Chapter 15

Propped up in bed against a pile of pillows, Anthony stared at the wall and prayed Athena would soon return with a detailed report of her excursion. Hopefully, she’d met with success and eased whatever concerns Ada might have over his not showing up as promised.

He glanced at the clock. She’d been gone two hours. Why wasn’t she back yet?

Irritated by his lack of mobility and how dependent it made him on others, he considered the bell on his bedside table. What a useless tool that had proven to be since no one could hear it unless they were right outside his door.

The doctor’s opinion had not improved his mood. He had advised Anthony to remain off his feet for a minimum of three days. Until the swelling went down and his ankle no longer pained him.

Well, at least it wasn’t broken.

He huffed a breath and glared at the clock. Where was Athena?

And why wasn’t Mathis coming to check on him? His butler knew he couldn’t march across to the bell-pull if he needed something. Tea would be nice, for example. And perhaps a couple of sandwiches too. Thankfully the man had the presence of mind to send Miss Starling away when she’d stopped by a short while ago. If there was one thing his bed-ridden state was good for, it was avoiding her.

A knock at the door sounded and then Mathis entered. Finally.

He’d brought a tray with him. “Your Grace, I thought you might like a cup of hot tea and some sandwiches.”

Anthony grinned. The man was a bloody oracle. “You read my mind as usual.”

The hint of a smile tugged at his butler’s mouth. “I do try.”

He placed the tray on Anthony’s lap and poured the tea before setting the pot on the nightstand. When Anthony said he needed nothing else, Mathis withdrew and left him to enjoy his refreshment. It was precisely what he needed just then, and Cook was clearly aiming to please, for she’d used his favorite sandwich filling – roast beef and tomatoes.

The meal offered a little distraction and helped fill the next ten minutes. It also made him incredibly sleepy. He yawned but forced himself to remain awake so he’d know as soon as Athena returned. A book would help.

He picked up the next Jane Austen novel he’d chosen to read. Mathis had brought it up earlier and had placed it beside him on the bed next to his lap desk, in case he felt like writing some more. Anthony glanced at the leather-bound cover. Emma. Not a very creative title, but then again neither was Rob Roy.

He opened the book and proceeded to read, immersing himself in Miss Austen’s wit with an almost immediate chuckle. Emma Woodhouse promised to be a troublemaker, and he looked forward to seeing what sort of mischief she might get up to.

Sinking farther into his pillows, he read until the words started to blend together. He yawned again. Maybe he’d just close his eyes for a bit. He set the book down and allowed his eyes to slide shut. Resting for a few minutes would surely make him feel better.

A pleasant memory came to mind – of Ada serving him tea and biscuits in the cramped little room at the back of the book shop. He smiled while thinking of her and of all the wonderful possibilities meeting her last month had led to. As soon as he recovered, he’d take her for an ice at Gunther’s. Yes, that was how he’d proceed. By beginning with a dessert.

* * *

He hadn’t come. Ada’s mind was in turmoil. He’d not even sent a note.

She gazed out her bedchamber window at the overcast sky foreshadowing rain and drummed her fingers against the sill. Something must have happened. He wouldn’t just choose to ignore her like this after what they had shared. Would he?

No. She believed in him. It was imperative for her own peace of mind that she not allow Miss Starling’s visit yesterday afternoon to rattle her. All would be well. He’d promised and she was confident he was a man of his word.

But why hadn’t he called on her then?

Could he be ill? If that were the case he would surely have sent word so she wouldn’t worry. Which she was beginning to do, of course. Perhaps he’d been hurt, but she was still positive he’d have made sure that she was informed. Unless he’d been rendered unconscious. Or worse.

She must not think like that. It would only drive her mad.

But she also wouldn’t rest easy until she knew he was all right.

So she got out of bed, dressed, and prepared to go out.

“I’m going to inquire about Mr. Gibbs,” she informed Uncle James when she found him at the breakfast table.

He frowned. “I’m sure he’s fine, Ada. Give him a chance to stop by on his own. The last thing men want is to be harassed if they’re dealing with something important. And besides, it wouldn’t be appropriate, your calling on him by yourself.”

“You’re right, but I’m afraid I have no choice.” She sat, snatched a bread roll, and proceeded to eat it without bothering to add any butter or jam. “He said he’d stop by yesterday but he didn’t, which makes me very concerned.”

“Does this have something to do with that woman you mentioned?”

Ada had given her uncle a brief outline of Miss Starling’s visit without adding too many details, besides the fact that she believed herself to be betrothed to Anthony. Uncle James had insisted Ada speak with Anthony directly before drawing any conclusions. Which was pretty much what she herself had decided upon.

Only Anthony hadn’t arrived as planned, and she was getting increasingly anxious. What she needed was answers. “I’m sure all is well, but I cannot rest easy until I know why he failed to stop by. To ease your concern regarding propriety, I’ll take a few books – make it look like I’m there to deliver an order. I’ll be back soon enough. I promise.”

She stood, dropped a kiss on her uncle’s cheek, and left after putting together a makeshift parcel.

The walk to Berkley Square took less than half an hour. She arrived at the address he’d given her when he’d ordered the Jane Austen novels, and climbed the front steps, parcel in hand. Three loud knocks summoned a smartly dressed man with a grave expression. The butler, she surmised, although he was younger than what she’d expected.

She cleared her throat. “I’d like to speak with the Duke of Westcliffe please.”

“Do you have a card?” the man asked.

“Oh…um…I’m afraid not, but I’m sure he’ll agree to meet with me if you tell him Miss Quinn has stopped by with his delivery.”

The butler’s gaze swept the length of her body before returning to her face. “The duke is not at home right now. I’m happy to accept the delivery on his behalf.”

“Thank you, but I really must insist on handing it to him in person. Just to be sure he’s pleased with the binding.”

The butler gave her a curious look. “As I said, he’s not at home. I’ll be sure to let him know you called.”

Ada considered the butler’s words. If Anthony wasn’t at home, then why had he not come to see her? An awful possibility occurred to her. “Is he in the hospital by any chance?”

“I really can’t say where he is at the moment although—”

Someone descended the stairs behind the butler. Ada attempted to get a better look at who it might be – hopefully someone more willing to help.

“Is everything all right, Mathis?” The question was posed by a young woman who, Ada saw when Mathis turned just enough to glance in her direction, wore a very solemn expression.

“Yes, my lady. I was just—”

“Are you Westcliffe’s sister?” Ada asked, undeterred by the scowl she received from the butler.

“I’m Lady Penelope,” said the woman as she came to join the butler in the doorway. “And you are?”

“Miss Quinn. An acquaintance of your brother’s. That is…my uncle owns the bookshop he frequents. He’s placed several orders with us. As you can see, I’ve brought the latest one with me but…” Ada took a deep breath and quickly added, “He and I had an appointment yesterday but he didn’t show up, so I worried something might have occurred. I just want to be sure he’s all right. And to give him his order, of course.”

Lady Penelope’s eyebrows rose. She gave Ada the same sort of assessing look the butler had given before saying, “It’s all right, Mathis. Please, Miss Quinn, step inside if you will so we may speak for a moment.”

Relieved to have made some progress, Ada crossed the threshold and the front door was promptly shut behind her.

Mathis extended his hand. “May I take your bonnet, Miss Quinn?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” Lady Penelope told him. “I’m sorry, Miss Quinn but I am on my way out so this cannot take long. I merely wished to ease your concerns. My brother sprained his ankle the night before last and is mostly confined to his bed where he’s presently resting.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear it.” Ada glanced toward the stairs and wished she could climb them without any risk of the butler tackling her to the ground. Judging from the lack of recognition upon his face when she’d mentioned her name, however, she was a stranger to him and wouldn’t even have been admitted had it not been for Anthony’s sister.

“He has been advised to rest a few days,” Lady Penelope added.

“I wonder why he didn’t send word,” Ada said, thinking out loud. She shook her head and tried not to feel too neglected. “No matter. I’m just glad to know he’s all right.”

“If you leave the order with me, I’ll be sure he gets it,” Lady Penelope assured her.

Ada blinked. “Oh…um…” Wary of revealing her deception, she handed over the parcel containing Original Poems for Infant Minds by several young persons, and wondered what Anthony might make of it.

Lady Penelope glanced at the hallway clock. “I really must be off.”

“Of course. I shan’t take more of your time.” The front door was opened and Ada turned, prepared to depart, only to pause with a sudden need for further clarification. She turned to Lady Penelope. “I heard your brother might be planning to marry. Is that true?”

“News certainly travels fast, Miss Quinn. I didn’t think he’d told anyone besides my sister.” She looked a little put out, having apparently heard the news second hand. “But yes. It’s true, though I do hope I can count on your discretion. From what I gather, it’s all a bit hush-hush at the moment.”

It felt like the ground had opened beneath Ada’s feet and she was falling. She grabbed the doorjamb and held on tightly while attempting to steady herself. Her head was spinning and her stomach was now turning over. She felt distinctly unwell and feared she might be sick all over the front step if she didn’t manage to pull herself together.

“Miss Quinn,” said Mathis. “Are you all right?”

“Perhaps she ought to lie down for a bit in the parlor,” Lady Penelope said. “You can show her out when she’s feeling better.”

“No,” Ada shook her head and gulped down a breath. “I’m fine. Truly. Thank you for your time, my lady. I wish you a pleasant day.”

She turned and descended the front steps on wobbly legs. Miss Starling hadn’t been lying. Anthony had. And Ada felt like weeping. Or possibly screaming.

How could she have been so stupid? He’d swept her off her feet with such incredible ease from the very first second they’d met. And because he’d been charming and nice, she’d fallen for him. But she ought to have known better. Men like Anthony did not court women like her. They certainly didn’t marry them.

She started walking, putting one heavy foot in front of the other, willing herself to move past the sharp pang of grief she felt in the moment. By offering what had appeared to be friendship, he’d lulled her into a vulnerable state. She’d opened her heart and allowed him to kiss her, drawing her deeper into his web.

Furious with herself and with him, she wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t sprained his ankle or if she hadn’t learned of his plan to wed Miss Starling. In time, he might have succeeded in his attempt to seduce her while she kept telling herself they might have a future.

Well yes, they might, but it would be a destructive one, the sort Miss Starling had described as though such arrangements were normal. And perhaps they were for men like Anthony Gibbs, Duke of Westcliffe, who’d been raised to believe they could have whatever they wanted.

She clenched her teeth and stormed along the pavement, suddenly eager to get as far away from him as possible. For if today’s encounter with his sister had taught her anything, it was that he was not Mr. Darcy. He was Wickham, and she’d fallen into his trap without any resistance.