Chapter Eighteen
Anthony sat near the window at White's Club in London.
For years, the gentleman's club had provided an escape from Parliament, estate concerns, and the endless demands attached to his title.
Within its familiar walls, a man could enjoy a decent meal, read the newspapers, and spend an afternoon discussing politics without being expected to reveal anything of consequence about himself.
Today, however, the refuge was proving remarkably ineffective.
"You have not listened to a single word I have said."
Anthony looked up from his untouched glass of claret.
Across the table, Sebastian regarded him with obvious amusement.
"I heard every word."
"Then tell me what I was discussing."
Anthony paused.
Sebastian smiled. "Exactly."
The dining room bustled with the usual midday activity.
Gentlemen occupied nearby tables while servants moved quietly between them carrying platters of roast beef, game pie, and fresh bread.
Through the windows, sunlight spilled across St. James's Street, where fashionable carriages rolled past beneath a bright summer sky.
Anthony reached for his wine, which, like most drinks these days, was failing to improve matters.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair. "You look distracted."
"I am not distracted."
"You have been staring at the same newspaper for ten minutes."
Anthony glanced down at the newspaper, which remained folded exactly as it had been when he arrived.
Sebastian's smile widened. "Ah," he said. "I should have known."
Anthony immediately disliked that expression. "Known what?"
"Something has happened, hasn't it?"
Anthony said nothing, and Sebastian laughed outright.
The truth was that his friend had become intolerably perceptive over the years.
Anthony took a sip of wine as Sebastian leaned forward.
"Well? Is it done? Has it happened?"
Anthony pressed his lips together for a moment before sighing. "Yes, it has happened."
Sebastian smiled, sitting back in his chair. "Well, I must say I am happy to hear it."
Anthony rubbed a hand across his jaw. The last thing he wanted to discuss right now was the matter of Evangeline.
"I assume you feel considerably better."
To his surprise, Anthony answered. "Actually, no. I don't," he said. "In fact, I feel worse."
Anthony stared into his glass, the truth emerging before he could stop it.
"Anthony?" Sebastian said. "What is it?"
He exhaled slowly.
How exactly was he supposed to explain this?
For years, he had believed desire was a physical problem with a physical solution.
What he felt now was infinitely more complicated.
"Ever since we lay together," he admitted. "Things have gotten complicated."
Sebastian waited.
"But I cannot allow such complications," he continued. "The arrangement must remain exactly as it was."
"And it is me you are trying to convince? Or yourself?"
Anthony narrowed his eyes. "I do not need to convince you or myself of anything when nothing has changed."
"Well, that isn't true, is it?"
Irritation flickered through him. "As soon as Evangeline is with child, things will return to normal. I am certain of it."
His friend folded his arms. "Are you?"
Anthony said nothing, and Sebastian's expression softened slightly.
"Some doors only open one way, my friend."
Anthony frowned, turning his head to the window. He thought he understood exactly what Sebastian meant.
He had always known what their marriage was. Everything had seemed clear when viewed from a distance. Yet somewhere along the way, that clarity had vanished.
It had happened gradually enough that he had failed to notice it.
A conversation in a library. An afternoon spent visiting tenants.
The sound of Evangeline laughing at one of his stories.
Her concern for people she barely knew. Her quiet belief in him when so few others understood what Blackwood cost him.
He had told himself repeatedly that he remained in control. Now he was no longer certain that was true.
Sebastian was right about one thing: some things could not be undone once they had happened.
A man could not simply decide to care less after he had begun caring more.
He could not return to indifference after discovering companionship.
And he certainly could not pretend that Evangeline was merely a practical solution when thoughts of her occupied nearly every spare moment of his day.
The unsettling truth was that he no longer knew where the arrangement ended and his feelings began.
"How about another drink?" Sebastian offered.
"No," Anthony said, getting up. "I should be getting back to Blackwood."
With that he got up and crossed the room. He had nearly reached the entrance hall when a familiar voice stopped him.
"Cousin."
Anthony turned to find Nathaniel Hawthorne standing near the doorway.
His clothing was impeccably tailored, his cravat perfectly arranged and his smile polished. To anyone unfamiliar with him, he appeared the very image of a respectable gentleman. Anthony knew better.
Nathaniel approached with easy confidence. "Blackwood."
Anthony inclined his head. "Nathaniel."
The greeting contained all the warmth of a January morning, but his cousin seemed unbothered.
"How is married life?" he asked.
Anthony remained silent, and his cousin smiled.
"London can speak of little else. Wondering how the new Duchess is getting on."
That was likely true. Society had displayed a disturbing interest in his marriage from the beginning.
Nathaniel adjusted one of his gloves. "Apparently wagers are being placed."
Anthony's patience began to fray. "Wagers."
"On how quickly the Duchess will conceive."
The words landed unpleasantly, but Nathaniel's smile remained firmly in place.
"People are remarkably invested in your domestic affairs," Nathaniel continued. "Though I suppose securing a bride was only the first challenge."
Anthony's expression hardened.
"A title can persuade a woman to marry almost anyone," Nathaniel said lightly. "Remaining happily married is another matter. Merely an observation, of course. But beautiful wives often become restless when neglected."
The insult sat beneath the surface. Polite enough to avoid open confrontation and cruel enough to achieve its purpose.
Anthony had spent years dealing with Nathaniel's particular brand of malice.
Normally, it barely registered, but today it struck far closer to home.
Because Nathaniel had unknowingly touched upon the very concern currently occupying Anthony's thoughts.
His cousin stepped closer, and the smile finally vanished. For the first time, genuine hostility showed beneath the polished exterior.
"A year passes quickly." Silence settled between them. Anthony already knew where this conversation was heading. Nathaniel's eyes gleamed. "If you fail to produce an heir, the trust becomes mine."
"I am aware."
"So do several of the estates."
Anthony's hands curled into fists. "The terms are quite clear."
Nathaniel nodded. "Very clear."
For a moment neither spoke, and the crowded club seemed to fade around them. All Anthony could hear was the certainty in his cousin's voice. Nathaniel still believed he had a chance because he still believed Anthony might fail.
"Do give my regards to the Duchess," Nathaniel said.
Then he turned and walked away. Anthony watched him disappear into the crowd.
The encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because Nathaniel was many things. He was cruel and selfish. But he was not a fool.
The threat remained real.
Eleven months.
That was all the time he had to secure Blackwood's future and ensure Nathaniel never gained control of the estates.