Page 86 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“I see.”
The young woman looked askance at him. “She would,” Rose insisted. “Please, visit her. Speak to her parents.”
Anthony grimaced. He could think of little that he would dread more than speaking to Bridget’s parents, but he felt also that his response was a childish one. Anthony nodded curtly. “I will consider it.”
“Please do. I can see that you are busy,” she continued, “so I shall take my leave. I just wanted you to know about my involvement in this. You deserve that much.”
“Thank you,” Anthony said.
Rose smiled and bobbed a curtsey. She left the room without another sound, her slippers silent. Anthony sighed and tilted his head, considering Bridget’s portrait from a new angle. He could not speak to her parents. That was impossible. Still, Anthony felt a spark of guilt, for he knew Rose was right. He could not hide forever.
But maybe he could be allowed a few more days.
***
After another day of Bridget remaining unconscious, James entered the studio. Anthony tensed. He had made a few changes to Bridget’s portrait. Her eyes were more even, and he had attempted to correct the color of her hair. Most of the time, he simply stared at the painting and longed for Bridget. It was miserable being alone with his thoughts.
“So,” James said, dragging out the word.
Anthony clenched his jaw. Sharing his feelings was the one thing worse than being alone with them. “I know what you are going to say,” he said.
“Do you?”
“You are going to advise me to see Bridget,” he said, “just as Rose did. You are going to tell me that I need to let go of the past and move forward.”
James hummed. “I see.”
Anthony did not turn to look at his butler, but he could sense that the man’s eyes lingered on him, expecting someresponse. Silence stretched between them, and Anthony raised a brush to Bridget’s portrait, correcting the lighting over her right cheekbone.
When the quiet became too uncomfortable to bear, Anthony heaved a sigh and placed the brush aside. “All right,” he said. “Say your piece, predictable though it may be.”
“I heard that Lady Hastings claimed you did not defend her all those years ago,” James said.
“She did say that.”
It was a little disturbing that the news of her claims had spread so quickly. Anthony balked at the thought of inevitably having to answer them before the ton. Even if he was guilty of that particular transgression, that did not mean that the ton would believe his protestations of innocence.
“We both know that is untrue,” James said. “You fought hard for her. You spoke very eloquently to her father in an attempt to ensure she would not be wed to some repulsive man.”
“I failed.”
“Nevertheless, you did try,” James said. “And you have since claimed that you did not love Lady Hastings.”
Anthony glanced at his butler, who stood formally with his hands clasped behind his back. “If you have some criticism of me, say so. There is no need to behave as though it is some great mystery which must be unfolded.”
“You love Lady Bridget, and I do not understand why you will not fight for her,” James said. “You cared more about the honor of a woman whom you did not love than that of one you do.”
“That is untrue,” Anthony said.
“Is it?”
“You know that it is,” Anthony insisted.
“Perhaps you should prove it to me, Your Grace,” James said. “A man is defined more by his actions than his thoughts of action.”
“I do not know if that is true,” Anthony said wryly.
“You are being purposefully obtuse.” James paused. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
