Chapter Five
Anthony had been inside the Duchess of Ashbourne's ballroom for precisely forty-three minutes and had already exhausted his tolerance for London society.
Not that his tolerance had been particularly extensive to begin with.
He stood near one of the towering windows overlooking the gardens, a glass of untouched brandy in hand, while Sebastian leaned against a marble column beside him wearing the expression of a man enjoying himself entirely too much.
Around them, the ballroom glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers.
Hundreds of candles cast warm light across polished floors and gilded walls, while mirrors reflected movement endlessly until the room seemed to stretch in every direction.
Music floated down from the musicians' gallery above as couples turned elegantly through a waltz.
Perfume lingered heavily in the air as the music rose and fell beneath the glitter of chandeliers.
Anthony found the entire thing unbearable.
It was not simply the noise, though there was certainly too much of it.
The ballroom hummed with endless conversation layered over music and laughter until individual voices became indistinguishable.
Nor was it the heat created by several hundred people crowded into one room beneath hundreds of burning candles.
No, it was the performance of it all.
Society gatherings always felt strangely artificial to him, as though everyone had agreed to participate in some elaborate production where sincerity was considered poor manners.
Ladies smiled when they were bored. Gentlemen laughed at jokes they did not find amusing.
Mothers manoeuvred daughters into conversations with practised precision while pretending coincidence had guided them there.
And beneath all of it sat the constant, quiet assessment. Always the same standard by which people were measured and judged. Wealth, titles, family connections, prospects.
One could almost see calculations taking place behind people's eyes.
Before the war, he had tolerated such things easily enough. Once, long ago, he had even found society entertaining. Now he found himself increasingly exhausted by rooms full of people saying one thing while meaning another.
At Blackwood Hall, tenants spoke plainly. Miners spoke plainly. Estate stewards certainly spoke plainly.
If a man disliked you on the moors, he generally possessed the decency to say so. London preferred whispers, and Anthony had developed very little patience for whispers.
"You look miserable," Sebastian observed pleasantly.
He continued staring across the ballroom. "I am miserable."
Sebastian took a sip of champagne. "You have been here less than an hour."
Anthony looked at him. "It feels considerably longer."
"Have you selected a future duchess yet?"
Anthony's gaze moved over the crowd. He had attempted conversation with three young women already.
The first had stared fixedly at the scar upon his face while pretending not to.
The second had spent ten minutes discussing embroidery while the third had been accompanied by an ambitious mother who had looked at Anthony as though assessing livestock at auction.
None of them had looked at him for himself. They had looked at the dukedom and the estates. The fortune he offered.
Just then, a gentleman approached. "Blackwood."
Anthony looked over to see Lord Ellsworth.
"We have not seen you in London for an age."
Anthony inclined his head. "No."
Lord Ellsworth waited, but Anthony had no intention of engaging in a conversation with him. So eventually the man cleared his throat.
"Well."
Anthony continued looking at him.
"...Good evening then."
"Good evening."
Lord Ellsworth retreated.
Sebastian sighed. "You do realise conversations generally require participation from both parties?"
"I participated."
"You contributed one word."
"I believe a man is afforded only so many words during his lifetime," Anthony said. "And I do not intend to waste any on the likes of Lord Ellsworth."
Sebastian looked heavenward briefly. "Anthony," he sighed. "You are here to find a wife."
"I am aware," he replied.
"Well, you are terrifying them."
Anthony frowned. "I am merely standing."
"You are glaring at anyone who dares cast their eyes your way."
Anthony looked around the room, a muscle tightening in his jaw. He'd given it a chance, but this was a mistake.
"I am leaving."
Sebastian frowned. "You can't go yet—"
"I have suffered sufficiently."
Before Sebastian could object, Anthony set down his untouched drink and moved toward one of the side corridors.
He heard Sebastian call after him, but Anthony ignored him.
The farther he moved from the ballroom, the quieter things became as the music softened behind him.
The corridor beyond was cooler, lit by wall sconces and lined with paintings and marble busts of long-dead relatives whose expressions suggested they disapproved of everyone.
Anthony stepped into a small antechamber adjoining the ballroom and exhaled slowly.
He moved toward the windows overlooking the gardens and then stopped.
Voices drifted through the partially open connecting door. Ordinarily, he would have immediately left.
Instead, one familiar voice made him pause.
"I am trying."
Anthony frowned.
"I truly am."
Slowly, he looked toward the narrow opening and saw the woman from Hyde Park. The one with the handkerchief, Lady Evangeline Everly.
He hadn't recalled her name at first, although he had seen her at various London events over the years. She was the oldest of the Everly sisters and still unmarried.
"I promised Mama," Evangeline was saying quietly. "I promised all of you."
Another voice answered softly.
Anthony knew that he should leave, but instead, he found himself listening.
"I may have to spend the rest of my life with one of them," Evangeline said, her voice dropping. "I am becoming desperate now, and I cannot afford to be selective. Not if I intend to save our family from ruin."
Anthony stared toward the doorway.
She needed a wealthy husband. Not for herself, but for her family, she had said as much.
His mind moved quickly. Faster than perhaps it ought to have.
She required financial security. He required a wife who could give him an heir and ensure he inherited the estate.
He wished for a practical arrangement with no romantic illusions or false expectations.
And unlike nearly every other woman he had encountered this evening, she had not looked afraid of him the day before in the park.
Anthony stared toward the doorway for several moments, then straightened slowly as the realisation settled with startling clarity.
Lady Evangeline Everly might be exactly what he needed. After all, she was older, which meant she would not be so tiresome with girlish pursuits. What was more, she'd always carried herself with a quiet dignity that too many young women of the ton lacked.
However, a moment later, movement sounded within the retiring room. And before Anthony had a chance to retreat, the door was pushed open, and he froze.
Evangeline stared at him, her eyes widening.
Rosalind stopped beside her, and for a moment, no one spoke.
"It's you," Evangeline breathed.
Lady Rosalind immediately moved a little closer to her sister.
Anthony inclined his head. "Lady Evangeline."
"Your Grace."
Lady Rosalind looked between them uncertainly.
"This is my sister, Your Grace," Evagenline said. "Lady Rosalind."
Anthony regarded her. "Lady Rosalind," he said. "Would you grant me a moment to
speak privately with your sister?"
Lady Rosalind stared, then quickly looked at Evangeline, uncertainty etched across her face.
Anthony supposed he could hardly blame her.
"Lady Evangeline is in no danger, I assure you."
Lady Rosalind's eyes narrowed. "It does not sound reassuring when you say it that way."
Anthony paused. Sebastian would know exactly the right thing to say.
"It is... a business matter."
Lady Rosalind turned immediately toward Evangeline, looking even more confused.
"Evie," she said. "I think we should get back. Mother will be wondering where we are."
But Evangeline's eyes were still fixed on him. "I should like to hear what the Duke of Blackwood has to say."