Chapter 7 #2
In private…
The words hung in the air like a ghost.
“In public,” he continued, “you will be entirely committed to your fiancé. Right now, every person in this room who has eyes is looking at you. Rumors will spread.”
“They were watching one dance.”
“They were watching how you look at him,” he countered. “I know you and Celia have been galivanting with him and his child.”
She said nothing.
“Do not embarrass me,” he warned. “Do not embarrass yourself. And do not…” He paused. “Entertain any ideas about the Duke. Lambridge is what you have.” He stepped back. “Go and find him.”
He left.
Anne stood in the corner for a moment. She turned toward the center of the room, where Lambridge was visible through the crowd, speaking to someone with the full force of his self-satisfaction.
She thought about going to him. She thought about the long vista of evenings like this one, extending in all directions from where she stood. She thought about the balcony, a much better prospect, and off she went.
The night air was cool and slightly damp with the promise of rain. It was infinitely better than the stuffy, candlelit interior of her future home.
Anne shivered at the thought.
She stood at the stone railing and looked out at the dark garden, taking a deep breath. Then the door opened, and Lambridge stepped out.
“Ah…” He was smiling. “Here you are.”
“I wanted some air,” she said. “I’ll come back in shortly—”
“No rush.” He approached her. “We ought to have a moment to ourselves this evening. It’s our ball, after all.”
He stopped next to her and then wrapped his arm around her, his fingers straying where they shouldn’t.
“Lord Lambridge,” she urged, “we should go back inside.”
“We’re engaged, my dear.” His voice was pleasant. So carefully, deliberately pleasant. “I do not think a moment alone is scandalous.”
“Propriety requires that we—”
“Propriety is for public consumption. Not here, dear.”
He was very close now, and his hand had come to rest on her upper arm. His grip was different from her uncle’s. While her uncle’s grip was controlling, this was something else entirely.
“You’ve been delightful this evening, and the color has returned to your cheeks with the fresh air. It is exactly as I required. I think that deserves a small reward. Don’t you, pet?”
She stepped to the right. He stepped with her.
“Come now,” he purred.
“I’m going back inside,” she said.
“In a moment.” His hand moved, and she turned.
He took a step forward, backing her up against the railing. It was then that she understood the nature of the situation.
“No,” she gritted out.
“Do not be dramatic.”
She stepped to the left. His other hand came up and caught her waist.
“I’m throwing a ball in your honor.” The pleasantness had left his voice entirely. “I expect—”
Before she realized what she had done, she slapped him. The sound of it was sharp and final in the quiet night air, echoing through the garden below.
He stepped back. The pleasantness was entirely gone now. She did not like his expression. It was as if he were a snake and she were his prey.
“How dare you!”
“Let go of me,” she hissed.
“You will—”
“Let. Go.”
He grabbed her arm instead.
She pulled, but he held on.
She was deciding what to do next when the balcony door opened.
William had not been looking for her. He had been standing near the wall, in a bid to avoid conversation, thinking about nothing. Yet, he had noticed that Anne was no longer in the room. He had quickly noticed that Lambridge was no longer in the room.
He moved toward the balcony doors and pushed them open, only to find her backed against the railing. Lambridge’s hand was on her arm. William noticed the rigidity of her posture, the stillness, the defiance.
He crossed the balcony in four strides. Lambridge heard him coming and turned. William’s fist connected with his jaw before he had fully turned. Lambridge staggered back against the railing before catching himself.
William stood between him and Anne. “The lady told you to let go.” His voice was very quiet.
He found, in these situations, that quiet was considerably more effective than noise.
“You…” Lambridge drew himself up, reaching for the entitled outrage that was apparently his default state in crisis. “You have no right, duke or not. You have no standing here. She is mine.”
“Your Grace…” Anne trailed off.
“Miss Barnet,” William said, without turning. He did not want to give Lambridge his back yet.
“This has nothing to do with you,” Lambridge barked.
“She is a guest in your house,” William said, “and you have laid hands on her against her will. That makes it my business as a gentleman.”
“We are engaged!”
“That does not give you any right to touch her against her will,” William said, in the same quiet voice. “Even if you’re engaged. Even if you’re married. Not under any circumstance that I am aware of.” He held Lambridge’s gaze. “If you approach her again, I will not stop at one strike.”
Lambridge looked at him the way everyone always looked at him. But this time, William liked it.
“This engagement is over,” Lambridge sneered.
He was recovering his dignity, or trying to.
He pulled at his coat. “This engagement is over, and I want you both out of my house.”
“My L-Lord—” Anne stammered.
“This engagement is over.” Lambridge looked at her, his face contorting with anger. “You can find another poor fool to take you on. I’m done.” He turned his gaze to William. “And you, whatever you think you’ve accomplished here, you’ve made an enemy.”
“Truly,” William said with a snarl, “you dare think that you can threaten me?”
Lambridge went inside, and the balcony doors clicked shut behind him. The night air filled the space he’d vacated with a rattled peace.
Anne was very still as he turned to her.
“Are you hurt?” William asked softly, his hands cupping her cheeks.
“No.” Her voice was steady. “No, I am… I am quite alright.” A pause. “Thanks to you.”
He lowered his hands and looked down at her.
She was leaning against the railing now, composed, her hands clasped in front of her, almost in prayer.
There was a darkening bruise on her arm where Lambridge had grabbed her, though she probably was not aware of it.
Yet, she was not trembling, and her gaze was clear.
“You should…” She pressed her lips together. “You have ruined everything.”
He looked at her.
“I know that sounds… I know what you did and why, and I am grateful, truly. But…” She exhaled. “Lambridge will tell people. He will tell people his version of the story, and my uncle will—Heavens!” she gasped. “Celia! He’ll send her to a convent. He told me he would. Oh, I can’t!”
“Your uncle has no authority over me,” William said.
He was not certain when the thought had formed. But it had been forming for several weeks. In the park, on Bond Street, at the garden party, over chess games where Felicity said things he was not paying attention to because he was, apparently, paying attention to other things.
It had been forming in the long quiet of his study when his thoughts refused to settle. He had a daughter who was lonely, and there was a woman who was trapped, and there was a child who was in danger of being sent away for the crime of saying what she felt.
These were the facts, but not the only reasons.
“Marry me,” he demanded.
The ensuing silence was absolute. Anne stared at him.
“You need protection,” he said. “You have it within your power to tell your uncle that you have received a better offer, which you have. Celia is welcome in my house. Felicity has been asking for nothing else since May. You have what I need, which is…” He chose his words carefully.
“I need what you have been for both of them in the past weeks—stability, warmth, someone who cherishes family.” He held her gaze.
“And you need someone who can keep your uncle from sending you back to Lambridge or anywhere else you do not wish to go.”
“You do not know me,” she protested. “It has only been a few weeks of brief acquaintance. I cannot impose!”
“I know enough.”
“You do not—We have barely—”
“It is a practical arrangement,” he reasoned. “You are not required to feel anything about it that you do not feel. It is that simple.”
She looked at him for a long moment. In the light from the ballroom windows, her face was a study. He could see the calculation, the fear. He could see her considering his offer.
He waited, because he had learned that some decisions needed to be made in silence.
“Celia,” she said.
“Celia.” He nodded. “She comes with you. Always will be cared for, I swear it.”
Another long pause.
“All right,” Anne sighed.
The doors to the balcony opened again, before her uncle stepped out and saw them. His expression cycled rapidly from assumption to calculation to the particular outrage that could not be expressed in public.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, and he shook his head. “What in the…? Lambridge tells me the engagement is—Oh, Anne, what have you done?”
“Lord Kirklow.” William turned to him. He kept his voice level and cool. “Your niece has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.”
Lord Kirklow stopped. He looked at Anne, then at William, then back again.
William could practically see the cogs turning in the man’s head. He was a duke, of higher rank than Lambridge. Higher rank by a considerable margin.
“I am… well…” Lord Kirklow blinked, gathering himself. “Yes, of course, I…” He smiled. It was the largest smile William had yet seen from him, which was saying something. “I could not be more pleased. More delighted. My dear Anne!”
He opened his arms to embrace her, and she went to him. Then he turned to William with the full warmth of a man who had just made the best deal of his life.
“Your Grace, I give my blessing most wholeheartedly. Yes, this is… Most capital!”
“I will handle the arrangements,” William said curtly. “I’ll obtain a special license. There’s no need for the usual delay. We’ll marry within the week.”
Lord Kirklow did not object. William had not expected him to.
The man nodded earnestly. He was practically vibrating. “Splendid,” he said. “Splendid. Very good.” He looked at Anne with a shrug. “I’ll leave you to—yes, splendid.” He then went back inside.
William looked at Anne.
“He agreed immediately,” she breathed.
“Yes.”
“He didn’t… He didn’t even ask about settlements or anything of substance.”
“I imagine he’ll get around to it.”
“He was terrified of Lambridge, and now he’s delighted by you.” She seemed to be processing this. “Because of your rank.”
“Yes.”
“That’s…” She stopped. “That is quite useful, Your Grace.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I should…” She looked at the doors. “We should go back inside. We should be seen. Together, and proper.” She looked at him, and there was something in her green eyes he could not read. “You are quite certain about this?”
“Yes,” he replied.
She nodded before straightening her gloves and moving toward the door.
“Thank you.” She paused. “For everything.”
He held the doors open for her with a nod. There was nothing left to say. She stepped inside, and he followed.
Behind him, the night air carried the scent of the garden, and ahead of them, the ballroom blazed with its three hundred candles.
Somewhere inside, Lord Woodworth was about to discover that his best friend was engaged to be married, and was going to have a very great deal to say about it over drinks at White’s.
I do not mind at all.
That was the thought that came to him as he stepped into the light. Quick and unexpected. He filed it away for another time, or never.
He offered his arm to Anne. She took it, and they walked in together.
Every head in the room turned to look. The candlelight felt so bright, as if they were on a stage.
Yet, Anne held herself straight and kept her chin up.
She was a vision, despite everything she had just endured at Lambridge’s hands.
She did not look at William, but her hand in the crook of his arm was warm and delicate. He let himself notice that, just that.
And his heart beat a bit faster.