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Anthony nodded solemnly, feeling much worse than he had when he was simply alone with his thoughts. “Ever since your parents’ passing, I have done my best to raise you in a manner befitting a gentleman of your station,” Brandon Grayson continued, smoothing over his mustache with two fingers. “I think it is time you took your life as seriously as I have taken it, Anthony. When we arrive home, I shall schedule both a party and a meeting with my closest acquaintances who have daughters of good breeding. We will do our best to find you a wife by the end of the year, Anthony.”
He felt his freedom slipping slowly away, but in his drunken state, Anthony found he did not have much use for it. After all, what had he done but chase after ladies until he lost the one he truly wanted to a wager? Lord Randlay’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “I know the pain you are feeling right now and how it seems like there will never be another like her. I must admit, I had similar affections for Miss Beatrice’s grandmother many, many years ago.”
The Viscount stood to his full height and adjusted his suit jacket, definitively stating, “It would be best for you to forget Miss Beatrice, Anthony. Find some other way to fill your time here and then start with a fresh slate when we return home.”
Anthony was used to speaking very little during these lectures, so he simply murmured, “Yes, Grandfather.” Lord Randlay nodded and looked about the room, seeming to search for some other comfort he could offer Anthony.
But, finding none, he simply hummed and regarded Anthony’s slumped form. “I will give you ten minutes to find your composure, and then I expect you to join the rest of us downstairs. Wash your face, have a glass of water, perhaps change your suit, and then do not utter a word during supper until you can speak full sentences without slurring your words.”
When Anthony only nodded again, and the Viscount left him as quickly as he had arrived. Alone again, the young man mulled over his grandfather’s words, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became.
In his heart, Anthony knew he could never forget a woman like Beatrice nor how she had changed him for the better, but he also was sure that he could not pretend to be oblivious to her dealings with Lord Ivanry. While Anthony splashed his face with lukewarm water from the pitcher on his nightstand and redressed in a clean suit, he resolved to ignore her much as she had done when they first arrived here.
It would be a challenge certainly, for he still longed to wrap her in his embrace and taste the sweetness from her lips once more, but perhaps his grandfather knew what was best. Anthony would not forget Beatrice, not completely, but he would banish any thought of courting her so that he could move on after Mr. DeLancy and Miss Saumon’s wedding.
Less than satisfied but resolved, nonetheless, Anthony took one last look in the mirror and saw a mere imitation of the man he once was.
* * *
After a fitful nap that was forced upon her by the exhaustion in her body, Beatrice awoke feeling aches all over. Her dress tugged uncomfortably in strange places and was wrinkly with sleep; Beatrice’s curls were also a frizzy mess that would take some time to fix.
Before she was able to act upon the violent urge to run away, Beatrice had decided to lie upon her bed for a moment to calm down, and that had turned into an hour or so of disturbed slumber. Even in her dreams, she was not able to escape Lord Ivanry, who had in her nightmare held Beatrice down and shown her what he meant by “American brawn.”
When she woke up with a bad taste in her mouth and eyes which were sticky from crying, Beatrice once again regarded her clothes hanging neatly in the closet. If she, by some miracle, was able to pack everything without being disturbed by her grandmother or sister, Beatrice had no doubt that someone would catch her leaving. The house seemed to be abuzz with the guests who had left earlier with Lady Saumon, so she would need all the luck in the world to sneak by all of them.
And then, even if she was able to escape, where would she go? It was not as though Beatrice had any money of her own or connections that would house her for a night. Beatrice sat up slowly, her head throbbing from pondering these awful thoughts, and looked over at herself in the mirror.
She looked dreadful, there was no argument there, and Beatrice was reminded of how Lord Ivanry had criticized her appearance that day, claiming a man like Anthony would want nothing to do with a girl like her. Oh, and there was another problem as if Beatrice did not have enough of those.
Now, not only did she have to consider the consequences of running away while being plagued by the argument with Lord Ivanry but also the possibility of facing Anthony again. Long gone were her pleasurable, wanton desires that could be regarded as nothing more than lust, making it so that Beatrice could not consider the gentleman as a mere fling to ease her conscience.
As she shed her wrinkly gown and put on a fresh one before stepping over to the small, ornate vanity to fix her ringlets, Beatrice tried to picture what she could even say to him now, “Ah, it is so nice to see you again, Mr. Grayson. Did you and Lord Saumon enjoy each other’s company this afternoon?”
No, that would not do, for now that she was expected to sleep with him as a trap and not out of lusty curiosity, the niceties seemed insignificant. Perhaps, she would wait until they were alone again to speak, “I have missed your touch, Sir. Please, hold me like you did by the lake, and this time, do not stop for anything.”
But that felt like the worst double cross, and Beatrice was not sure if she could even maintain the façade long enough to do the deed now. She feared that between ecstatic moans and pleas of his name, some horrible truth would slip from her lips and complicate everything.
When she was content with her appearance, at last, Beatrice steeled herself and walked over to her closed door. Her hand curled around the brass knob, letting its cool, metallic bite ground her senses. No matter what happened, Beatrice knew that she would have to tread carefully around both Lord Ivanry and Mr. Grayson. She could only hope that one of them would offer her reprieve.
* * *
Anthony did as his grandfather commanded and was silent throughout the early supper they had so that some of them could go to the theater later in the evening. He was seated beside Mr. DeLancy and Mr. Laughton, who were conversing animatedly with the other gentlemen nearby.
“Now, where do you plan to take Miss Saumon after the wedding? I hope you have some honeymoon plans, Solomon, but knowing you, it shall probably be a spontaneous trip to London!” Mr. Laughton claimed, drawing laughter from everyone, except Anthony, who was staring down the table at Beatrice.
Midway through Mr. DeLancy’s answer, Mr. Laughton seemed to notice this and, because Anthony guessed Mr. Laughton did not particularly care about their honeymoon plans, the gentleman leaned closer to him to ask, “What has you so glum tonight, my friend? Could it be that even after you gave up everything, the quiet little flower still does not want you?”
Anthony did not turn his head to face Mr. Laughton but simply slid his eyes to the right and gruffly replied, “I’m in no mood to converse with you tonight, Laughton.” His voice still carried a subtle, drunken sway full of contractions he would not otherwise use, but Anthony was surprised at how composed he sounded. However, he feared that would not last long if Mr. Laughton kept pressing the matter – which he did.
“Oh, come now, Mr. Grayson,” the gentleman murmured, patting Anthony on his shoulder. “You know I do not mean to be a poor winner. I only wish to commiserate with you over these ladies being so damn hard to please.” Anthony fought very hard then not to haul Mr. Laughton up by his bristly sideburns and throw the man out the front door.
In a measured tone, he said, “Yes, it’s astounding. Now, please, would you leave me to my wallowing?” Anthony hoped that this small self-deprecation would garner apathy from the aspiring Casanova and get the man to leave him alone.
Like a little devil on his shoulder, Mr. Laughton continued quietly, “I mean, I am surprised a young, innocent girl like her did not immediately offer herself to you, Mr. Grayson. You have your charms, and I had hoped that even she would be susceptible to them. But alas, it seems her steadfast maidenhood was able to ward off your…appetites.”
Anthony gritted his teeth and was about to excuse himself from the table when Mr. Laughton sat back in his seat, apparently content with how vexed he had made Anthony. “I am truly sorry for you, Sir,” Mr. Laughton concluded before turning back to the conversation surrounding Mr. DeLancy as if nothing had happened.
To keep himself from lashing out at Mr. Laughton, Anthony gripped his fork tightly and shifted his gaze from Beatrice to his half-finished plate of food. It was an affront to him, one that she could not possibly be aware of, for her to sit there and dine with everyone like she was not secretly a seductress. There had been countless times that Anthony had witnessed her stand by the wall during a party and barely speak to anyone, but now, she had the audacity to trick him of all people.
