Page 7 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
Elizabeth hummed. “I have thought of it on occasion,” she replied, “but I do not wish to marry soon. I enjoy being your lady’s maid too much to relinquish the position for marriage.”
“You can marry for love,” Bridget said, trying not to sound bitter. “You can marry any man you desire.”
“Well, that does not mean that any man would agree,” Elizabeth said, “but I could ask any man that I like. That is certainly true.”
Bridget frowned and tried to imagine a life like Elizabeth’s. The potential disgrace of becoming a governess still echoed in her ears. Would that disgrace be bearable if it meant that she could, someday, marry the man she desired? Bridget swallowed hard, her mind set adrift with the most salacious fantasies of being a governess and attracting the attentions of a stern and handsome lord. She imagined heated glances and fleeting touches, the scandalous wedding, and the night wherethey consummated and she reached that height of bliss she had only ever heard of achieving.
“Someday, I hope that you can wed a man who truly loves you,” Bridget said. “You deserve to be happy.”
“You do, also,” Elizabeth replied. “It may be too bold of me to say, my lady, but you deserve happiness. Surely, if there is any justice in the world, you will find it. I cannot imagine someone as kind as you being doomed to a dreadful marriage.”
Bridget forced a smile. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You are very thoughtful. I believe that I wish to sleep now. I am to attend the Duke of Hamilton’s ball tomorrow, and I do not wish to arrive looking as though I have experienced an entirely restless night.”
“Of course, my lady,” Elizabeth said, “but fear not. I shall ensure that you look as lovely as always.”
“I know.”
Bridget turned onto her side and stared at the curtained window of her bedchamber. She heard Elizabeth’s light steps as she also returned to bed. Despite her lady’s maid’s kind words, Bridget could not make herself believe them. The situation was utterly hopeless, and someday soon, her father would inform her of his intentions to wed her to the Marquess of Thornton. All Bridget could do was enjoy her freedom while she had it.
She imagined the marquess’s hands on her the night of her wedding. Would he be gentle and speak to her as if he truly saw her as a young lady, or would he be quick and cold about the whole affair? There was no indication that he believed she had any value besides her ability to produce an heir for him.
Bridget squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. If she married Lord Thornton, her father’s debts would be paid. Anna might even have the chance to marry for love. Bridget tried to decide if she was noble enough to sacrifice her own happiness for her sister’s potential love match.
She ought to be. Bridget felt as though she ought to be many things, though. She contemplated those questions until the early hours of the morning, when she heard Elizabeth waking.
“Good morning, my lady,” Elizabeth said. “Did you manage to find sleep, after all?”
Bridget laughed. “I did,” she lied. “Thank you.”
It was fortunate that Elizabeth was such an efficient lady’s maid, uncommonly skilled with cosmetics and hairstyling. If Bridget could not be happy, she could at least ensure that she looked acceptable at the ball that evening.
Chapter 4
Anthony rubbed his eyes, staring morosely at the ledgers spread over his desk. He felt as though he were drowning beneath the mound of papers. The numbers on all the papers had begun to blur together in his mind.
Although his predecessor had died three years ago, those years had been so chaotic that Anthony had yet to really immerse himself in the affairs of the dukedom. The previous Duke of Hamilton, Anthony’s uncle Frederick, had been what the ton politely called an eccentric, and his papers reflected the appropriateness of such a term. His ledgers were in complete disarray and often seemed written as if they were intended only for his uncle’s eyes.
His uncle’s death had been sudden, and it had taken Anthony some time to adjust to his new role. The previous Duke of Hamilton had been a young man, and his wife, Catherine, had been in good health. Everyone had anticipated an heir would soon arrive. None had, however. Then Lady Rose’s father had died, and the young woman had become his ward.
Anthony would have been content to let Lady Victoria manage his cousin’s Seasons, but it quickly became apparent that Lady Victoria was a woman with delicate nerves and one who had not been involved in the ton’s affairs for decades.She was ill-equipped to see a young woman’s prospects on the marriage mart.
There was a light knock on the door of his study. “Come in!” Anthony called.
Kitty, the maid, opened the door and curtsied. “Lady Victoria has arrived for you.”
“Escort her to me.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
After she left, Anthony ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He supposed that he should have expected his aunt’s arrival. The Dowager Duchess of Hamilton had wanted to host a ball, and Anthony had seen the wisdom in the decision. A ball would be a good opportunity to show the ton that he was an effective and prosperous duke, which would mean better suitors for Lady Rose. Even better, Her Grace had suggested that she do all the planning, which meant Anthony would not have to devote any time to preparing for the festivities. Of course, she would have told Lady Victoria; they were family by marriage.
Anthony took a steadying breath. He sympathized with her grief. Truly, he did. It was only that he had never been a man who was good at comforting others. Tears made him anxious and uneasy, and with women especially, he always felt as though he would say something wrong and worsen their distress.
The door to his study opened again, and Kitty curtsied. Behind her, he saw his aunt. Once, Lady Victoria had been a great beauty, and she held her age well. At five-and-forty years, she was as tall and slender as the stem of a daffodil. Her eyes were blue and her hair gold, just like her daughter’s. If one looked at the lady for only a moment, they would think her lovely, indeed. It was only upon closer inspection that one noticed the dark shadows that lingered beneath her eyes and the thinness of her face, neither of which had been present when her husband still lived. She still wore black.
Anthony stood. “My dear aunt,” he said. “I had not realized that you would be visiting.”
“Your Grace,” she said, curtseying. “It was a rather impulsive decision of mine. I knew you would forgive me for it.”
