Chapter Six
Laurence did not know why he had decided to come to Vauxhall Gardens. Perhaps it was because he knew that the friends he might see at the club or even at a ball would be less likely to be at Vauxhall, especially this late in the Season.
Perhaps he was avoiding them, secluding himself even among the hubbub of the London season.
Or perhaps it was simply that the promise to his father weighed upon his mind, and since this was the place where it had happened, he somehow felt closer to his father by being here.
Whatever the reason, he knew he needed a drink, and so he stalked through the crowds to the refreshment table.
In the middle of the melee, he spotted Oliver Carrington, wearing a pained expression, and that pretty redheaded sister of his looking unusually pale.
He changed direction slightly, so that he might avoid them.
The last thing he was in the mood for was pleasant chitchat, especially with a man like Carrington, whom he did not even like.
As he sipped a glass of champagne and watched the gardens come to life, he remembered what Miss Carrington had said to him about the loss of her father and the grief she had been feeling, earlier in the Season.
He had felt sorry for her at the time and had tried to imagine how she must have felt, but he had been unable to truly empathize.
Well, now he certainly understood… And how he wished he didn’t.
Would he carry the pain of this loss forever?
Would it ease as time passed? They always said that time healed all wounds, but he struggled to see how he could ever look on life the same way without the man who had taught him everything he knew—who had always been in the background, ready with advice whenever it was wanted.
*
“What are you talking about?” Anastasia asked, stopping abruptly. The baron was still making his way toward them, and horror filled every pore of her body. This had to be a joke—some elaborate jest on her brother’s part. There was surely no way he could think…
“You are to marry Baron Brett,” Oliver said, and Anastasia could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “You will have a position, a title, money—don’t make a fuss about it.”
“I cannot,” Anastasia said. “I will not!” Her voice grew higher with every word, and she knew others around them could hear. The baron himself would soon be able to hear, but she could not control her anguish. “Oliver, you cannot be—”
“It is all arranged,” Oliver said through gritted teeth. “I told you that you needed a husband, and now I have found you one. You should be grateful.”
“He is old enough to be my father! And we have nothing in common! And the way he looks at me—”
“The man is attracted to you. You should take it as a compliment. That is a positive thing in a husband-to-be.”
“He will not be my husband,” Anastasia said, and as the baron reached them, she turned on her heel and ran.
*
Laurence was vaguely aware of some commotion in the center of the gardens, but he was more focused on trying to evade Lady Frindley, a widow with whom he’d had a liaison in the weeks before his father had died.
He had sent her word that he was leaving the city but had ignored any correspondence afterward, not wanting her to see it as an invitation to visit when he had no wish to socialize.
She had eyed him across the gardens and had immediately made a beeline for him, so he was trying to find somewhere he would not be found.
The point of his liaisons had always been that there were no expectations upon him. And while the lady certainly didn’t expect marriage, he rather thought she would anticipate that they would pick up where they had left off six months earlier.
But things had changed. He was no longer the carefree, responsibility-free Mr. Walsham he had been before. Now he was the viscount, with his father’s words ringing in his ears and a duty to marry and produce heirs to the title.
Would the widow appreciate that? Quite possibly. But it was not a conversation he wanted to have with her here, in the middle of a social event—his first such event since the death of his father.
And so he slunk away into the shadows, finding himself on the dark walk, where the lack of illumination gave him the opportunity to hide.
He had hidden there before, although always accompanied—but tonight, he slipped through unnoticed by amorous couples, wondering if coming out in society had been a mistake.
*
Tears blurred Anastasia’s vision as she moved through the crowd, aware that she was probably causing gossip but unable to care. How could Oliver possibly think she would happily marry Baron Brett? Had she not made her distaste for him apparent? Let alone the fact that they were so far apart in age?
And he had not even asked her… He had simply given the order and expected it to be obeyed.
She really was just a burden—something to be disposed of.
She was pleased when the crowd thinned, and she felt the eyes of scrutiny no longer upon her. The illuminations faded, and she found herself among trees and shrubs, with no light save for the moon to guide her. She stumbled, tears falling down her cheeks, and landed against something soft and warm.
“Watch where you’re going!” a voice said, and in horror, Anastasia realized she had stumbled across a couple in an amorous embrace.
She jumped away and ran further into this side of Vauxhall Gardens, which she had never seen before, rather shocked to find that there was more than one couple hidden away here, enjoying each other’s company in ways that certainly would not be permitted if society knew.
Or if society saw…which, she supposed, was the point of this dark, secluded place.
Had she been in her right mind, she might have considered that even being down this dark walk could be enough to ruin her reputation, but all she could think about was getting away from her brother and Baron Brett and trying to figure out what on earth she was meant to do now.
She did not think her brother could force her to marry him…
but he could certainly make her life very difficult if she refused.
Would he throw her out onto the streets?
Before, she would not have thought so. He’d had his cruel moments, over the years, but she’d always believed he cared for her enough not to see her homeless.
She also would not have thought that he would have arranged for her to marry a man without even asking her.
She was beginning to think that she did not know her brother at all.
She found a stone bench, mercifully unoccupied, and took a seat, shivering in her thin gown.
As soon as she sat down on the cold stone, tears poured down her face, and she hiccupped, unable to regain control.
Her life was over, ruined…and she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.