Chapter 4
Chapter Four
"Icannot believe you would be so reckless!"
Beatrice's voice filled the carriage with venomous fury the moment the door closed behind them. Anthea sat rigidly across from her stepmother, with Poppy and Veronica pressed on either side of her like trembling birds seeking shelter from a storm.
"Reckless?" Anthea repeated, her own anger simmering dangerously close to the surface. "I was protecting Poppy from your scheme."
"My scheme was perfectly orchestrated," Beatrice hissed, her face flushed with rage beneath her elaborate coiffure.
"I had arranged everything—the timing, the witnesses, the location.
Poppy would have been caught alone with the Duke, he would have been forced to offer for her, and we would have been saved from this interminable financial struggle.
But you—" She jabbed a finger at Anthea.
"You had to interfere. You had to insert yourself into the situation and ruin everything! "
"You mean Poppy would have been trapped in a marriage to a man she does not know," Anthea corrected coldly.
"As if that signifies!" Beatrice waved a dismissive hand.
"Every woman of quality marries a man she does not know.
That is how these matters are arranged. But now, instead of Poppy being caught with the Duke—my beautiful, biddable Poppy who would have made a perfect Duchess—you were caught with him.
You, the unmarriageable spinster with a tarnished reputation and no prospects whatsoever! "
Anthea's hands clenched in her lap. "I prevented a disaster."
"You created one!" Beatrice leaned forward, her eyes glittering with malice. "Now instead of Poppy being caught with the Duke, you were caught with him. You, the veritable shrew with a tarnished reputation and no prospects whatsoever. Do you have any idea what you have done?"
The words struck like physical blows, each one carefully aimed to wound. Anthea kept her expression impassive through sheer force of will, refusing to give Beatrice the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
"I have done nothing wrong," she said evenly. "The Duke and I were merely conversing when you and your friends burst in."
"Conversing," Beatrice repeated with a harsh laugh. "Is that what you call standing so close together that you might have been embracing? Oh, do not think I failed to notice, girl. You were practically in his arms."
We were arguing, Anthea thought furiously. Standing close because we were both too stubborn to back down from a confrontation. But she could hardly explain that without admitting to the strange, unwanted awareness that had hummed between them like a plucked violin string.
"Nothing improper occurred," she said instead.
"It matters not what actually occurred," Beatrice snapped. "It matters only what appeared to occur. And what appeared to occur was a young woman alone with a duke in a private room. The gossips will be talking about this for weeks."
"Then let them talk," Anthea said, lifting her chin. "They have talked about me before. I survived it then. I shall survive it now."
"Ah yes, your previous scandal," Beatrice said with cruel satisfaction. "Though we have never confirmed what actually happened, have we? Some servant's gossip about an elopement that never was. But this, this shall be confirmed by half a dozen witnesses of impeccable standing."
Anthea's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to remain calm. "The Duke will simply refuse to acknowledge it. He has no reason to offer for me."
"Does he not?" Beatrice's smile turned calculating. "He is a duke attempting to establish himself in Society. A man concerned with propriety and reputation. And now he has been caught in a compromising situation with a lady of quality. His honor will demand he make an offer."
"My honor demands no such thing," Anthea said firmly. "I will refuse any offer he makes."
"Will you?" Beatrice leaned back against the squabs, her expression shifting from fury to something far more dangerous—satisfaction. "How very noble of you. But I wonder if you have considered the consequences of such a refusal?"
"What consequences?"
"For your sisters, naturally." Beatrice's gaze slid to Poppy and Veronica, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.
"After all, if word spreads that you were caught in a compromising position and the gentleman offered marriage—which he will, mark my words—and you refused.
.. well. The ton will assume there is something deeply wrong with you. More wrong than they already suspect."
Anthea's blood ran cold. "You would not—"
Beatrice's smile widened. "All I would have to do is allow the truth to circulate.
That you were caught alone with a duke. That he did the honorable thing and offered marriage.
And that you proud, foolish girl that you are, rejected him.
The whispers about your past would intensify.
Questions would be asked. And your sisters, associated with such a woman, would find their own prospects diminished accordingly. "
"That is not fair," Poppy whispered, speaking for the first time since entering the carriage. "Anthea was trying to protect me. She should not be punished for—"
"Silence," Beatrice said coldly. "You failed in the one simple task I gave you. You have no right to speak."
Tears welled in Poppy's eyes, and Anthea felt her protective instincts surge with renewed force. "Do not speak to her that way."
"I shall speak to my daughter however I please," Beatrice retorted. "Though in truth, this situation may yet be salvaged. Not in the way I originally intended, but perhaps better."
Anthea felt a chill of foreboding. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that while you were the one caught with the Duke, the association still exists.
You are connected to this family, after all.
Your scandal touches all of us." Beatrice's expression turned thoughtful.
"If the Duke offers for you, which he will, and you accept, which you shall, then you become a Duchess.
And a Duchess with two unmarried stepsisters would naturally wish to see them well settled. "
Understanding dawned with horrible clarity. "You still wish to use this situation to advance Poppy and Veronica."
"Naturally." Beatrice smoothed her skirts with evident satisfaction.
"With you as Duchess of Everleigh, your sisters would have access to the finest circles.
The best matches. You could provide them with dowries from your husband's fortune.
Introduce them to his wealthy friends. In many ways, this outcome is superior to my original plan. "
"Except for the minor detail that I have no intention of marrying the Duke," Anthea said through gritted teeth.
"Then you condemn your sisters to spinsterhood," Beatrice said with a shrug. "The choice is yours, naturally. Your happiness and freedom, or their futures. Which shall it be?"
Anthea looked at Poppy, whose face had gone pale with distress, then at Veronica, who squeezed her hand with quiet desperation. She could see the guilt in Poppy's eyes, the burden of knowing that Anthea might be forced into marriage because of her.
This is not your fault, Anthea wanted to say. This is Beatrice's doing, her manipulation, her cruelty.
But saying such things aloud would only make matters worse.
"I will consider the matter," Anthea said finally, her voice carefully neutral.
"You will accept his offer," Beatrice corrected. "Or you will watch your sisters' prospects crumble to dust. Those are your options."
The carriage rolled to a stop outside their townhouse—her townhouse, she reminded herself bitterly—and Beatrice swept out with the air of a woman who had won a great victory. Poppy and Veronica followed more slowly, casting worried glances back at Anthea.
Anthea remained seated for a moment longer, her hands trembling with suppressed fury. She had promised to protect her sisters. Had sworn to find them good matches, kind husbands, futures free from Beatrice's cruelty.
And now she was trapped, caught between her own freedom and their happiness.
If such a thing as a good man even exists anymore, she thought bitterly.
Maxwell had taught her that handsome faces and charming words could hide the blackest of hearts.
And tonight, the Duke with his paranoid accusations about perfume and his immediate assumption that she was trying to trap him had only reinforced that lesson.
Though she had to admit, grudgingly, that his suspicion had not been entirely unreasonable given the circumstances. He had been targeted repeatedly throughout the evening. And there had been that moment when they stood close together, arguing with barely contained hostility, when she had felt...
No. She would not think about that. Would not acknowledge the way her pulse had quickened at his proximity, or the way his scent had affected her, or the unwanted awareness that had hummed between them despite their mutual antagonism.
The Duke was arrogant, suspicious, and thoroughly infuriating. The fact that he was also frustratingly handsome and occasionally capable of honest conversation was entirely irrelevant.
Anthea waited until well past midnight before slipping from her bedchamber and making her way down the corridor to Veronica's room. Her stepsister was still awake, sitting by the window with a book in her lap that she clearly was not reading.
"Anthea," Veronica whispered as she entered. "I was hoping you would come."
"I need your help," Anthea said without preamble. "We must discover exactly what social obligations Beatrice has committed us to for the remainder of the season."
Understanding dawned in Veronica's eyes. "You intend to find us matches before Mama can interfere further."
"I intend to give you and Poppy choices," Anthea corrected. "Whether you choose to marry or not should be your decision, not hers. But first, I need to know what battlefield we are working with."