“Even with Candide?” Casper asked, frowning. He sounded unconvinced.
“She considers it blasphemous, which I suppose I can understand—in a way.”
Casper shrugged. “So tell me—did you find the elusive Miss Smith?”
Hesitating a moment, Anthony considered what he’d discovered. He then met Casper’s gaze and nodded with slow deliberation as he walked back to his seat. “Yes, I did.”
“And?” Casper’s eagerness for information was most apparent not only from his tone of voice but from his posture as well, for he was now leaning forward in his seat as if the act of doing so would elicit a quicker reply.
“And her name is Miss Chilcott. Her father is employed at Roberts’ Exclusive Carriages.” He reached for his brandy. God how he needed it with everything he’d learned today.
“Well, I hate to state the obvious, old chap, but she’s hardly duchess material then. Society dictate will want you to marry a lady and . . . Miss Chilcott, was it?” Anthony nodded morosely. “Why, she may be lovely to look at and more charming than most, but she’s not even the daughter of a baronet!”
“I am aware of that small detail, thank you very much. However, there’s no law preventing me from courting her or from marrying her should I choose to do so.”
“It will be social suicide if you ask me,” Casper muttered. “You’re a duke, which unfortunately for you and Miss Chilcott means that you have a standard to uphold.”
Anthony knew this of course, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “Hang Society,” he muttered, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Besides, it’s not as if this family hasn’t done the unconventional before. Winston has still not been accepted back into some circles because of his business, but at least he’s happy with the choice he made.”
“If I were you, I’d marry the daughter of an earl and make Miss Chilcott your mistress,” Casper said, ignoring Anthony’s comment. “Besides, you know what these highborn ladies are like—too prim to be stroked, much less . . .” He allowed the sentence to trail off. “So if you do marry one, you’ll require someone else on the side to satisfy your needs.” Anthony scowled, but Casper blithely continued with, “You may have abandoned your rakish ways, but men like us have appetites, and that’s not something that ever goes away.”
“You’re disgusting,” Anthony said, though he had to admit there was some truth to it. How often had he submitted to his own hand in the course of the past five years? Thousands, perhaps more. And since he’d met Miss Chilcott . . . if she only knew what he’d done as he’d thought of her luscious body these past two evenings since the ball.
Casper smiled. “Say what you will, but I can see it on your face. Make Miss Chilcott your mistress and I’m sure she’ll—”
“Stop right there!” Anthony warned. “Miss Chilcott is a decent woman, Casper. She’s not the sort with loose morals, and I won’t allow you to speak of her in such a degrading fashion.”
Casper held up his hands. “Fair enough.”
The door opened and Anthony, turning his head, found both Winston and his mother entering the room. “I hope we’re not intruding,” his mother said. She was wearing a rusty orange day dress that went well with her coloring, her black and gray completely abandoned, much to Anthony’s relief.
“Not at all,” Anthony told her, rising and waving them both over. Stepping around the table, he kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. “We were just discussing my investigation regarding Miss Smith, otherwise known as Miss Chilcott.”
“Oh, so you found her?” Winston asked as he poured himself a drink at the side table. “Would you care for some sherry, Mama?”
“Just a small one,” the duchess replied.
“And please bring the carafe with you over here, Winston,” Casper said as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Your brother and I are in need of a refill.”
“So, tell us about Miss Chilcott, Anthony. Is she the unwanted stepchild of a countess, hidden away so that none shall know of her beauty?”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “You read too many fairy tales, Mama.”
“Not anymore.” There was an edge of sadness to her voice. “But I used to when Louise was little. To be honest, I always did enjoy those happily ever afters—they don’t happen often enough in real life.”
“Well, it looks as though it’s unlikely to happen for me either,” Anthony said. “Miss Chilcott is a driver’s daughter, and as Casper has correctly pointed out, it would be difficult for me to make her my duchess—socially speaking, that is.”
“That explains her belief that she cannot share a future with you, though I’m not entirely sure of how it affects your decision, Anthony. When did you begin caring about what Society thinks?” his mother asked as she took a careful sip of her sherry, the tiny glass balanced perfectly between her elegant fingers. “Because if you ask me, you never gave much of a damn about anyone’s opinion until recently. I’d be greatly saddened to see you do so now, when so much depends on you doing the complete opposite.”
All three men stared at the tiny figure of a woman who sat before them. Anthony could not recall her ever using profanity before—it was so unlike her. She, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected as she looked right back at them. She eventually shrugged. “There’s little joy to be had in growing older, but having the freedom to say as you please is most assuredly one of them.”
“And here I was advising him to make her his mistress,” Casper said. “I’d no idea that you were so liberal in your way of thinking, Duchess.”
“Casper, surely you have been a friend of this family long enough now to know we’re not as conservative as most. It is my very deepest wish that my children will be as happy in their choice of partners as I was with my husband. If Miss Chilcott is the woman Anthony wants, then I have no intention of standing in his way. The rest of Society will give both of them a hard enough time—I see no reason to make the situation more difficult.”
Anthony felt his heart swell with a bit of hope—the only bit of hope he’d had all day. “Thank you, Mama. I really appreciate your support in this. However, there is a complication that you ought to know about.”
“Please don’t tell me that she has a child out of wedlock,” his mother said, concern marking her drawn features.
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Taking the carafe Winston offered him, Anthony poured a measure into Casper’s glass before adding another to his own. He’d already told his family that Miss Chilcott was planning to marry someone else—that he believed she felt duty-bound to do so. “I happened upon her this afternoon in Moxley as I was on my way to meet with her father. She was buying gloves.”
His mother raised both eyebrows. “I approve.”
Anthony sighed. “She was not alone but in the company of Mr. Roberts, who was acting as her escort—he is the man she intends to marry.”
Both his mother and Winston frowned.
“The carriage maker?” Casper asked.
Anthony nodded. “The very one.”
“I thought the name sounded vaguely familiar,” Winston said. “Didn’t you acquisition your new curricle from him, Anthony?”
Anthony gave his brother a tight smile. “You see my dilemma?”
“Not particularly,” Casper said, looking annoyingly calm.
Trust Casper to change his view on the matter just so he could argue the point. “A moment ago, your opinion was quite pessimistic,” Anthony told him.
“That was before I discovered how open your mother is to the idea of having Miss Chilcott for a daughter-in-law,” Casper said, directing a sweet smile at the duchess.
“I’m not particularly fond of toadies, Casper, though I do appreciate the consideration,” the duchess remarked, sipping delicately at her sherry.
“Whatever your opinion,” Anthony said, deciding he’d had enough of their backscratching, “the fact remains that I know Mr. Roberts, perhaps not personally, but enough to feel some remorse at the
thought of stealing Miss Chilcott away from him.”
“Then you’re a better man than I,” Casper said.
Anthony grinned. “I believe that goes without saying.” They saluted each other with their glasses before proceeding to take a healthy gulp.
“There is also the question regarding the gown,” the duchess said, breaking the silence. “However would the daughter of a mere driver have come to possess such an expensive item?”
“I cannot give you an answer to that yet,” Anthony told her. “But I don’t believe Miss Chilcott to be a thief. Whatever the case, I think there’s an honest explanation. Until I discover it though, I’ve no intention of alerting the Deerfords. I trust you’ll make no mention of it to them either.”
“You have our word on it,” Winston told him seriously. “And if there’s anything at all that we can do to help . . .”
Anthony nodded. “Thank you, but I can’t think of anything right now. It’s good to know that I have your support though. Now, if I can only convince the lady herself.” He frowned, realizing he’d neglected to tell them how his visit to the Chilcotts had actually gone. “When I spoke to her father and showed him the drawing of his daughter, he denied recognizing her. For whatever reason, they’re insistent upon marrying her off to Mr. Roberts, though I cannot for the life of me understand why.”
“Could they be indebted to him somehow?” Winston asked.
“I’ve wondered that myself,” Anthony said as he leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and placed his chin in his hands. “I suppose it’s possible. Her father is in Mr. Roberts’s employ.”
“The father of the woman you wish to marry is her fiancé’s driver?” Casper asked, looking undecided about whether to laugh or frown. He picked the latter.
Anthony nodded. “He test-drives the carriages that Mr. Roberts manufactures.”
“Well, then perhaps Mr. Roberts is blackmailing the poor man in some way?” the duchess suggested.
“That would certainly explain a lot,” Anthony agreed, “but Mr. Roberts, as peculiar as he may be, doesn’t seem like the sort of man who’d resort to such baseness of character.”
“I agree,” Casper muttered. “It takes an evil-minded person to bend someone’s fate to their will. If Mr. Roberts had it in him, you’d know.”
“But if all the Chilcotts are looking to accomplish is to marry off their daughter to an affluent man—which Mr. Roberts is, by the way—then I see no reason for them to deny you, Anthony,” the duchess said, her tone taking on a defensiveness unique to a proud mother. “You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake! She should be thanking her lucky stars that you’ve paid her any attention at all.”
“Unless of course she’s in love with Mr. Roberts,” Winston pointed out.
“She’s not.” Anthony’s voice was clipped as he spoke. “She believes she has to marry him—that she has no choice in the matter. I mean to prove her wrong. I will speak to her father again, and when I do, I will be very clear about my intentions.”
“And if they still refuse you?” Casper drawled, his gaze meeting Anthony’s.
“Then I may have to whisk Miss Chilcott off to Gretna Green.” He was joking of course. He would never force a woman to marry him against her will, but he did feel as though he was being brushed aside too easily. Perhaps it would be good to assert himself a bit more—remind Miss Chilcott of what they’d shared the night of the ball. Seeing his mother’s horrified expression, he couldn’t help but add, “Let’s not forget that I used to excel at seduction. Perhaps a rake is precisely what Miss Chilcott needs.”
Smiling to himself, he drank deeply from his glass just as his mother muttered faintly, “Heaven forbid.”
Chapter 14
Anthony set out for the Chilcott home the following afternoon. He was tired, having suffered yet another restless night with thoughts of Miss Chilcott, and he still wasn’t sure of what he would say to Mr. Chilcott—how best to make his case so that he wouldn’t be turned away yet again. Pondering this, he trotted along at a leisurely pace, his horse’s hooves stamping the road that led toward Moxley when suddenly, in the distance, he saw someone walking toward him. As he got closer to the individual, his heart rate picked up in realization of who that person was.
It was Miss Chilcott—there could be no mistaking it, even though her face was downcast as they approached each other, leading Anthony to suspect that she’d determined his identity as well and was probably hoping he wouldn’t notice her. As if such a thing had been possible.
As he came closer to her, he pulled his horse to a complete stop and tipped his hat in salutation. “Good afternoon, Miss Chilcott.”
She looked up at him, her hand shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. “Oh, Your Grace—what a surprise!”
Did the color in her cheeks just deepen, or was he imagining things?
“What brings you all the way out here? You must be at least a mile from town.”
“I . . . er . . .” As if unaware of where she actually was, Miss Chilcott looked both left and right before returning her gaze to Anthony, who was trying his damndest to keep his expression straight. “I was on my way to visit my aunt with a pie.” She held a small basket up for him to see.
“Does she live far from here?” Anthony asked, a little concerned that a woman of Miss Chilcott’s beauty was roaming the countryside on her own. Had she no inkling of the sort of danger she was placing herself in?
“Another mile perhaps—there’s a turn up ahead that will take me straight there.”
Looking down at her, Anthony considered his next move. She looked dazzling with the sunlight casting a golden glow upon her hair. Her gown was simple and white, yet so much more enticing than the more elaborate ones he’d seen ladies in London wear. And then of course there was her bosom, of which he was afforded a very clear view from his vantage point.
His stomach was not the only part of him to tighten as he thought of what it might be like to bare it. Bloody hell, Casper was right—he might have stopped behaving like a rake, but his mind was not so easily controlled.
Taking a tight hold on the reins with his left hand, Anthony swung himself down onto the ground, landing right in front of Miss Chilcott. He turned to face her, noting the look of surprise and . . . was that dread in her eyes? “Allow me to accompany you.”
“I cannot possibly,” she gasped. “It’s . . . it’s not proper.”
Intrigued by her level of discomfort, Anthony leaned toward her. “How so?”
“We have no chaperone.” She looked around again, like a naughty child who feared being caught. “If anyone saw us together, it would make things quite difficult for me. You see, I am to marry Mr. Roberts, in case you were not aware. Whatever will he think if he hears I’ve been out walking alone with you?”
“I imagine he’d thank me for seeing to your safety,” Anthony said. As reluctant as she was for his company, he was enjoying their discussion. Determined to win, he added, “Besides, if anything were to happen to you—a sprained ankle perhaps, or, God forbid, something worse—I’d quite simply never forgive myself.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Miss Chilcott nodded. “Very well then,” she acquiesced. She started walking again while Anthony kept pace, leading his horse by the reins.
“Do you often go for walks like this? On your own?” he asked.
Turning her head, she met his gaze, her deep frown alluding to her displeasure at the question. “I suppose you’re about to tell me that you don’t approve.”
Sensing she would not respond well to overprotectiveness but feeling an elemental need to keep her safe, Anthony shrugged and said, “The world can be a dangerous place, Miss Chilcott. I merely mean to caution you.”
Looking at her, he could tell she was struggling with what to say. Her voice was low when she eventually spoke—so much so that he had to strain to hear her. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall take your concern under advisement.”
Well, she’d certainly taken the high
road, which of course only served to increase his admiration of her. “So, what sort of pie are you taking to your aunt?” he asked after a moment’s silence.
Miss Chilcott didn’t turn to look at him as she said, “Apple,” her eyes fixed firmly upon the horizon.
“Something tells me you’re not so fond of apple pie yourself,” Anthony prodded.
She gave him a wary look, held silent for a moment and then said, “To be honest, I’ve grown tired of the flavor. I enjoy variety in my food, you see, but this past year Mama has been particularly fond of serving apple pie for Sunday tea.”
“I’m more partial to blueberry myself,” Anthony confided. “Or something entirely different, like chocolate—I must admit I’m very fond of chocolate.”
Miss Chilcott finally relaxed and chuckled. “It appears I’ve just discovered one of your indulgences. Am I right?”
“I suppose so,” he said.
“What else do you enjoy, Your Grace, besides eating chocolates?”
Talking to you . . . better yet, kissing you.
“Many things, especially horseback riding, the company of friends, the opera—”
“The opera?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been myself, but it’s always been my understanding that gentlemen went only for the sake of accompanying the ladies—not because they actually wanted to.”
Anthony smiled. “I think it’s an acquired taste—you either like it or you don’t. Believe me, Miss Chilcott, I’ve seen many sleepy-eyed ladies at the opera as well. One mustn’t generalize.”
“No, of course not,” she agreed.
Eyeing her, he took in the soft slope of her nose, her high cheekbones flushed a delightful shade of pink, and her deep, rosy lips. A lock of hair had torn itself free from its fastening and was presently blowing across her cheek, tempting Anthony to pull it away and tuck it behind her ear. He resisted the urge and asked instead, “What are your enjoyments, Miss Chilcott?”
Sophie Barnes Page 13