Page 48 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“I know.” Anthony sniffed, trying to force back the threatening tears. He heard the door close, followed by soft footfalls. “I told you to leave,” he said.
“I did not feel as though your heart was in the right order, Your Grace. Forgive me if I have erred.”
Anthony curled his hands over the arms of the chair and sighed. “I know that she would want me to be happy, but I do not know if I can bring myself to find love again.”
James said nothing. The silence stretched between them, and Anthony’s gaze drifted once more to Anastasia’s face.
“I feel as though I am betraying her by… by pretending to court Bridget.”
“It is only a game.”
“No,” Anthony said. “I fear that it is not simply a game. I genuinely enjoy Bridget’s company. Too much, truth be told.”
“‘Oh.”
“And it occurs to me that I cannot let myself love her,” Anthony said. “If I do, there is the chance that she will not return my affections. What am I to do, then?”
“I think, Your Grace, that you should acknowledge your feelings. Any man in your position would feel similarly.”
“That does not especially help.”
“I know,” James replied. “I have never been in love, you know. I am not exactly an expert on such matters.”
Anthony laughed. “That is fair. I will grant you that.”
“But I think you should consider what will make you happy, Your Grace,” James said. “You must do what you think will make you happy, rather than worrying about a heartbreak that may never come.”
Anthony smiled wanly. “Bridget makes me happy, but I do not know if I truly love her. I do not know if she can love me. I regret agreeing to this plan because now I do not know which of her actions are real and which are not.”
“You could ask.”
“I suppose.” Anthony paused. “She reminds me of Anastasia sometimes. I do not know if she truly is like her or if I merely want to see Anastasia in her.”
“She is her own woman,” James said. “You seem to realize that, at least. Is it so unfortunate if she reminds you a little of Lady Anastasia?”
Anthony shrugged helplessly. “I do not know.”
“Something to consider, perhaps. Is there any pressing need to know if it is love right this very moment?” James asked. “Surely, you have time to think about your feelings and decide the significance of them for yourself.”
“I suppose you are right,” Anthony said, “but that does not make the situation any less vexing. I dislike not knowing my own mind.”
“I imagine all men do.”
Anthony sighed. “In all likelihood, yes. Was there something you needed from me?”
“Indeed, there was. I wished to tell you that Lady Victoria and Lady Rose have returned.”
“Ah, yes,” Anthony said, “to the modiste. Bridget will finally have replacements for her soiled dresses.”
“That is fortunate,” James replied.
Anthony nodded, a little chagrined. He found himself wondering what styles and colors the young lady might have chosen. Bridget would be wearing something purchased with his money, and the thought gave him a strange shiver of delight. Even though he was only replacing gowns that he had damaged, Anthony enjoyed the thought of purchasing garments for Bridget. He liked the thought of her clad in the finest silk and muslin that he had purchased for her. There was something intimate about knowing that she would wear something he had paid for. The gowns would not be finished for several weeks and many more fittings, but his pulse quickened in anticipation of seeing her wear those fine garments.
“I should ask the ladies if they enjoyed their visit to the modiste,” Anthony said. “That would only be courteous of me.”
James gave him a knowing look. “They are in the parlor, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.”
