AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Later that afternoon, Anthony found himself alone. He had spent nearly an hour discussing Lord Saumon’s business venture in the man’s study, weighing the pros and cons of expanding one’s business overseas.
“I have heard that many gentlemen have had luck with such a risk, My Lord,” Anthony mused, pacing back and forth across Lord Saumon’s crimson rug. “It must be said, though, that America already has a market for menswear.” Lord Saumon nodded solemnly, and Anthony felt compelled to add, “Although, you do own several of the most fashionable establishments in London, so I would not say your business would be entirely unwelcome in America.”
Anthony was not sure whether Lord Saumon secretly had a hand in designing the suits his stores sold or if he simply had good taste, for the man was always dressed impeccably. Even today, when there were no special events planned, Lord Saumon appeared to be wearing his best-pressed suit and a silky cravat that Anthony supposed felt as fine as a kitten’s fur. He wondered, briefly, if Miss Beatrice would appreciate such distinction – if she would like to see Anthony in this fine array – or if she preferred him as he was, clean-cut but roguish all the same.
He pulled at a loose thread on his suit jacket as Lord Saumon spoke, “What sort of investors would I need to acquire, Mr. Grayson? Could I simply use the ones I am already acquainted with, or would you recommend looking overseas for them?” Anthony thought to himself that Lord Saumon most likely knew the answers to these questions, or at least had an idea of what he wanted to do, but it was gratifying to be asked all the same. Ever since his grandfather had begun Anthony’s education in assets and six-figured sums and bottom lines, he had come to love the intricate planning involved in business.
It was not unlike, in his mind, the pursuit of a woman – there was an apparent goal at the end, but it could only be met through cunning and connections. Anthony found himself distracted by these thoughts as they related to Beatrice and wholly missed Lord Saumon asking, “Mr. Grayson? Are you all right? I apologize if my question is too serious for this hour of the morning.”
Anthony collected himself as Lord Saumon chuckled and replied with a sheepish smile, “No, it is not too challenging, My Lord. I was merely considering both ideas to their fullest extent so that I may give you my most accurate opinion on the matter.” Lord Saumon gestured for him to continue while straightening the items on his desk, and Anthony obeyed.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, Anthony was strolling out of Lord Saumon’s office after convincing him that English menswear in America could be profitable if he found Anglophilic investors. He paused, glancing around the great hall and admiring its emptiness which somehow added to the magnificence of the place itself. Anthony heard a few voices tittering from other rooms in the Manor, but in general, it seemed as though most of the party had gone into town.
Anthony felt his shoulders sagging at the notion that he may not speak to Beatrice until supper, but rallied his spirits long enough to search for her. At first, he thought she might be out admiring the grounds with Mr. Morrison and her older sister as she had suggested, but the light echo of the pianoforte from above told him otherwise. Anthony did not know much about Mr. Morrison but had noticed that his presence made both of the Ivanry girls happy, for different reasons he supposed, and it cheered him to think of Mr. Morrison serenading the oldest one.
He ascended the stairs quietly so as not to interrupt the concert and merely poked his head in the room long enough to determine ifhisMiss Ivanry was present. She was not though Mr. Morrison’s impromptu concert did have the small audience of the blonde Miss Ivanry and Miss Saumon. They both sat, eyes closed or gazing into the distance, enjoying the dulcet melodies emanating from the pianoforte at Mr. Morrison’s touch.
Anthony was careful not to disturb such tranquility as he turned and headed back down the stairs. He did not wish to search every room for Beatrice, both for fear of being rude to his hosts and because that would take much of his time, so Anthony simply wandered through the hallways, listening for voices. He knew that it was impolite to eavesdrop, so Anthony did not linger longer than was necessary to determine Beatrice’s whereabouts.
In the drawing-room, he found his grandfather and Lady Ivanry conversing quietly as they shared glasses of brandy. It was an elegant scene to be sure with both of them sitting as straight as wooden boards, bearing composed, friendly expressions. Anthony was shocked at first to see Brandon Grayson, of all people, getting along so well with the woman he claimed to hate, but Anthony supposed that even grumpy, older men like his grandfather could be soothed by a feminine presence.
Anthony slipped away before he could be noticed and sauntered further into the recesses of the Manor. His shiny, black dress shoes made subtle scuffling sounds along the wood floor as he walked, meaning Anthony had to listen intently for the sound of other people. There were several moments when he stopped, lingering in the shadows like a ghost, both to heed hushed voices and to admire some of the Saumons’ art.
Unlike the pieces that hung proudly in their gallery, the ones that hung toward the back of the house were darker, more turbulent, and Anthony found himself bewitched by them. Many featured storms or fires or some other act of nature which the subjects of the painting were agonized by, but the one that drew his attention the most featured a woman with a serene expression amid chaos, and to his surprise, Anthony discovered that the woman resembled Beatrice.
In a way, the woman from the flowery painting was how he saw Beatrice before he got to know her, and this new one was how Anthony had come to understand her. It was a balance, he understood, for a lady of her caliber to understand all the intricacies of life and their pitfalls while also creating an air of innocence. The longer he gazed at the stoic woman, the more convinced Anthony became that telling Miss Beatrice of the wager was the right thing to do. At worst, he supposed, she would treat him to another one of her tongue lashings, but then there would be nothing standing in the way of their courtship.
And perhaps, if luck was on his side, Beatrice would understand completely, knowing that gentlemen get up to all sorts of tricks when left to their own devices, and forgive him with a smile. Though Anthony had to admit, he was not opposed to her fiery nature, so long as she let him kiss her at the end of her tirade. Smiling now at the weight of deceit being lifted from his chest, Anthony continued down the hallway, and as he got closer to the last door on the left, he began to hear murmurs.
“I don’t care if he’s God himself! You struck a deal with me, and youwillsee it through to the end or face the consequences.”
“Youknow this is unjust, and that my prize for winning is as shameful as anything I have ever heard come from a gentleman’s lips. I have done my part, played the role perfectly, and now, you come to me with moredisgustingideas?”
Anthony cocked his head to the side, immediately recognizing the voices, and leaned in to see through the crack in the door. Inside, Lord Ivanry was looming over Beatrice, his hawkish face flushed with anger while hers was aghast with repulsion. Anthony’s first instinct was to barge in and demand to know why Lord Ivanry was behaving in such a way, but what Lord Ivanry said next stopped Anthony in his tracks, “Don’t stand there and pretend that you don’t enjoy enticing Mr. Grayson. If I weren’t such a gentleman, I would have made more of a spectacle of my ward practically whoring herself out to one of the richest men we know.”
Anthony watched astonished as Beatrice’s eyes began to fill with tears as she spat back, “I have only done this because you asked me to, My Lord. Do not claim that any flirtatious behavior on my part toward Mr. Grayson was any more than an assurance on my behalf that Penelope would be safe fromyou!”
Anthony felt as though his feet were glued to the floor, and though he desperately wished to be anywhere but here, Anthony could not bring himself to leave. He crouched by the door, heart breaking as Lord Ivanry and Beatrice argued viciously.
“You girls don’t know anything about duty and honor. Your grandmother seems to think she taught you all you need to know, but what about a man’s responsibilities? If you think my intentions are vile, then maybe you should consider that my affections for your sister are merely to show that I could provide for her like a good husband.”
Beatrice scoffed, the sound coarse, “Ah, yes, My Lord. A good husband who makes his wife tremble in hallways late at night by using his size and strength to bully her into submission? No, you are nothing but a lecherous man, and everyone knows it.”
Anthony felt sick to his stomach when Lord Ivanry sneered, saying, “You sound jealous,my dear. Here you’ve been entertaining the man I want you to marry, but maybe all you need is some good, old-fashioned American brawn to make you blush.”
The gasp that expelled itself from Beatrice’s throat was fearful as Lord Ivanry advanced toward her, his steps purposeful and menacing, making the young woman shrink back. “Now, I don’t wish to make this uglier than it is, Beatrice,” Lord Ivanry intoned, “so I expect you to bed Mr. Grayson and force him into a marriage proposal, if necessary, by the end of the week. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to do what I said I would when we first struck this deal.”
Though he was not the strongest of men, Beatrice still appeared frightened of being attacked or worse, so her answer should not have hurt Anthony as much as it did. “You are one of the most contemptible men I have ever known,” she muttered, lips raw from being nervously bitten, “and I would rather die than see Penelope saddled with a man like you. Therefore, I…I will do what you ask, but know that I take no pleasure in it.”
Anthony grimaced, mind racing with a thousand thoughts of their times together, which were all apparently lies, and backed away from the door. He did not wish to stay there another second and hear how Miss Beatrice would falsely profess her enjoyment of his company and mutely open her legs for him. Even though every step felt like stone, Anthony managed to walk swiftly and quietly back down the hall, his face stony and expressionless. Once in the safety of his chamber with the door closed, Anthony collapsed upon his bed.
He tugged his cravat from his neck, tossing it carelessly away, and unbuttoned most of the buttons on his suit. That small amount of space gave him a bit more room to breathe, and Anthony focused on filling his lungs with oxygen to calm his frantic heart. A part of him wished to run to Beatrice and live in the fantasy she created a little while longer, but Anthony knew he could not pretend that he did not know about her heinous deal with Lord Ivanry.
Anthony chuckled dryly to himself, scorning his stupidity at thinking that Beatrice would want a courtship from someone like him. Certainly, she was like all the other ladies, fascinated by carnal appetites and willing to let him have his fill before they ran back to their true suitors. And he knew, in the recesses of his mind, that he was no better than she, for Anthony had had his own dishonest dealings with Mr. Laughton.
He lay there, suit wrinkling beneath him until the front door opened and closed downstairs. Cheerful noises filtered up, and Anthony listened numbly as someone crowed about how lovely the weather was that day, despite the chill. That brought Anthony’s mind back to the morning by the lake where Beatrice had stared at his nude body longingly and trembled in his arms with heavy-lidded eyes above sinfully parted lips. Had it all been an act?
Anthony had always considered himself to be a good judge of character, but perhaps he had mistaken her ruthless cunning for delicate eagerness. Whether or not her intentions were just, as he supposed they may be after hearing the way Lord Ivanry spoke to her, Anthony could not help but feel used. Did everyone really think he was not worth any more than an affair or two? That he could be led on with the promise of a woman’s warmth?
