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“I do not wish to speak of it,” he cut her off before she could say anymore. Her face set into sadness, and she turned her gaze down to where she was holding onto his arm. “I prefer to ignore that part of my life, and I never wish to discuss it again.”
“It hardly seems a wise way of dealing with pain, Antony,” she whispered so quietly that Fergus couldn’t hear them from where he was practicing his figures.
“That is my decision, mother,” he said gently as he disentangled his arm from hers. Whilst he appreciated her wish to help him, in truth, he knew it could not be done. He had found a way to deal with his pain, and that was that. He ignored it, he never thought of the lady from his past, and he distracted himself with the women at the gentlemen’s club.
“Antony, tell me one thing then,” she pleaded, hurrying to walk alongside him as he left the sports hall.
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “What do you wish to know?”
“Are you happy?” Her words brought him up short. He came to a sharp stop and turned back to look at her.
“Naturally,” he said, feeling how false his smile had become. “I have a good life, do I not? A dukedom, a fine house, loving family, happy tenants, good friends. What do I have to be sad about?”
Rose didn’t answer him. She looked down once more as though hoping he would offer an answer himself. He didn’t wish to. He was as happy as he could be, and that was all that mattered to him.
“If you would excuse me, mother, I need to go wash up before I greet our guests at breakfast,” he said, gesturing to the staircase as they appeared in the hallway.
“Very well,” she said. “Oh, they are so lovely,” she giggled, off in her own world once more as she recalled memories of the last evening that she had spent with them after their arrival. “You should have heard their tales from London. What a joy they are! And I have not seen my friend in so long.”
Antony stiffened as he recalled the memory of the young woman from the library the night before. It burned within him to ask who she was, but to do so would be revealing to his mother that he had already met her, and possibly jeopardize the woman’s reputation. He couldn’t do that. He’d already done it once by kissing her, after all. He would not be so much of a rogue to refer to it in front of others.
“Tell me, your friends,” he said, taking care to use the plural, “who are they?”
“Well, they are–”
“And most importantly,” he asked, pausing as he thought about the words. “Why are they here?”
* * *
“Are you really going to do this?” Phoebe asked with her arm through Hermione’s as the two of them descended the staircase together.
“I have no choice,” she whispered to her sister. “I’m doing it for you, Phoebe,” she said with full honesty. “I would never forgive myself if I was the reason you were condemned to a life alone as a spinster.” She watched as Phoebe smiled sadly.
“You are the kindest person I know, Hermione,” she said just as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I can scarcely believe you are willing to do this all for me.”
“Do not praise me just yet,” Hermione sighed shakily with fear. “For all we know, this attempt could be disastrous, and the Duke may take a disliking to me. No, for now, let’s not place any hope on this endeavor.”
“As you wish,” Phoebe said, though the excited smile in her features seemed to counteract her words.
As they walked toward the breakfast room together, Hermione felt her nerves grow worse and worse. She had seen her father and Cordelia already descend the stairs for breakfast that morning, and, in truth, she had put it off for as long as she could, in order to delay the moment. Now, she had to face up to it.
“Here they are,” Rufus’ voice greeted her. “I do apologize, Your Grace, for their lateness. I expect they were tired after their long journey yesterday.” Her father’s attempt to ingratiate himself with the Duke was not subtle, and Hermione had to work not to wrinkle her nose in disgust.
In the dining room, the sunlight was strong, streaming through three great windows and bathing the space in white light. At the table, the Dowager Duchess was seated. Beside her, Cordelia stood talking to two gentlemen. The first, Hermione could see clearly, with his face turned toward her. He was the gentleman she had seen walking out of the carriage the night before. The second gentleman had his back to her though, and she couldn’t see his face.
“May I introduce my daughters, Your Grace,” Rufus took Hermione’s hand. Subtly, by hiding their hands behind their backs, he took Hermione’s wrist in a pincer action and drew her across the room until she was by the group. “This is Lady Hermione Rogers, my eldest, and Lady Phoebe Rogers, my youngest.”
The tall figure turned around, revealing his face. Hermione felt her lips part in amazement to see the servant from the library standing before her wearing formal clothes and a smart jacket.
