closer."

"Rose's plan," Bridget said. "I—I will admit that there were times when I doubted you. I was terrified that Lady Hastings's words might be true, but I loved you so much that I was willing to risk your betrayal if it meant that I might have your love."

Anthony gently took Bridget's hands in his own and stared into her eyes, as if he might be able to express the full expanse of his love for her just with the intensity of his gaze. "Marry me, Bridget."

Her breath shuddered, and a soft gasp tore from her throat. Her eyes filled with tears. For a heartbeat, Anthony thought he might have upset her, but then, he realized that those were surely tears of joy.

"I never expected the plan to work like this," she whispered. "But Anthony, you must know that I have no dowry. My father needed for me to wed the Marquess of Thornton so he would pay my father's debts."

"I care not for a whit if you have no dowry," Anthony said. "And I will pay any debts to preserve your family's honor."

"Truly?"

"Truly. I am more sure of my love for you than anything else in the world. I will do anything to see to your happiness. All you must do is say yes, and I will marry you, Bridget."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes," she said, the answer barely above a whisper.

Anthony felt his heart swell with happiness. Despite all his errors and all his hesitation, this perfect and wonderful woman had agreed to marry him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck without hesitation and clung to him. His hands found her slender waist. She was his, at last.

Anthony kissed her like a drowning man desperate for air, and she returned his passion with such fervor that it left him nearly breathless. They kissed and kissed, like they were the only people in the entire world. And although they were not, in that moment, Anthony knew one undeniable truth, which was that Bridget was the only person in the world who mattered.

He would do anything to ensure that this woman was happy, and he would devote the rest of her life to making her feel the same passion and joy that she inspired in him.