Chapter 4 #2
"Her correspondence desk," Veronica said immediately. "She keeps all her invitations and social calendars in the top drawer. She locks it, but I know where she hides the key."
Ten minutes later, they stood in Beatrice's private office, the drawer open before them and a truly alarming quantity of invitations spread across the desk.
"Good Lord," Anthea breathed, staring at the sheer volume of cards and letters. "How many events has she accepted?"
"All of them, by the look of it," Veronica said, equally shocked.
She picked up a handful of invitations and began sorting through them.
"Balls, soirées, garden parties, musical evenings, trips to the theater, visits to Vauxhall Gardens.
.." She looked up at Anthea with wide eyes.
"There are events scheduled for nearly every day for the next six weeks. "
Anthea felt her stomach sink. She had been avoiding Society for three years. Had attended only the most necessary functions, hosted by her closest friends. Had deliberately kept herself distant from the machinations and politics of the ton.
And now she would need to throw herself back into that world completely. Would need to attend every tedious ball and insipid soirée. Would need to navigate the very society that whispered about her, judged her, speculated about her past.
"I am so dreadfully out of touch," she admitted quietly, picking up an invitation to a ball hosted by Lady Pemberton. "I do not even know half these families anymore. Their allegiances, their scandals, their eligible sons..."
"Then we shall need to visit Cassandra," Veronica said practically. "She knows everything about everyone. If anyone can help us navigate this, it is she."
Anthea nodded slowly, her mind already racing ahead to the monumental task before them.
She would need to understand the current landscape of the ton.
Would need to identify suitable gentlemen for her sisters.
Would need to somehow engineer introductions and encourage attachments while also managing whatever scandal might erupt from tonight's disaster with the Duke.
And she would need to do it all while potentially fending off an unwanted marriage proposal from a man who believed she had tried to seduce him with perfume.
How did my life become this complicated? she wondered despairingly.
But she knew the answer, of course. Beatrice. Maxwell. Her own determination to protect the people she loved, even at the cost of her own happiness.
"We shall visit Cassandra first thing tomorrow," Anthea said, carefully gathering the invitations back into organized stacks. "She will know which events are most crucial to attend. Which gentlemen are worth pursuing. Which families to cultivate and which to avoid."
"And the Duke?" Veronica asked quietly. "What will you do if he calls upon you?"
Anthea's hands stilled on the invitations. The Duke. Gregory Briarson, with his dark green eyes and military bearing and infuriating tendency to accuse her of things she had not done.
The Duke, who had stood close enough for her to count his heartbeats. Who had made her skin flush with nothing more than his proximity and his sharp, intelligent gaze.
The Duke, whom she absolutely, positively could not afford to think about in any capacity whatsoever.
"I will refuse him," Anthea said firmly. "Politely but definitively. I have no intention of marrying any man, least of all one who believes me capable of elaborate seduction schemes."
Even if some traitorous part of her wondered what it might have felt like if he had actually touched her hair, her necklace, her skin...
Stop that immediately, she commanded herself furiously.
"Come," she said aloud, tucking the last invitation back into its proper place. "We should return to our rooms before Beatrice discovers us here."
They slipped back through the darkened house like shadows, and Anthea bid Veronica goodnight at her door before continuing to her own chamber. But once there, she found she could not sleep.
She stood at her window, staring out at the dark London streets. Three years ago, she had built walls around her heart, had sworn never to trust another man, had chosen solitude over the risk of further heartbreak.
And now she would need to dive back into Society. Would need to watch her sisters dance with gentlemen and pray she could identify which ones were worthy and which ones would break their hearts as Maxwell Tinkett had broken hers.
The task felt overwhelming. But for Poppy and Veronica, she would do it.
Even if it meant confronting the Duke of Everleigh again. Even if it meant acknowledging the unwanted attraction that had sparked between them despite every rational reason to despise him.
It does not matter what I felt, she told herself firmly. It matters only what I do.
Anthea turned from the window and climbed into bed. Tomorrow she would visit Cassandra. Tomorrow she would begin the impossible task of navigating a social season she had spent three years avoiding.
But tonight, she would try to sleep.