Page 21 of A Fake Courtship with the Duke
“Well, this would appear to be a good thing for your reputation,” he finally said. “And for our family, as well.”
Anne wanted to be relieved by her father’s words. But his tone was dubious and guarded. Anne squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Thankfully, her sister noticed. Charlotte turned back to her, giving her a reassuring smile.
“I think it’s just wonderful,” she said. “Just imagine, my own elder sister a duchess someday. It’s something out of a storybook.”
The viscountess nodded slowly, skepticism filling her features.
“Storybook, indeed,” she said. “The Duke of Calder certainly has his pick of the ton’s eligible ladies. It is curious that he would consider an outing with Anne.”
Anne looked at her mother in surprise. She knew she wasn’t a season diamond. But she was pretty, she could hold respectable conversations with others, provided they were respectful to her, and she enjoyed playing the pianoforte and dancing. Why was it such a great surprise that any nobleman would find her interesting?
The viscount nodded, scrunching up his face as he continued surveying his middle daughter.
“Surely, he wouldn’t have any interest in a lady with such a lively reputation,” he said.
The blow hit Anne directly in her heart. So, that was what the truth was behind her parents’ sentiments. They thought their own daughter wouldn’t be good enough for a duke. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she looked away from her parents inhumiliation. She was sure that only they could take something innocuous and potentially good and turn it into something to hurt or shame her.
“It does leave room to question his intentions,” the viscountess said.
Tears stung Anne’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She wished she would open her mouth to defend herself and point out how many people deserved shameful reputations within the ton. Her cousin, Albert, being one of them. But no defense would come. She was too wounded and stunned by the harshness of her parents’ words to stand up for herself.
She glanced up at Charlotte, who was looking at her with sympathy. For her younger sister’s sake, Anne forced a polite smile while pushing her eggs around her plate. She pretended to be engrossed in a meal she knew she wouldn’t eat as the conversation continued around her. She wished more than anything to escape the hurtful, embarrassing scrutiny and to find solace in the quiet corners of her own thoughts. The duke had no romantic interest in her, anyway. But to hear her parents list all the reasons why he never would, made her wish the ground would remove her from the perpetual shame.
Finally, breakfast mercifully concluded. Anne quietly excused herself and then hurriedly made her escape to the drawing room. She sank into the plush armchair to the side of the large bay window, her thoughts swirling. Her face was still warm, and she knew her cheeks were bright red. How could her own family embarrass her so terribly over something that would make any other family delighted? And how could they do that right in front of her, as though she had no feelings worth considering?
She understood that things like throwing wine on someone or stomping on the toes of a man who was very fresh with her did reflect poorly on her family. But no one ever listened to herwhen she tried to tell someone how people disrespected her. It was as if she had to withstand any vile words or propositions directed toward her, just for the sake of propriety. And that was something she could never do.
She saw no reason why she should tolerate things that people would never tolerate from her, just because standing up for herself made her appear unladylike. And she didn’t think she should be publicly shunned for accidents, like when she knocked over the champagne flutes trying to flee from Albert. And yet, that seemed to be the only things people knew about her. They were the only things anyone cared about. Was she not a human being with feelings to be considered, as well?
As she stared out the window, reliving every pointed thing her parents had said at breakfast, the butler entered the drawing room, holding a sealed note on a silver tray.
“Miss Huxley,” he said, bowing and giving her a small smile. “This just arrived for you.”
Anne's heart skipped a beat as she recognized Susan's handwriting. She accepted the note with a sense of anticipation, eager for a distraction from the hurt and unease her family had caused her.
“Thank you, Reeves,” she said warmly.
The butler dipped his head, turning with the now empty silver tray and disappearing from the room. She tore open the letter, reading the words her friend had scrawled on the page. But as she started to read, Mischief leapt onto the nearby table, knocking over the inkwell in a comical display of his typical feline chaos. Anne couldn't help but stifle a laugh as she rescued the letter from potential disaster, moving it to the side and simultaneously catching the ink well before anything more than a few droplets of ink splashed out from the top of the well.
“You silly, sweet boy,” Anne said, setting the ink well out of the cat’s reach and kissing him on the head. “Now, we must clean this up.”
She walked over to the desk, finding an old handkerchief in the bottom drawer. She went back over to the table, wiping up the splatters of ink before they dried and stained the table. She tucked the inky cloth into the pocket of her dress, then sat back down to finish reading the letter. Mischief joined her, sitting up straight with his front paws touching daintily in front of him in his pretty boy pose, as though he was reading the letter with her.
The message was an invitation to tea from Susan. The added note that Susan's mother would be occupied with an outing with the Westbrooks filled Anne with relief. She was aware of the dowager duchess’s feelings about her. They were no more flattering or kind than those of her own parents. And yet imagining the duchess's reaction to Susan's secretive correspondence brought a mischievous grin to Anne's lips. It felt much like a small victory in a world that was determined to shun and scold her at every turn.
Mischief got bored of reading the letter with his mistress, deciding instead to chase after a loose quill, and Anne's spirits lifted for the first time that day. Between her friend’s invitation to tea, which would keep her away from home for a few hours, and Mischief’s playful antics, Anne felt like her day might yet be salvageable. Yet in the recesses of her thoughts rose an unexpected question. Would Richard be there? The mere possibility sent her heart into a wild, erratic dance. Would he regret defending her out in public if he noticed the scandal sheets?
Chapter Ten
Richard moved silently through the long, grand halls of his family’s lavish home. He knew that his mother would be busy that day with the Westbrooks, but he wanted to ensure that she was gone before showing his face anywhere on the first floor of the mansion. Not only did he not wish to have the discussion of marriage with his mother that day, but he also didn’t want her to decide to drag him with her. He had no inclination to meet Lady Eleanor, just as much as he dreaded the thought of inflicting pain upon himself. So, he waited and listened for any sign that his mother was still moving about in the mansion somewhere.
As he wandered, he thought of the weight on his shoulders. It wasn’t just his mother’s incessant matchmaking efforts, although that preoccupied a great deal of his mind. He had tenants to oversee and collect from, he had his business ventures in his textile mill, his investments in the technology industry, and the selling of the iron that was mined by hired miners on his family’s land. He also held his father’s old position in the House of Lords, although he was far less engaged with parliament than many of the other dukes.
Of course, he had his steward, Davis, who helped him keep up with the affairs of the estate itself, including the mining employees and profits. And he had his employees of his other ventures who ensured that everything continued running smoothly. Still, it was overwhelming sometimes. He was aware that a duchess could take over some of the estate overseeing for him, which would alleviate his burden. But only the right duchess could do that. And women like Lady Eleanor were far from the right ones.
As he rounded a corner, he was pulled from his thoughts by the soft murmur of voices drifting gently from the second-floor drawing room. The familiar cadences of those voices instantly caught his attention, and he paused just beyond the partially open door. One of the voices was one he had known most of his life. And the other one he had heard just the day before. Susan and Miss Huxley were inside the room, speaking in hushed but urgent tones.
Richard wasn’t typically one for eavesdropping, especially on the dull conversations of most ton ladies. But from the pitches of Miss Huxley’s voice, it seemed the conversation was anything but boring. His curiosity was piqued, so he pressed himself against the wall, just outside the open door.
