“What?”
“Do you think she cares for you?”
Anthony swallowed and closed his eyes. He could still feel her hands shaking in his own. He had thought then that she had wanted to marry him. He had been almost certain of it. What they had was no one-sided infatuation. Together they became whole. It was the reason he couldn’t give up on her. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life broken, and he didn’t want to see her married to a single one of the men on that list. None of them would see her for who she was, not like he did. “Yes, I’m quite certain she does.”
“Did you compromise her character in any way?”
How could his father think that of him? He would never . . . A blonde wig and a beauty spot came to mind. Why in heaven’s name had she agreed to his plan?
“Anthony, answer me this instant.”
“It is a hard question to answer.”
“Did you accost her in any way?”
“No, of course not.” She had accosted him once. But he added that to the list of things better left unsaid.
Father shook his head. “Well, it is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into. I’m not sure what our next step should be.” He marched out the door and closed it behind himself.
***
Anthony returned home from another unsuccessful ride in Hyde Park. He was worried his father might be growing weary of the drives, but if they were to happen upon the duke, he would need his father there to introduce them properly. And other than running into Harrington or his family on accident, he had no other way to contact them. He had asked Father multiple times if he would arrange an introduction with the duke, but he only ever answered, “Not yet.”
Anthony had attended more card parties, operas, and balls in the last two weeks than ever in his life. If he had worried about the difference in their social status before, it became even more apparent in the last few days that his circle and the duke’s circle were very different circles.
“I know what you are doing.” Father handed his hat and gloves to Mr. Gilbert. “And I’m not sure you are going about it in the best manner. Did you really think she would be gracing the drawing room of Mrs. Belfast?”
“I knew that was unlikely, but what was I to do? Sit at home?”
Father turned to Mr. Gilbert. “Has any mail come today?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Gilbert went to the side table and handed Father a few envelopes. Without looking too carefully at most of them, Father handed Anthony a dark tan envelope. “Quit wasting your time on the Belfasts. I’m quite certain that lady will be at this gathering, as it is hosted by her brother.”
He snatched the invitation. The paper was fine, and the seal was one he would recognize anywhere. Not because he had actually received a correspondence from the Duke of Harrington, but because Anthony had made it a point to look it up.
“Thank you, Mr. Gilbert,” Father said.
Mr. Gilbert bowed and left them in the foyer.
Anthony quickly opened the envelope and pulled out the card. He scanned the contents of the invitation, ignoring the personal note that was folded and sealed—also with the Harrington seal—underneath it. Father was already walking away to his study.
“This says it is a ball in honor of General Woodsworth.”
Father didn’t turn around. He just waved his left hand behind him.
“How long have you known about this?”
He turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Long enough that if I had told you about it, we could have skipped our last two rides in Hyde Park, but I actually enjoy those. Even if you spend most of your time scanning the carriages for a certain young lady.”
“Why is the Duke of Harrington throwing you a ball?”
“He served under me for two years. It isn’t as though I don’t know him.”
“And you have met with him recently?”
Father finally turned completely around. “Yes.” His face was bland as if the news shouldn’t have affected Anthony at all.
What had the two of them talked about? There was no chance Anthony’s name hadn’t come up. “Did he ask about me?”
“He asked much about you.”
The foyer was quiet for a moment. Did Anthony want to know what was coming next? He stepped closer to his father. “And what did you say?”
Father stepped forward and put one hand on his shoulder. His hand was heavy and warm, the weight of it there unfamiliar. “I told him the truth. That there is no better man in England than my son. Even if he didn’t recognize a lady when she was right under his nose.”
With a squeeze, Father dropped his hand from Anthony’s shoulder, turned, and left.
Anthony’s foot fell backward a step, and he fought the urge to sink to the ground. The house was silent enough for him to hear the clock ticking in his study even though the door was closed. He took in its steady beat.
Anthony hadn’t joined the army, nor had he managed to marry a woman with a title that could elevate the Woodsworth name. He hadn’t truthfully cared about those things for a long time. But his father still did, didn’t he?
He was no longer certain.
In his hands he still held the invitation and the sealed correspondence that had come with it. He took them both to his study, laid the invitation down on his desk, and then turned the note over in his hands.
What if, after this note, he was forbidden to write the duke any longer? Making those plans was the one bright moment of his day. Each one gave him a spark of hope. If he had to live without that, how would he survive?
He sat in his chair, remembering—as he did every time he sat there—how Patience had read over his proposal while sitting in this same spot.
He took a deep breath and broke open the seal.
It was short.
Very short.
Mr. Woodsworth,
I have read over your multitude of detailed proposals. If you are interested in courting my sister, the proper channel would be to wait until you are introduced (I believe the posted invitation should be a good opportunity for that) and then ask permission to come to call. No need to send further correspondence.
H.
The clock on his mantle ticked away the seconds as he scanned the note a second time.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have sent the duke quite so many letters.
He shook his head. It didn’t matter what the duke thought of him. Well, perhaps it did, but the most important piece of information from the letter was this: he was finally going to see Patience again. He had followed the papers and had not seen her name listed in connection with any gentleman, but in the time she had been gone, she very well could have formed an attachment to someone else. She had liked him, but she hadn’t really known anyone else but Anthony. Now that the world was at her feet, would she even want to remember the man who had dressed her up, ruined her soft hands, and made her take care of Sophia’s children?