Chapter 3

Bridget had never kept any secret from her sister, but the overheard conversation felt like something she simply could not share with Anna or anyone else. She lay awake in bed, thinking through all the possible solutions. Bridget could tell her father that she knew of his conversation with the Marquess of Thornton, but she was not sure how that would improve her situation. She had no means of repaying her father's debts.

She could speak to her mother, but Bridget suspected she would not receive the answer she wanted. Her practical mother would be, firstly, horrified. She would quickly see reason, though, and insist that marriage was—albeit somewhat disagreeable—a practical solution to their plight. Besides, it was not as if Bridget had an army of potential suitors willing to fight for her hand. She roughly rubbed her face and groaned.

"Are you well, my lady?" Elizabeth's soft voice came from the shadows.

Bridget furrowed her brow and shifted onto her forearms, squinting at the darkness. "Why are you still awake? The hour is late."

"I could not sleep. Hearing your distress, I thought to see if you were well."

Heat rushed to Bridget's face. She wondered if she was the reason that Elizabeth was unable to rest. The lady's maid slept in a chamber that was connected to Bridget's own, and Elizabeth slept lightly. Sound of Bridget's restlessness might travel quite easily through the walls.

"I am," Bridget said. "I was only thinking about… well, about what I discussed with Rose. About the marquess."

"Indeed?"

Bridget sat upright and drew her knees up to her chest. "I do not wish to marry him. He is so old, and I have never liked him. I know it is unkind to say."

She thought of the wedding night, too. Bridget was a virgin, as expected of a young lady, but that did not mean she was ignorant about what a man and woman were meant to do after their nuptials. The Marquess of Thornton expected an heir, too. If Bridget did not conceive one on their wedding night, she would be forced to endure many more amorous encounters with the man, and the thought made her stomach lurch.

"It is not unkind," Elizabeth replied gently. "You cannot help how you feel, only how you express those feelings."

"Like complaining to my lady's maid?" Bridget asked dryly.

"Sometimes, sharing one's concerns can achieve a certain clarity," Elizabeth replied. "Do you wish to share them? I can brew you some tea, perhaps."

"No, I could not bother you with that," Bridget said. "In truth, I… I do not even wish to share. Or maybe I do. It is difficult to say."

"Indeed!"

"I am upset because I can find no solution, save for what the marquess proposes," Bridget clarified.

Her thoughts went unbidden to the Duke of Hamilton. She shivered with delight, her toes curling into the bed when she thought of his intense gaze on her. He had been so handsome that she had almost forgotten her ruined dress, and when he spoke in that low timbre, Bridget had heard music. His voice was like the softest roll of thunder in a spring storm.

He would never wish to wed her, obviously, but she had felt attraction toward him, at least. That was far more feeling than the Marquess of Thornton had ever inspired in her. Besides, Rose had spoken of His Grace; he was distant, but not unkind. Bridget had not the faintest idea how the marquess behaved when he was at his estate and away from the prying eyes of the ton.

"Perhaps marriage to him would not be too dreadful," Elizabeth said. "He is honest about what he wants. That is more than can be said of some men."

His honesty was not especially appealing when she knew it would necessitate sharing his bed night after night. Once, the thought of such intimacy had filled Bridget with anticipation and delight. She had imagined that she would marry a man she loved and fall into his arms at night, delighting in their romantic entanglements.

Now, that fantasy seemed like nothing more than the silly dream of a girl who had awakened to a crushing reality.

"I suppose that is true," Bridget said reluctantly. "I am still not particularly fond of being sold like a brood-mare. Besides, the marquess has married before, and that marriage did not produce any heirs. Who is to say that I will?"

Elizabeth remained silent.

Bridget grimaced. If she could not bear Lord Thornton a son, how many times would he insist on trying to conceive? Could he even give her the pleasure she desired from such encounters? Bridget knew some physicians believed that a woman's pleasure was necessary to achieve pregnancy, but she could not fathom deriving any pleasure from sharing the bed of a man who was older than her own father.

"I am sure that all will be well, my lady," Elizabeth said at last.

Bridget knew her lady's maid said that only to comfort her. What else could she do? What could either of them do?

She fell back onto her bed, thinking about Rose's handsome guardian. She did not wish to wed a man whom she did not love, but marrying someone like him—who was handsome and nearer to her own age—seemed like a much better prospect than the Marquess of Thornton.

"Many ladies wed men who are much older than them," Bridget said.

"Indeed, they do," Elizabeth agreed.

"And surely, some of them are happy couples who delight in one another's company."

"I am sure, my lady."

Bridget tried to imagine that. She felt like a good daughter would hope for that. If she were better, she would confront her father about the overheard conversation and express her desire to fulfill his wishes by wedding the Marquess of Thornton. She would act as though she were delighted at her union, and she would hope that she and Lord Thornton might become friends.

But Bridget was not that better woman. She was a young lady with desires that did not involve marrying that man.

"Have you any desire to wed?" Bridget asked.

Elizabeth hummed. "I have thought of it on occasion," she replied, "but I do not wish to marry soon. I enjoy being your lady's maid too much to relinquish the position for marriage."

"You can marry for love," Bridget said, trying not to sound bitter. "You can marry any man you desire."

"Well, that does not mean that any man would agree," Elizabeth said, "but I could ask any man that I like. That is certainly true."

Bridget frowned and tried to imagine a life like Elizabeth's. The potential disgrace of becoming a governess still echoed in her ears. Would that disgrace be bearable if it meant that she could, someday, marry the man she desired? Bridget swallowed hard, her mind set adrift with the most salacious fantasies of being a governess and attracting the attentions of a stern and handsome lord. She imagined heated glances and fleeting touches, the scandalous wedding, and the night where they consummated and she reached that height of bliss she had only ever heard of achieving.

"Someday, I hope that you can wed a man who truly loves you," Bridget said. "You deserve to be happy."

"You do, also," Elizabeth replied. "It may be too bold of me to say, my lady, but you deserve happiness. Surely, if there is any justice in the world, you will find it. I cannot imagine someone as kind as you being doomed to a dreadful marriage."

Bridget forced a smile. "Thank you, Elizabeth. You are very thoughtful. I believe that I wish to sleep now. I am to attend the Duke of Hamilton's ball tomorrow, and I do not wish to arrive looking as though I have experienced an entirely restless night."

"Of course, my lady," Elizabeth said, "but fear not. I shall ensure that you look as lovely as always."

"I know."

Bridget turned onto her side and stared at the curtained window of her bedchamber. She heard Elizabeth's light steps as she also returned to bed. Despite her lady's maid's kind words, Bridget could not make herself believe them. The situation was utterly hopeless, and someday soon, her father would inform her of his intentions to wed her to the Marquess of Thornton. All Bridget could do was enjoy her freedom while she had it.

She imagined the marquess's hands on her the night of her wedding. Would he be gentle and speak to her as if he truly saw her as a young lady, or would he be quick and cold about the whole affair? There was no indication that he believed she had any value besides her ability to produce an heir for him.

Bridget squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. If she married Lord Thornton, her father's debts would be paid. Anna might even have the chance to marry for love. Bridget tried to decide if she was noble enough to sacrifice her own happiness for her sister's potential love match.

She ought to be. Bridget felt as though she ought to be many things, though. She contemplated those questions until the early hours of the morning, when she heard Elizabeth waking.

"Good morning, my lady," Elizabeth said. "Did you manage to find sleep, after all?"

Bridget laughed. "I did," she lied. "Thank you."

It was fortunate that Elizabeth was such an efficient lady's maid, uncommonly skilled with cosmetics and hairstyling. If Bridget could not be happy, she could at least ensure that she looked acceptable at the ball that evening.

Chapter 4

Anthony rubbed his eyes, staring morosely at the ledgers spread over his desk. He felt as though he were drowning beneath the mound of papers. The numbers on all the papers had begun to blur together in his mind.

Although his predecessor had died three years ago, those years had been so chaotic that Anthony had yet to really immerse himself in the affairs of the dukedom. The previous Duke of Hamilton, Anthony's uncle Frederick, had been what the ton politely called an eccentric, and his papers reflected the appropriateness of such a term. His ledgers were in complete disarray and often seemed written as if they were intended only for his uncle's eyes.

His uncle's death had been sudden, and it had taken Anthony some time to adjust to his new role. The previous Duke of Hamilton had been a young man, and his wife, Catherine, had been in good health. Everyone had anticipated an heir would soon arrive. None had, however. Then Lady Rose's father had died, and the young woman had become his ward.

Anthony would have been content to let Lady Victoria manage his cousin's Seasons, but it quickly became apparent that Lady Victoria was a woman with delicate nerves and one who had not been involved in the ton's affairs for decades. She was ill-equipped to see a young woman's prospects on the marriage mart.

There was a light knock on the door of his study. "Come in!" Anthony called.

Kitty, the maid, opened the door and curtsied. "Lady Victoria has arrived for you."

"Escort her to me."

"Of course, Your Grace."

After she left, Anthony ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He supposed that he should have expected his aunt's arrival. The Dowager Duchess of Hamilton had wanted to host a ball, and Anthony had seen the wisdom in the decision. A ball would be a good opportunity to show the ton that he was an effective and prosperous duke, which would mean better suitors for Lady Rose. Even better, Her Grace had suggested that she do all the planning, which meant Anthony would not have to devote any time to preparing for the festivities. Of course, she would have told Lady Victoria; they were family by marriage.

Anthony took a steadying breath. He sympathized with her grief. Truly, he did. It was only that he had never been a man who was good at comforting others. Tears made him anxious and uneasy, and with women especially, he always felt as though he would say something wrong and worsen their distress.

The door to his study opened again, and Kitty curtsied. Behind her, he saw his aunt. Once, Lady Victoria had been a great beauty, and she held her age well. At five-and-forty years, she was as tall and slender as the stem of a daffodil. Her eyes were blue and her hair gold, just like her daughter's. If one looked at the lady for only a moment, they would think her lovely, indeed. It was only upon closer inspection that one noticed the dark shadows that lingered beneath her eyes and the thinness of her face, neither of which had been present when her husband still lived. She still wore black.

Anthony stood. "My dear aunt," he said. "I had not realized that you would be visiting."

"Your Grace," she said, curtseying. "It was a rather impulsive decision of mine. I knew you would forgive me for it."

She laughed a little at the jest and smiled at him. Anthony gestured towards the seat across from him.

"You are quite right, my lady. I am delighted to see you, and I do forgive you." That was not entirely true; the past few years had caused Anthony to develop a particular aversion to unexpected events. "We have much to discuss. Kitty, will you fetch tea and biscuits? I am sure Lady Victoria would delight in some refreshments."

Kitty curtsied and departed. Anthony led Lady Victoria to the chair and waited until she was seated before returning to his own place behind his desk. "Lady Rose will be delighted to see you," he said. "She had just mentioned that she was preparing her wardrobe for the Season."

"Preparing it now?" Lady Victoria asked. "Why, that should have happened months ago."

Anthony chuckled anxiously. "She has a few gowns for the Season's earliest events," he clarified. "She could do with a few more, though."

"That is good," Lady Victoria said. "No matter! I shall help her procure what she needs, and I have no doubt that we will find her a husband this Season."

Anthony nodded. He hoped they did. If Lady Rose married, she would no longer be his ward. It was not as though he disliked his cousin. She was pretty and kind enough. He had no daughters of his own, though. Nor did he have a wife. Anthony had not the faintest idea what he ought to do to prepare a young lady for her Season.

Lady Victoria could be helpful in that regard, but he could not really depend on her. She had already made a habit of fleeing unexpectedly, something that always won his sympathy but that also made Anthony hesitant to assign her the task of ensuring Lady Rose's success that Season. The dowager duchess was seldom better in that regard; she enjoyed being a widow and had a tendency to disappear to Scotland or Wales in flights of fancy.

At the moment, though, it seemed Anthony had the cheerful version of Lady Victoria, the one who was determined to see her daughter successfully wed to a gentleman.

"Her Grace extended an invitation to the ball for me," Lady Victoria said. "Why, I can scarcely remember the last time I attended a ball!"

"I imagine it has been some time," Anthony replied, treading carefully. He did not want to say anything that might remind Lady Victoria of her deceased husband.

"I assume you intend on accompanying Rose as her chaperone?" Lady Victoria asked. "It would be beneficial, I think, if you were to attend the ball with her."

Anthony nodded. "I did intend on acting as her chaperone, yes."

He had not thought much about his duty to ensure that Lady Rose found a husband at the ball, though. Anthony had not considered the occasion much beyond it being yet another duty that he was expected to fulfill. His thoughts drifted to Lady Rose's friend, the beautiful Lady Bridget.

Perhaps she would be at the ball. Anthony felt a tightness between his legs when he thought of the young lady with her flushed face and the mud staining the hem of her gown. She would look even more exquisite if she were in attendance at the ball. Anthony had always had an appreciation for women in all their finery, for the way that the candlelight of ballrooms traced the delicate lines of their bodies.

"I am pleased to hear it," Lady Victoria said, dragging Anthony's thoughts way from Lady Bridget. "I am uncertain if I will attend yet, but I have brought a fine gown with me just in case."

"Of course," Anthony said.

"Well, I see your attention is otherwise occupied," Lady Victoria said, her face softening. "My William spent many evenings just like this, surrounded by papers and books. He liked his solitude during such times."

Anthony smiled politely. Lady Victoria stood and set her shoulders, just as Kitty entered with the tea and biscuits. Anthony offered the maid an apologetic glance.

"Lady Victoria, perhaps, you wish to speak with your daughter? I believe that she is usually practicing the pianoforte at this time."

"Indeed!" Lady Victoria's expression brightened. "I wish to see which gown she is considering for the ball."

"Kitty, take the tea to the drawing room for Lady Victoria and Lady Rose," Anthony said.

"At once, Your Grace."

Lady Victoria clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, this will be simply wonderful!"

Anthony managed to keep smiling until his aunt was well out of sight. Only then did he let his expression relax. His muscles remained tense, and the cause of them was readily identifiable: Lady Bridget. He raked his hands through his hair and shifted in his seat, adjusting his trousers. How embarrassing to be affected so! He was not a young man any longer, and he had far more important matters to think about than Lady Bridget.

When he thought of placing his hands on her waist, gathering handfuls of her sodden skirts, and pulling the gown away—bearing her body to the eyes of London—it nearly undid him. Anthony groaned. He had best be careful around Lady Bridget. Anthony had had no desire to wed after Anastasia's passing, but that did not mean he was as adept at resisting the desires of the flesh.

Very careful, indeed, he thought.

The last thing he wanted to do was dishonor a young lady, especially the dearest friend of his new ward.

Want to read the rest of the story? Check out the book on Amazon !

Also, please turn the page to find a special gift from me!