Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Anthea was attempting to read the same page of her book for the fourth time when Veronica burst into the morning room with barely concealed panic.
"Mama is in a fury," Veronica whispered urgently. "She has been pacing the drawing room since dawn, muttering about ruined plans and disasters."
Anthea set down her book. "I imagine she is rather displeased with how last evening unfolded."
"Displeased?" Poppy entered behind Veronica, her eyes red from crying. "She spent an hour this morning berating me for failing to reach the music room quickly enough. She said I was too slow, too timid, too—" Her voice broke.
"Hush," Anthea said firmly, rising to embrace her stepsister. "This is not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"But it is!" Poppy said miserably. "If I had been braver, if I had not hesitated, you would not have been caught with the Duke. Now your reputation—"
"My reputation was already questionable," Anthea interrupted gently. "One more scandal will hardly signify."
"But what if the Duke calls?" Veronica asked quietly, sinking into a chair. "What will you do if he offers marriage?"
Anthea opened her mouth to respond, but Beatrice's voice cut through from the doorway.
"He will not offer," Beatrice said acidly, sweeping into the room.
"The man is a brute. A common-born soldier with no understanding of propriety or honor.
Do you truly believe he comprehends what duty requires of him?
" She laughed bitterly. "No. He will return to his estate, grateful to have escaped entrapment, and we shall be left to manage the scandal as best we can. "
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Anthea asked coolly.
Beatrice's expression turned calculating.
"We minimize the damage. We put it about that you were never truly alone—that I and my companions arrived mere moments after the Duke entered.
That nothing improper occurred. Lady Thornbury may have her suspicions, but without proof of actual compromise, the gossip will eventually fade. "
"You wish to lie," Anthea said flatly. "And you expect Lady Thornbury and the others to corroborate this fiction?"
"Lady Thornbury and Mrs. Pemberton saw what I told them they saw." Beatrice's smile was cold. "They will say whatever I ask them to. After all, we all have the same goals here—maintaining our positions in Society. A scandal that ruins you reflects poorly on all of us."
"I wish to protect what remains of this family's reputation," Beatrice continued sharply. "Since you have thoroughly destroyed my carefully laid plans, the least you can do is cooperate in cleaning up the mess you created."
"The mess I created?" Anthea felt her temper flare. "I prevented Poppy from being trapped in a marriage she did not want!"
"You prevented Poppy from securing the match of the season!" Beatrice's voice rose. "Do you have any idea what a duke's fortune could have done for this family? But no—you had to play the hero. Had to interfere. And now we have nothing. Worse than nothing—we have scandal without benefit!"
"Mama, please—" Veronica began.
"Silence!" Beatrice rounded on her. "You will both remain silent about what truly occurred last evening. If anyone asks, you will say that the Duke was never alone with Anthea. That I and my friends arrived immediately. Is that understood?"
Poppy and Veronica exchanged miserable glances but nodded.
"Good." Beatrice smoothed her skirts with sharp, agitated movements.
"Now I must call upon Lady Ashford and begin the process of damage control.
Anthea, you will remain in this house. You will not go out.
You will not receive callers. You will make yourself as invisible as possible until this scandal dies down. "
"I have no intention of hiding," Anthea said.
"You will do as I say, or I will—" Beatrice stopped herself, visibly fighting for control. "We have lost the Duke. That much is clear. But I will not lose what little standing we have left."
Before Anthea could respond, the butler appeared in the doorway. "Forgive the interruption, madam, but His Grace, the Duke of Everleigh, has arrived. He wishes to speak with Miss Anthea Croft."
The color drained from Beatrice's face. "What?"
"His Grace is here," the butler repeated. "Shall I show him to the drawing room?"
Anthea felt her stomach drop even as something like triumph flashed across her features. She met Beatrice's shocked gaze with cool composure.
"It would appear," Anthea said quietly, "that the Duke understands honor rather better than you gave him credit for."
On their way to the drawing room, Veronica twisted her hands together anxiously. "Anthea, are you feeling alright?" Veronica asked, her voice filled with concern. "You look quite pale."
Alright? Anthea thought somewhat hysterically. I am about to refuse a duke who has every reason to expect acceptance.
Now that the moment had actually arrived, she found her carefully prepared refusal had fled her mind entirely. All she could think about was the Duke's dark green eyes. His accusations about perfume. The way he had stood so close she could count his heartbeats.
"I will be fine," she said aloud, as much to convince herself as Veronica. "I will simply refuse him. Politely but firmly."
"But Mama—"
"Mama can threaten all she likes," Anthea interrupted, rising from her seat with more confidence than she felt. "I will not be forced into marriage. Not by scandal, not by duty, and certainly not by her machinations."
She smoothed her morning dress—a simple muslin in pale blue that she had chosen specifically because it was not particularly flattering. Poppy joined them in the corridor, her face pale with worry.
"Oh, Anthea, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. If I had not gone to the music room—"
"This is not your fault," Anthea said firmly, squeezing her stepsister's hand. "This is Beatrice's doing. And I will not allow her to win."
They reached the drawing room just as the butler announced, "His Grace, the Duke of Everleigh."
Anthea's breath caught despite herself as the Duke entered the room.
He looked... different in the morning light. Still imposing, still possessed of that military bearing that made every movement appear deliberate and controlled. But there was something in his expression— uncertainty perhaps, or determination?—that she had not noticed the previous evening.
He was also, she noted with extreme irritation, still frustratingly handsome.
Stop that, she commanded herself. Handsome means nothing. Maxwell was handsome.
"Your Grace," Beatrice said, rising with obvious shock barely concealed behind a brittle smile. "What an... unexpected visit."
"Mrs. Croft." Gregory bowed with precise correctness. "I hope I am not calling at an inconvenient time."
"Not at all," Beatrice said, though her voice was strained. "Though I confess I am surprised to see you. I had thought—that is, I assumed—"
"That I would not come?" Gregory's gaze was steady, measuring. "I am a man of honor, Mrs. Croft. Surely you did not expect otherwise."
Beatrice's smile turned even more brittle. "Of course not, Your Grace. Please, do sit. Shall I ring for tea?"
"That will not be necessary," Gregory said. "I do not intend to stay long. I have come to speak with Miss Anthea Croft on a matter of some importance."
The formal use of her full name made Anthea's spine straighten. She stepped forward, meeting his gaze with as much composure as she could muster.
"Your Grace," she said coolly. "I cannot imagine what matter could require such urgent attention."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he recognized the challenge in her words. "Can you not? I would have thought the events of last evening made my purpose quite clear."
"Oh, surely you need not concern yourself with such a trifling matter," Beatrice interjected quickly, her voice taking on a desperate edge.
"Young people these days are so frequently misunderstood.
I arrived in the music room mere moments after you, Your Grace.
Nothing improper occurred. Nothing at all.
I am certain we can manage any unfortunate speculation without—"
"Mrs. Croft," Gregory interrupted, his voice carrying unmistakable authority. "I am here to speak with Miss Anthea Croft. Alone."
Beatrice's expression flickered between shock and fury. "That would hardly be proper, Your Grace."
"Neither was being caught alone with her in a music room," Gregory said bluntly. "I believe we are past the point of strict propriety."
Anthea felt a sudden, unexpected urge to laugh. There was something deeply satisfying about watching someone shut down Beatrice's manipulations with such directness.
"It is all right," she said, surprising herself. "I will speak with His Grace. Veronica, Poppy, perhaps you could give us a moment?"
Her stepsisters exchanged worried glances but obediently filed from the room. Beatrice, however, remained stubbornly in place, her face pale with barely suppressed rage.
"Mrs. Croft," Gregory said, his tone making it clear it was not a request. "Leave us."
Beatrice's mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment she simply stared at Gregory, as though unable to believe he was dismissing her from her own drawing room. Then, with visible effort, she forced a smile.
"Of course, Your Grace. I shall be just outside should you need anything." She swept from the room, but not before shooting Anthea a look that promised retribution.
The silence that followed was thick with tension.
"You did not need to be quite so forceful with her," Anthea said finally.
"Did I not?" Gregory moved closer, his expression unreadable. "Miss Croft, let us speak plainly. We were caught in a compromising position. My honor demands that I offer marriage."
"My reputation was already questionable," Anthea said coolly. "One more scandal will hardly make a difference."
"Perhaps not to you. But what of your sisters?"