Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

T onight was the night. Of the Fairhavens’ ball, that is.

Theodore inspected his reflection in the mirror morosely. He looked immaculate, of course. He generally did. His deep green velvet suit was not exactly traditional soirée wear, and would certainly cause a genteel stir among the other guests, and likely in the Society papers the next day. Still, that hardly mattered. He was going to attract attention regardless of what he wore, as a new groom with his shocking bride.

Once again, he was struck by the unfairness of it all. All Anna had done was try to secure an advantageous marriage, for her own sake and the sake of her family. Which, mind you, was what every ambitious Society mama and papa strove to do every Season.

However, Anna’s efforts had been met with scrutiny and plenty of scorn. There were plenty of articles about the first attempt at marriage and the shocking second ceremony—the one that was actually successful—and Theo had seen it as his duty to read them all.

What a lot of tripe the ton enjoyed reading. The facts were all the same, peppered with lurid observations and half-baked theories, but there was one thing in common with each article.

Anna was wholly blamed for all that had happened.

Where was the fairness? The poor girl had only tried to get married.

“Hopefully, this ball will quash the rumors about Her Grace and her previous, unfortunate betrothal,” he said aloud, not bothering to unearth any of his earlier train of thought.

Briggs only nodded, grasping the situation at once. He really was worth his weight in gold.

“I shouldn’t count on it, Your Grace. Society loves a broken match, and a jilted bride is even better. Her Grace may wish to learn to weather storms, and quickly. For her own good, naturally. Gossip can be cruel.”

“Very true, Briggs, very true. What’s the general thought about the new Duchess, then, in the lower halls?”

Briggs considered this for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

Theodore waited patiently. He’d long since learned that servants were the most invaluable source of gossip. Of course, they wouldn’t tell him the truth, but the placid and well-liked Briggs could get information out of just about anybody.

“She is already a great favorite here, Your Grace,” Briggs said, eventually. “She is a remarkably kind lady, and her efforts with Lady Katherine are much appreciated. We give no credence to gossip about our Duke and Duchess, Your Grace.”

“Kind of you, Briggs. What about further afield? What’s the word on the streets?”

Briggs hesitated again. “I believe people tend to think that a woman jilted at the altar has only herself to blame. This is untrue, of course, but the sentiment is there nonetheless.”

Theodore bit back a curse, straightening his cravat. “Well, that’s disappointing. Do keep me updated, won’t you? The Duchess’s reputation is now my concern.”

“And therefore of concern to us all, Your Grace,” Briggs said, executing a neat bow.

From anybody else, Theo would have suspected toadying. Briggs, however, was a different breed of man. He came off as mild-mannered, and he was, but he was also honest and forthright to a fault.

Theodore had learned that a year or two ago, when he’d attempted to wear a rather shocking pink waistcoat to a party. He had asked Briggs what he thought, and his valet had, without ado, told him exactly that.

Needless to say, the waistcoat was not worn.

Honesty was, in Theodore’s opinion, a rare quality, and he treasured Briggs all the more for it.

He was about to ask another question when a tentative knock on the door interrupted him.

Frowning, Briggs went to the door, his disapproving expression firmly on. Theodore watched that expression drop when the man opened the door.

“Your Grace,” Briggs said at once, glancing over his shoulder at Theodore.

Theo gestured that his wife should be let in, and Briggs stepped back.

Anna, to Theodore’s chagrin, was not ready for the ball. He happened to know that a particularly delightful gold-and-silver gown, brocaded, expensively laced, and most fashionable had been laid out for her to wear, along with the accompanying jewelry, and he knew quite well that it would take her a while to get into it.

“Not ready yet, my dear?” Theodore asked, turning back to the mirror. “You can go, Briggs.”

The valet bowed and crept off on velvet feet, shutting the door softly behind him. Theodore was left alone with his wife.

Anna seemed to be working herself up to something. Theodore quirked an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror.

“Ahh. Can I interpret this interesting silence as a readiness to finally beg , my dear?”

Anna’s face reddened. “No, you may not! That’s not what I’m here for. Do you really think I’d come charging into your room shortly before a ball and demand that you take me right here and then?”

That was exactly what Theodore had been imagining. An uncomfortable coil of desire had lodged itself in the lower part of his gut and was not to be shifted.

“No, of course not,” he lied. “But you’ll come round, sooner or later. I might add that your month—that is, the month in which we will start trying for a child—has not yet begun. It would be cheating, otherwise. I despise cheats.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected from Anna. Some more of that adorable, flushed stammer, perhaps? Forced outrage, barely concealing her simmering desire?

Down, boy.

He glanced at her in the mirror, and his half-baked hopes were immediately dashed. Anna looked merely annoyed.

“It’s also rather bold of you to enter my chamber,” Theodore added. “I believe that was against the rules.”

“And I believe you just said that we hadn’t started yet.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Well, I’m here, so you can assume that it’s important, can’t you?”

His cravat was arranged well enough. Theodore had the impulse to stare a little longer at his reflection, tweaking the linen until it lost its starch and began to droop, forcing him to call back Briggs.

Instead, he forced himself to turn around, meeting his wife’s eyes squarely.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or shall I guess?” he said, at last. “Before we begin, I ought to ask after your mother. That’s what a good husband would do, isn’t it?”

It was meant to be a joke, but Anna did not smile, and Theodore heard the irony in his own voice. Her mouth turned down at the corners, and he wished he didn’t say the words.

“She misses me,” Anna said, at last.

Which means that you miss her, Theo thought.

“I took Kitty, by the way,” Anna added. “She had a good time. Martha came, too. I… I meant to ask you about my allowance.”

“Ah yes, Mrs. Haunt mentioned it. You’ll have your allowance from tomorrow, and please feel free to ask my steward for extra money if you need it. It’s not as though we have to live frugally. In fact, I would recommend the opposite—a duchess must live an opulent life, after all.”

She drew in a breath. “Actually, I hoped to ask for some extra money. For my mother and sisters, that is. The garden and house need a great deal of maintenance, and if they could open up more rooms in the house, they could entertain more. My sisters will debut soon, after all. If you don’t want to use your money, I can use my allowance.”

“Why would you use your allowance?” Theodore shot back, irritated. “Tell the Viscountess to commission whatever repairs she thinks necessary and send me the bills. Hire more servants if you wish. You’ve come up in the world, Anna, and you’ve towed your family along with you. You ought to be pleased with yourself.”

She didn’t look pleased with herself. Anna looked unhappy, keeping her gaze trained on the rich carpet at Theodore’s feet. He felt the urge to kneel in front of her so that she would be forced to look at him.

He didn’t, of course. A man had his pride. He settled for clearing his throat pointedly until Anna jerked herself out of whatever thoughts kept her wrapped up and looked up at him.

“Was that what you came here to discuss?” he asked, a trifle more sharply than he had intended. “Money for your mother and sisters? I made it clear, I think, that if you hold up your end of the bargain, I will hold up mine.”

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “That wasn’t what I wanted to discuss. I… while I was at my mother’s, I received a letter. I haven’t opened it because I wanted you to open it and read it first.”

Abruptly, she pulled a small envelope out of her pocket and shoved it at Theodore. He took it automatically and glanced down at it.

It was from Henry, addressed to Anna, of course. Theodore noted the use of her maiden name, as well as the fact that it was sent to her mother’s home.

“You could have read it yourself,” he said acidly. “I don’t intend to go through your personal correspondence.”

Anna folded her arms tightly across her chest. “You are Henry’s brother. You have as much right as I to know where he is and what he is doing.”

“More, I think some would argue.”

She ignored that. “I’ve been dying to read it all the way home, but I waited. So go on, open it.”

Theodore was briefly tempted to do something shocking and infuriating, like tucking the letter in his breast pocket and saying he would read it later, or even tossing it in the fire.

Both ideas were vaguely nauseating. If Henry was in dire trouble, he would write to him, Theodore was sure, not to the woman he had jilted at the altar.

Wouldn’t he? Theodore had always made it clear that Henry could come to him, his older brother, in times of need.

Hadn’t he? Surely Henry must have known. They were brothers, after all, no matter how much they disliked each other. If one couldn’t rely on a brother, who could one rely on?

Silencing his doubts, Theo tore open the envelope, revealing a few spiky paragraphs, hastily written.

“Go on,” Anna said, breaking the silence. “Read it aloud.”

“‘ My dearest Anna,’ ” Theo began, his voice clipping over the use of dearest , “‘ I know how much you must hate me. Frankly, I deserve it. The truth is, I could not condemn you to a life with me. Friendship and marriage are two entirely different things, and I wish I could make you see that.

I want love, and I want it for you, too. I just know that you cannot find love with me. I have used you ill, and I wouldn’t blame you for never forgiving me, although I pray nightly that you can find it in your heart to rise above what I have done to you and that we can be friends once again. I don’t dare to hope.

I’m well, and I’m comfortable enough, and I hope that you are too. I haven’t included an address, but once I am settled, I will let you know where I am. I hope that you and Beatrice are able to visit—if you can forgive me.

Your Friend (still, I hope!), Henry.’ ”

There was a brief pause after he finished reading the letter. Pursing his lips, Theodore ran his eyes over the hastily penned letter once more, searching for clues or information that he might have missed.

“That was a thoughtless letter,” he said, at last. “Henry has always been that way, I’m afraid.”

“He doesn’t mean to be hurtful,” Anna said, her voice hushed. “He doesn’t understand.”

“He’s old enough to understand,” Theodore shot back. “Any fool knows that leaving a woman at the altar and running away is cowardly and likely to reflect worse on her than on him.”

Anna flinched at that, and once again, Theodore wished he’d been more careful with his words. Too late, of course. Once one had said something, there was no stuffing the words back into one’s mouth, and the only choice was to move on with grace.

“This is all my fault, you know,” she said, her voice low, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her.

Anna had sunk down onto the trunk at the bottom of Theo’s bed. She hunched over, staring off into space, looking so thoroughly miserable that Theodore realized belatedly that he couldn’t simply walk away from her.

“Your fault? How so?”

She drew in a breath, closing her eyes. “I bullied him into marrying me.”

After a moment’s consideration, Theo stepped closer to Anna, dropping into a crouch so that they were at eye level. Reluctantly, she glanced at him.

“Let me tell you this, my dear,” he said, at last. “Men are not bullied into marriage. The world is designed to benefit men, let us not deny that. Henry is not a weak man. He is rather too kind, in my opinion, and wants everybody to be happy and be pleased with him. You’re his friend, would you disagree with what I’ve said?”

Anna bit her lower lip. “No,” she said, her voice small. “But you don’t know the facts.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

She sucked in a breath, closing her eyes. “Henry didn’t want to marry me. He didn’t even suggest it. The idea was all mine. I know that he didn’t love me, and I didn’t love him. Not in a way a woman ought to love her husband, of course.”

Theodore didn’t bother to point out that he was her husband, and she didn’t seem particularly inclined to love him in the way a woman might love a man. He stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“I knew he was reluctant,” Anna admitted, at last. “I knew right from the start, but I pushed the matter. What sort of friend would do that? I knew he didn’t love me, not in that way, but it never seemed to matter. I talked and talked to him until he agreed. And now he’s had to flee the country. His reputation will never be the same. As for me, I’ve been able to claw back some respectability. I’ve even risen in the world a little…”

“More than a little, I should think,” Theodore said, peeved.

“… but Henry might never be able to come back home. All because I was thoughtless and selfish.”

She fell silent.

Theodore was quiet for a moment, contemplating what she had said. At last, he sighed and raked his hands through his hair, ruining the style Briggs had worked so hard on.

“The situation is not as dire as you think. Henry will be accepted back into Society. There will be tuts, and disapproving eye rolls, and a good deal of mockery. I suppose there are some more conservative families that will not have him in their homes, but I cannot think of any family in the highest circles that would exclude him, since he is my brother.

“Henry has made a mess, and perhaps you have some hand in it, yes. But he did not have to marry you. It was up to him to arrange the ceremony, secure the special license, and order the banns. He did all that, but he lost his courage at the very, very last moment. You are both to blame, I think, but Henry fled when you could not, and left you to face the music. Don’t feel too sorry for him.”

Anna bit her lip, and he hoped she was pondering his words. In the corner of the room, a grandfather clock began to chime, making her flinch.

Sighing, Theodore got to his feet.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this conversation,” he said heavily, “but do you intend on getting dressed before midnight? I would like to get to our hosts’ house before the guests leave.”

Anna gasped. “Oh, heavens, the party!”

She bounced to her feet and sprinted out of the room, leaving the door swinging.

Rolling his eyes, Theodore turned back to the looking glass.