Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Anthony Langley, the Duke of Hamilton, did indeed look at what his driver had done. Beside his ward, Lady Rose, stood the most charming creature he had ever seen in his life. The young lady was tall and slender and clad in what must have been an elegant blossom gown before his driver had covered it in mud and water.

"Is it what have I done ?" Anthony asked, looking at Lady Rose. "Or who have I done it to?"

Lady Rose tipped her chin up in that familiarly imperious way that she had. "This is my friend, Lady Bridget."

"The Duke of Norfolk's daughter," Anthony mused.

Lady Rose spoke often of Lady Bridget, but Anthony hadn't realized how beautiful the lady was.

"Yes," Lady Rose said. "Bridget, this is my guardian, the Duke of Hamilton."

Lady Bridget curtsied. "A pleasure, Your Grace."

"I suspect that is not entirely true," he said, his gaze fixed on the sodden hem of the lady's dress. "I am told that it is poor manners to greet a lady by covering her in mud."

"I am sure that a laundress can remove the stains," Lady Bridget said.

"I am less certain," he replied.

"We shall see."

Her eyes were not the soft, spring-green color of his own; Lady Bridget's eyes were instead green and gold, like some precious gemstone. He took her hand in his own, never once dropping his gaze from her lovely face.

"I shall buy you another gown, equally as lovely, just in case the laundress does not succeed. Please, accept my sincerest apology for the staining of your gown. I am certain that it was entirely accidental on the part of my driver."

He placed a gentle, formal kiss against her knuckles. Her silk glove was soft against his lips, and he fancied that Lady Bridget uttered a small gasp in response to the gesture. Heat curled inside Anthony's chest. Even though Lady Bridget wore silk gloves, he could have sworn her pulse quickened with his touch. He had a dangerous thought of removing her gloves and stroking her delicate wrist, tracing a path all the way up to her shoulder. She was so soft and slight.

It took all the strength of Anthony's will not to let his gaze sweep over the rest of Lady Bridget's body. Even the fleeting glimpse that he had allowed himself as he descended from the carriage spoke of delightful curves.

"You are most generous, Your Grace," Lady Bridget said.

He reluctantly relinquished her hand. "I endeavor to be, my lady."

"We shall have to visit the modiste soon," Lady Rose interrupted cheerfully.

Lady Bridget's gaze snapped to her friend, and Anthony smothered a surge of frustration. Perhaps it was for the best that Lady Rose had distracted him, though. He had not felt such attraction for a young lady since Anastasia.

Those were the sorts of feelings that were best left pondered in the dead of night in his study, preferably with a decanter of brandy. Certainly, they were not the thoughts he ought to explore in the daylight and in the company of two young ladies.

"Indeed," Anthony said. "But it is time that we depart, Lady Rose."

Lady Rose embraced her friend, and Anthony noted how rosy Lady Bridget's cheeks were. She blushed like a flower opening to the sun, a delicate wash of pink spreading across her milk-white skin. As Lady Rose climbed into the carriage, Anthony could not resist giving Lady Bridget a final, lingering smile.

"Until next time, my lady."

Then he entered the carriage and seated himself across from Lady Rose and her lady's maid, Francesca.

The carriage set off. Anthony hoped that no more gowns ended up being casualties of John's driving. It really was not the man's fault, though. Anthony had not taken residence in London in some time. It was forgivable that his driver might have forgotten how uneven some of the roads were.

"You must purchase her another dress quickly," Lady Rose said. "With the coming Season, it will be difficult to find a modiste who is available if you do not make haste. Bridget must look exceptionally beautiful this Season."

Anthony arched an eyebrow. Exceptionally beautiful? Lady Bridget was already exceptionally beautiful, even stained in mud with fury reddening her face.

"And why is this Season so special?" Anthony asked, feigning disinterest. "Has Lady Bridget decided to find a husband this year?"

Lady Rose glanced at Francesca, as if she suspected that her lady's maid might reveal some secret. "She has resolved to find a love match," Lady Rose said, "and I intend to ensure that happens this Season!"

"A love match, and you intend to ensure that it happens in a matter of months?" Anthony mused. "That is a lofty aim. It is my understanding that love seldom follows such a predictable course."

He felt a sharp pang of loss in his chest when he said that. Anthony looked askance, carefully schooling his features into a mask of cold indifference. If Lady Rose noticed any distress, she would ask why he was so upset, and if he refused to provide a satisfactory answer, she would persist. People always did, especially in the ton. They expected to have every secret and could be utterly callous in their pursuit for knowledge.

Anastasia was his ghost and his alone. She was not something that needed to be unraveled or unburied by someone else.

"It will for Bridget," Lady Rose said firmly.

Anthony remembered how he had trembled when he kissed her hand and the way her body had responded—her pulse jumping and her face reddening. She seemed receptive to a man, and certain parts of his long-neglected anatomy twitched at the memory of her.

"And why are you so certain?" he asked.

"Because she must!" Lady Rose exclaimed. "Yes, Bridget will find her love match this Season, and everything will be wonderful."

Anthony stared at his dreamy-eyed ward, unsure what to make of such a wild declaration.

"And does Lady Bridget know that you have resolved to find her a love match this Season?" he asked. "You speak as if she does not."

Lady Rose bit her lip and fidgeted with her skirts. "Well, she does not know yet, but that is because I have only just thought about this plan. I will tell her soon, and I believe she will think the idea is wonderful."

"How do you intend on making this plan work?" Anthony asked, more confused by the moment.

It had been some time since he had enjoyed the company of the fairer sex, and both Lady Rose and her friend were at least a decade younger than he was. Perhaps he simply did not know how young ladies behaved anymore, but this plan seemed strange to him. Besides, it was not as if Lady Bridget was anywhere near spinsterdom; she had a few Seasons left, at least, until marriage would be a necessity.

"Details," Lady Rose said, waving a dismissive hand.

Anthony knew that gesture meant that she did not have an answer. He was unsurprised to discover that Lady Rose did not have a real plan conceptualized. Love was not something that one could plan for; it was illogical and unpredictable, often refusing to follow neat and expected patterns. Somehow, that made it even stranger that Lady Rose had just taken it upon herself to find Lady Bridget's love match that Season.

"Is there any particular reason your friend cannot find her own love match?" Anthony asked.

"Of course she can," Lady Rose said, "but Bridget is… selfless. She always thinks of others before herself, so she may need some help in finding a suitable match."

"I see."

He did not really. Anthony wondered if he was becoming old. Having a young ward thrust upon him had certainly made him feel as though he had aged a few decades in the past year. Lady Rose was the sole reason he had returned to London.

As her guardian, it was Anthony's duty to ensure she received a proper Season and invitations to all the lavish balls. He would be expected to help her find acceptable suitors and to ensure that her reputation remained intact. He remembered too well another young lady, many years before. Her guardian had been careless in his duty, and that young lady had found herself ensnared in an unhappy marriage.

Anthony still felt the faint throb of guilt for his role in that young lady's loveless life, and he could not let Lady Rose emerge from her second Season with a ruined reputation. It all sounded terribly tiresome, but an honorable man would bear such a burden with grace. If he was not honorable, he was conscientious, so he had returned from his self-imposed solitude in the country.

"You should purchase her a gown better than the one you ruined," Lady Rose continued, her expression brightening. "It is only fair."

"Fair would be purchasing a gown of the same price and quality."

Lady Rose shook her head. "No, but that was Bridget's favorite gown! It will be just like a fairy tale when she enters the first ball of the Season. Like Cinderella!"

Anthony stared at her for a long moment. He was beginning to suspect there was something Lady Rose was not telling him. Perhaps this seemingly absurd plan was not merely the product of a young romantic mind but instead something else entirely. He could not imagine what that might be, though.

"Well," Anthony said, "you and Lady Bridget may decide on the gown. Make your arrangements with the modiste and purchase her whatever you wish. I cannot have the lady perceiving me as uncharitable, after all."

"No, of course not!" Lady Rose looked rather pleased with herself, as though she had just emerged victorious from some game that only she knew how to play. "I will be certain that she does not think that."

Anthony let out a low breath of air. Being around Lady Rose's tireless energy exhausted him sometimes. He felt the usual longing for the silence of his study. "I trust that you have already made arrangements for your own wardrobe this Season?" he asked. "If not, I can enlist your mother's aid."

Lady Rose looked askance, and Anthony's face softened in sympathy. His aunt, Lady Rose's mother, had always been a strong and passionate woman, but her husband's death had broken something deep within her. Some days, Lady Victoria was fine, if a little melancholic. Other days, she was inconsolable. Her grief was sharp and unpredictable.

"No," Lady Rose said. "There is no need to bother my mother with something so trivial. I am capable of procuring my own wardrobe."

She said that, but they both knew Lady Rose had little experience in procuring her own wardrobe. Her first Season had been a hasty affair, nearly an afterthought. Lady Rose was not as polished as the other ladies, and her only friend was Lady Bridget. She was a lawyer's daughter and had been raised like one with little thought given to her aristocratic blood.

Anthony cleared his throat. "I know it has been difficult for you. You have handled everything most admirably."

Lady Rose hummed. "I do not recall having a choice save for to bear it gracefully."

"That is the way of the ton," Anthony said. "I do understand some of it, just… just so you know."

He was terrible at comforting people, especially women. Anthony suddenly worried that Lady Rose might cry, and he would not have the faintest idea what to do then. Still, it felt right to persist and reassure her that he did understand grief, at least.

"I know what it is like to live and pretend that all is well when you are grieving," he continued. "I know how terrible it is, and I am sorry you must bear that weight at such a young age."

"I know you do."

He frowned.

Lady Rose sighed. "Mother told me about… about Lady Anastasia."

"Ah."

"I am dreadfully sorry," Lady Rose said.

"As am I," Anthony replied.

A heavy silence fell between them, broken at last by Lady Rose's audible swallow. "Does the grief ever lessen?"

"Not in my experience," Anthony said, "but you learn to bear it better. I suppose we must be grateful for small mercies."

Lady Rose nodded and turned her head toward the window. The cheerful and romantic young woman from earlier was gone, in her place a soft and pensive creature. Anthony glanced at her a moment longer. He did not understand young women, but he understood the need to distraction in the face of loss. If Lady Rose wanted to devote herself to some bizarre quest to find Lady Bridget a love match, who was he to discourage her?