Page 22 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“Will you do it, Your Grace?” James asked.
Anthony ran a hand through his hair, thinking and silently weighing his options. “It would be unwise to do it. Lady Rose’s plan just sounds as though everything would end badly, and yet I… I do wish to help Lady Bridget.”
“I see.”
Anthony shrugged. “No matter. I do not even know when I shall see Lady Bridget again, so I have ample time to consider my decision.”
James, doubtlessly recognizing the tone of dismissal, rose and bowed. “Indeed, Your Grace.”
As the man departed, Anthony looked idly at the letters. He still did not know whether Lady Rose’s plan was precisely what he needed or whether it was the worst thing he had ever considered in his life, but despite his professed hesitation, he knew exactly what he must do.
He would aid Lady Bridget in her quest to dissuade the repulsive Marquess of Thornton from pursuing her. And if in spending some time with the young lady Anthony managed to soothe some of his grief, that would not be the worst outcome. After all, Anastasia would have wanted him to be happy. His grief was heavy and plodding, like a weight that settled upon his shoulders that could never be removed. But for Anastasia’s memory, he must try.
Chapter 11
“Lady Emily has the most impressive collection of paintings in all of Britain,” Anna said, excitement palpable in her voice. “Everything from the Old Masters to the modern style! She told me she recently acquired some beautiful landscape paintings, which she expects I will enjoy.”
Bridget smiled, enjoying the glow of her sister’s enjoyment. Since their father had revealed his desire for Bridget to marry Lord Thornton, neither she nor Anna had talked about much else. It was nice to speak of something else, especially something that Anna loved so dearly.
They walked through the foyer and into the hall where Lady Emily’s exhibition was being held. Portraits lined every inch of the walls, and the air was light with the cheerful conversations of elegantly dressed men and women. Bridget felt the tension of the past few days melt away as she settled into the role of her sister’s audience. While Bridget appreciated art as much as any lady, she had never admired it with the same passion that Anna did. On occasions like these, Bridget was content to leave her arm linked with her sister’s and to wander slowly through the halls of paintings, while her sister shared her knowledge of all the artists and the brushstrokes needed to create each piece.
Bridget looked at the painting, which depicted a lady reading beneath a tree, and let herself be lulled into a state of peace by her sister’s soft, enthusiastic voice. The day passed like that for some time until Anna inhaled sharply, the sound a discordant note in the otherwise gentle cadence of her voice.
“Is something the matter?” Bridget asked.
“No,” Anna said quickly, turning her face her sister. “But do you see the gentleman standing behind me? Just a few paces away?”
Bridget arched an eyebrow. The gentleman stood before a painting of the sea, his hands clasped behind his back, as he stared at the piece. Bridget did not think she had ever seen someone gaze so intently at a piece of art, save for Anna. He was a dark-haired man with a pleasing figure, which was made all the more seemly by his well-tailored jacket.
“He is handsome,” Bridget noted.
“That is Mr. Russell.”
“Oh!”
Bridget gazed at the man with a new appreciation. This was the gentleman who Anna had been so utterly besotted by.While Bridget’s own prospects for a love match seemed slight, she still had hope for Anna.
“We should speak to him,” Bridget said. “You would surely prefer to speak about art with him than you would with me.”
“That is untrue!” Anna exclaimed.
A flush rose to her sister’s face, though, and Bridget did not fail to notice the shy way her sister tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Are you thinking something wicked about him?” Bridget teased. “You look rather flushed.”
“I am not!” Anna said. “It—it is cruel of you to suggest that when I… when I am looking at him.”
Bridget stared at Anna, who she was certain had never seemed so flustered at the prospect of speaking to a man before.
“I would rather speak about artwork with you,” Anna said, but her eyes remained on Mr. Russell. “I am certain he was only being polite when we last spoke.”
“I think it is true,” Bridget said. “You said that he wished to see your artwork. Do you not think it is past time to invite the man to an exhibition at Crampton House?”
“Well...”
“Introduce me,” Bridget said. “It will be a good excuse for us to approach him. Besides, I simply must meet the only man who has ever gained your affections.”
“They are not affections yet,” Anna said, quickly glancing over her shoulder.
Perhaps they were something more superficial, but Bridget felt as though she had teased her sister enough already.
