Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The Royal Menagerie was far more crowded than Anthea had anticipated.
Families pressed close to the enclosures, children shrieking with delight at the exotic creatures while their parents attempted to maintain order.
The air smelled of animals and too many people packed into too small a space, and the cacophony of roars, trumpeting, and human chatter created a din that made Anthea's head ache.
Still, she had promised to chaperone Veronica's outing with Mr. Thornbury—the scholarly gentleman who had invited her after their meeting at the garden party. Sybil had graciously agreed to accompany them as well, providing an additional layer of propriety that even Beatrice could not object to.
They had paused before the tiger enclosure, where a magnificent Bengal tiger paced behind iron bars. Veronica had made some innocent observation about the beautiful creature, which had immediately prompted Mr. Thornbury's correction.
"Miss Veronica, I must correct you on that point. The Bengal tiger originates from the Indian subcontinent, not from Bengal specifically. The nomenclature is, I fear, rather misleading to those unfamiliar with taxonomic precision."
Mr. Thornbury adjusted his spectacles and peered down at Veronica with the expression of a schoolmaster addressing a particularly slow pupil. They had been at the Royal Menagerie for less than a quarter hour, and already Anthea wanted to throttle the man.?
"Oh," Veronica said quietly, her shoulders hunching inward. "I had thought—"
"A common misconception." Mr. Thornbury waved a dismissive hand. "But one must be precise in these matters. Precision, Miss Veronica, is the cornerstone of intellectual discourse."
"Of course," Veronica murmured, and Anthea caught the way her stepsister's hands twisted together—a gesture she only made when deeply uncomfortable.
"Perhaps we might move on to see the elephants?" Anthea suggested, keeping her voice carefully pleasant. "I believe they were recently fed, and Veronica has been quite eager to observe them."
"Of course, of course," Mr. Thornbury said agreeably.
"The elephants are quite fascinating. But first—" He gestured toward a nearby enclosure.
"Have you observed the Barbary lion? The scientific classification system developed by Linnaeus in 1758 provides us with the nomenclature Panthera leo, and the distinction between. .."
"Mr. Thornbury," Sybil interrupted smoothly, appearing at Anthea's elbow with perfect timing. "I wonder if you might settle a debate for me? My husband insists that the lions here are Barbary lions, but I believe them to be a different subspecies entirely."
Mr. Thornbury's eyes lit with the fervor of a man given permission to lecture. "Ah! An excellent question, Your Grace. You see, the Barbary lion, or Panthera leo, is distinguishable by—"
He launched into what promised to be an exhaustive explanation, and Sybil caught Anthea's eye with the barest hint of a wink. Bless her.
Anthea touched Veronica's arm gently. "Shall we walk ahead? The elephant enclosure is just there."
Relief flooded Veronica's face. "Yes, please."
They moved away from Mr. Thornbury's droning voice, Veronica releasing a long breath the moment they were out of earshot.
"I cannot do this," Veronica whispered. "Anthea, I simply cannot. He has not stopped talking since we arrived. And not conversation—lectures. He lectures me as though I were a student in his classroom rather than—rather than—"
"Rather than a woman he is supposedly courting?" Anthea finished wryly.
"He is not courting me. He is educating me. There is a difference." Veronica's voice held an uncharacteristic edge. "And when I attempt to contribute to the discussion, he corrects me. Every single time."
"He is insufferable," Anthea agreed. "And you are under no obligation to endure him simply because he expressed interest."
"Mama will say I am being too particular."
"Mama is not here." Anthea squeezed her stepsister's hand. "And I would rather you remain unwed than married to a man who makes you feel small."
Veronica's eyes grew suspiciously bright. "Thank you."
"How much longer must I endure this before it becomes acceptable to feign a headache?" Sybil said as she rejoined them.
Despite everything, Anthea felt a laugh bubble up. "You are a saint for distracting him."
"I am a martyr.” Sybil glanced toward where Veronica and Mr. Hartley were still sketching together. "Though it appears my sacrifice was worthwhile. She looks genuinely happy."
"She does,"
Before Anthea could respond, a commotion near the tiger enclosure caught her attention.
A small crowd had gathered, and voices rose in excitement.
She caught sight of a familiar tall figure—broad shoulders, dark hair, that particular way of standing that suggested military bearing even in civilian clothes.
Gregory.
Her heart performed an acrobatic feat that it had no business doing in response to merely seeing a man from a distance.
She had written to him yesterday, explaining what had happened with Beatrice, suggesting they meet to discuss.
.. well, everything. But she had not yet received a response, and she had been trying very hard not to read anything into that silence.
"Is that the Duke?" Veronica asked, following her gaze.
"It appears so."
"He is with someone."
Yes. He was indeed with someone. A young woman in a pale blue walking dress stood beside him, her gloved hand resting on his arm with easy familiarity. She was laughing at something he had said, tilting her head up toward him in a way that made Anthea's jaw tighten.
An older woman—the girl's mother, presumably—stood slightly behind them, beaming with obvious approval.
"That is Lady Millicent Carstairs," Sybil said quietly, rejoining them after successfully distracting Mr. Thornbury. "Daughter of the Earl of Wickshire. Quite well-connected. Impeccable bloodline. Everything a duke could want in a potential bride."
Something cold and unpleasant settled in Anthea's stomach. "Oh? I see."
"Are you all right?" Sybil's tone suggested she knew perfectly well that Anthea was not all right.
Anthea scoffed. "Perfectly fine. Why would I not be?"
"Because you are currently glaring at Lady Millicent as though she has personally insulted you."
"I am not glaring." But Anthea was glaring.
She could feel the tension in her face, the way her hands had clenched at her sides.
Gregory was perfectly entitled to walk with whomever he pleased.
He had proposed a practical arrangement, and she had not yet given him an answer.
If he chose to explore other options while waiting—
He turned, and his gaze swept across the crowd.
Their eyes met.
For one breathless moment, the animals, the people, the noise, all faded. She saw surprise flash across his features, followed by something else. Something that looked almost like relief.
He raised his hand slightly, a gesture that might have been a wave or an acknowledgment.
Anthea deliberately turned her back on him.
"Oh dear," Sybil murmured.
"I do not wish to speak with him," Anthea said, her voice tight.
"Because he is with another woman?"
"Because I am here with my sister, and I have no desire to be introduced to his—his—" She could not finish the sentence.
"His what?" Sybil prompted gently.
"I do not know! Whatever she is. His alternative option. His emergency plan. His—"
"Anthea." Veronica touched her arm. "Are you certain you are all right? You seem rather..."
"I am perfectly fine," Anthea lied. She turned determinedly toward the elephant enclosure, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace. "Shall we observe the elephants now? I believe that was your original intention."
But as they walked, she could feel eyes on her back. Could imagine Gregory making his excuses to Lady Millicent Perfect-Bloodline and following them. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he would continue his delightful promenade with the Earl's daughter and forget Anthea had ever been there.
The thought made her furious. Which was irrational. She had no claim on him. They had an arrangement—or rather, they had discussed an arrangement that she still had not agreed to. An arrangement that was practical and sensible and devoid of any emotional entanglement whatsoever.
So why did seeing him with another woman make her want to throw something?
"Look," Veronica said suddenly, her voice taking on a note of genuine interest for the first time that afternoon. "That gentleman is sketching the elephant. How lovely."
Anthea followed her gaze to a man standing slightly apart from the main crowd.
He was perhaps thirty, dressed simply but well, with an artist's portfolio balanced against his knee and a piece of charcoal moving swiftly across paper.
His entire focus was on the elephant before him, his expression one of complete absorption.
"His technique is quite good," Veronica continued, moving closer almost unconsciously. "See how he captures the texture of the skin? The way the light falls across—oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt."
The man looked up, and his face transformed with a smile. "Not at all. Are you an artist yourself?"
"I—a little. Nothing of consequence." But Veronica's cheeks had flushed pink, and her voice held more animation than Anthea had heard from her all day.
"Would you like to try?" He pulled a spare piece of paper from his portfolio and offered it along with a piece of charcoal. "I find elephants rather challenging subjects, but perhaps you will have better luck."
"Oh, I could not—"
"Please. I would enjoy the company. It becomes rather lonely, standing here sketching while everyone else chatters about taxonomy." His eyes held gentle amusement, and he glanced briefly toward where Mr. Thornbury could still be heard holding forth to Sybil about lion subspecies.