Thanking her, the maid bobbed a curtsy, then exited the room, leaving Anthony alone. Looking around, he was just preparing to take his seat when the door to the dining room opened, revealing the man himself. “Your Grace, I am honored once more by your visit.” Anthony straightened himself, accepting the hand Mr. Chilcott offered him in a firm shake. “Do have a seat—tea will arrive shortly.”
Thanking Mr. Chilcott for his hospitality, Anthony placed himself in the beige armchair while his host took a seat on the sofa across from him.
So far so good.
“I apologize for coming unannounced like this,” Anthony began. “But there is a matter of grave importance that I must discuss with you—indeed, I have a moral obligation to do so.”
Mr. Chilcott frowned as he leaned back against the sofa and crossed his arms. “That sounds rather serious. Do continue.”
Anthony steeled himself. The nerves in his stomach were in utter uproar. What if he failed? He wanted Miss Chilcott at his side—needed her in such a profound manner that he felt quite desperate at the thought of losing all hope. Swallowing his misgivings, he trained his features into a mask of utter confidence and said, “I wish to ask for your permission to court your daughter, sir.”
Mr. Chilcott blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
Taking a deep breath, Anthony directed his intense dark eyes squarely at Mr. Chilcott and pressed on, attempting to choose his words with care. “I know that it was she who I met at the ball—the mystery woman whom I’ve been searching for—that it was her I danced with, spoke to and . . .”
Kissed.
Mr. Chilcott raised an eyebrow.
“She’s a remarkable woman,” Anthony continued, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to elaborate on what he’d just left unsaid, “and I am confident that she will make an excellent duchess.”
Mr. Chilcott frowned again—more deeply this time. “What makes you so certain? You cannot possibly know that you will get along well with one another in the long run—you barely know each other, for heaven’s sake!” The words were barely out before Mr. Chilcott’s eyes widened with alarm. “Don’t tell me you’ve been romancing her in secret and that she went to the ball specifically to meet with you. Good God! Has she been compromised? If you’ve—”
“It’s nothing like that—I assure you.” The corner of Anthony’s mouth edged upward to form a crooked smile. “Regarding the length of our acquaintance however, which, for the record began on the night of the ball, I think you should know that your daughter made the exact same point.”
Mr. Chilcott’s eyes narrowed and Anthony shifted a little in his seat. He might have been a duke—a man whose presence most men would tremble in—but for the moment, he was nothing more than a man laying bare his deepest wish to the father of the woman he hoped to marry. Mr. Chilcott might have been nothing more than a carriage driver, but Anthony was wise enough not to underestimate the power he had to turn down Anthony’s proposal.
The door to the parlor opened, admitting the maid, who’d returned with a tea tray. She poured a cup for each of them in turn, bobbed a curtsy and departed once again.
“What did you tell her?” Mr. Chilcott asked as soon as she was gone and the door had been closed behind her once more.
Leaning forward in his seat, Anthony stared into his teacup for a long moment, recognizing that what he was about to say would be detrimental to both his and Miss Chilcott’s future. He eventually looked up and, meeting Mr. Chilcott’s serious gaze, he said, “That I cannot explain the connection between us, but that I know it is there, so powerful that I cannot ignore it. I know she feels it too, for I can see it in her eyes.” He swallowed hard before adding, “She is marrying Mr. Roberts for your sake alone—not because she wishes to. It is a sacrifice, Mr. Chilcott, in every possible sense of the word, for she will have to abandon herself in the process.”
“What are you talking about?” Mr. Chilcott had been reaching for his tea but froze in response to Anthony’s words, spearing the duke with a hard stare instead. “Mr. Roberts may be a bit . . . reserved, but he will offer my daughter a most comfortable life, complete with a grand house to live in, beautiful gowns and countless servants. What more does she possibly need?”
Respect?
Instead of saying as much, Anthony raised an eyebrow. “I do believe Mr. Roberts neglected to tell you that he intends for her to earn her keep.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“His housekeeper will retire as soon as he’s married, and, considering it an unnecessary expense in light of the fact that his wife will be more than capable of taking on the task, he has no intention of hiring another.” Feeling more confident in the face of Mr. Chilcott’s shocked expression, he went on with, “I do not know him all that well, I admit, but I do know this—the man is a snob. He will not treat your daughter well, for to his way of thinking, she is far beneath him socially. Therefore, one must wonder at his reasoning. I believe he is quite aware of her beauty and imagines that she would make a fine accessory.”
“How dare you speak of my daughter in such a degrading fashion?” Mr. Chilcott’s words were spoken beneath his breath and with little force behind them, but his eyes had grown dark.
“Because I care about her and should hate to see her shackled to someone so lacking. She deserves better than that.”
A smirk presented itself on Mr. Chilcott’s lips. “You, perhaps?”
Anthony closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. This was not going as well as he’d hoped. “I know how this must seem to you, sir.” He opened his eyes and looked back at the man opposite him. “I assure you that my first concern is for your daughter’s happiness, and to be frank, I feel she stands a better chance for that if she attaches herself to me. I have more money than I know what to do with, so she shan’t be lacking and neither will you. I will not dictate to her what she can and cannot do with her free time, provided that such activities are appropriate for a young lady to enjoy. Forget about Mr. Roberts and let me court her. Please.”
Mr. Chilcott sat completely unmoving for a long moment before finally saying, “I shall have to speak to my wife.”
Bloody hell.
Hadn’t Miss Chilcott told him that her mother would never give her consent? Anthony felt as if the ground was falling away beneath his feet. He was doomed.
Running his fingers through his hair, he expelled a deep breath and reached for his tea. If only he had a brandy instead. He was in dire need of something stronger than flavored hot water. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered as the tepid liquid flowed down his throat. “Your daughter is receiving an offer of courtship from a duke, and not a single one of you is responding with the degree of elation that one might expect under the circumstances. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I assure you that there is not,” Mr. Chilcott said, his voice a notch tighter than it had been before. “Perhaps our lack of enthusiasm is merely based on your sudden appearance upon our doorstep, your eagerness to court our daughter based on one fleeting encounter with her, during which, according to you, an incomprehensible connection was formed between the two of you—one that urges you to hasten to the altar with her at the first available opportunity. Forgive me, Duke, if I am not as willing as you would have liked me to be in offering my nod of approval, but your argument is quite fantastic, not to mention rank with suspicion. Are you quite certain that you did not compromise her in any way?”
“You have my word on it, Mr. Chilcott,” Anthony promised. He had to admit that the man had a point. He hadn’t made a very convincing case by attempting to explain his motives for wanting to court Miss Chilcott by trying to make sense of his feelings toward her. It sounded unlikely to his own ears, and if the situation had been reversed, he’d probably have thought that the so-called connection he spoke of was nothing more than pure lust.
It wasn’t though. Anthony knew all about lust, and whatever it was that drew him so strongly to Miss Chilcott was a
different beast entirely. Deciding he had to say something more to make Mr. Chilcott understand, he asked the most absurd question he’d ever imagined himself asking another man: “Do you believe in love at first sight, Mr. Chilcott?”
Mr. Chilcott choked on the tea he’d unfortunately just taken a sip of. “I hope you’re jesting,” he said once he’d composed himself again. “Love at first sight? That’s the stuff of fairy tales, Duke.”
“Yes,” Anthony agreed. “And I’m not suggesting that I’ve fallen in love with your daughter, but rather that for the first time in my life, I have glimpsed the possibility for it with her.”
Something in Mr. Chilcott’s gaze shifted, and as Anthony looked back at him, he knew he’d managed to say the right thing, that as unlikely as it was, Chilcott understood.
“It is this possibility that I wish to explore,” Anthony continued. “I know how rare it is for anyone to experience such . . . oneness with another person and how fortunate I am to have done so with your daughter that I cannot—nay I will not—relinquish the chance of a love match with her.”
“How very noble of you, Your Grace.” The words came from the doorway, and Anthony turned his head to find Mrs. Chilcott standing there dressed in a violet gown that suited her complexion immensely. A matching ribbon had been twined about her hair, reminding Anthony of the Greek style that so many upper-class women were presently fond of.
Anthony rose to his feet without pause and approached her, executing a polite bow as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Chilcott,” he said as he straightened himself.
She did not smile—not even a little bit. Instead, her lips remained drawn in a tight line while her eyes assessed him slowly from head to foot and back again. Without comment, she swept past him and took her seat upon the sofa next to her husband. With a deflated feeling of having just been cut by the woman he hoped might one day become his mother-in-law, Anthony hesitantly returned to his own seat, upon which Mrs. Chilcott said, “I strongly advise you to abandon this ridiculous notion at once.”
Caught off guard by her curt remark, Anthony stared back at her for a long moment before managing to find his tongue. “There is nothing ridiculous about it,” he said, looking to Mr. Chilcott for a bit of support. Before Mrs. Chilcott had arrived, Anthony had been certain that he’d managed to convince him of his plight. Now, however, the man appeared to have retreated inside himself, his eyes trained stubbornly on his teacup.
“Of course there is,” Mrs. Chilcott went on, her eyes narrowing as she leaned toward Anthony. “You are mistakenly romanticizing your own beastly instincts by using some emotional attachment you wish for us to believe you have developed with our daughter as an excuse. Well, allow me to unravel your feelings for you, since you are clearly incapable of doing so yourself. Considering how little the two of you know each other, there can be no doubt that what you speak of is desire. If you say otherwise, you are being dishonest. All this talk of love or the possibility of love is nothing more than a means by which to make a gross elaboration of the truth.”
Anthony blinked. He didn’t know what shocked him more—Mrs. Chilcott’s blatant rudeness or her swift dismissal of what he felt. “It is more than desire,” he ground out, determined not to let this woman have a say without fighting back. “I am no stranger to desire, madam, and I assure you that this is something more—something much more permanent.”
“He wishes to court her,” Mr. Chilcott muttered.
Without a change to her demeanor, Mrs. Chilcott said, “Then I must inform you that your wish, Duke, has been declined. Our daughter will marry Mr. Roberts. They have known each other for almost a full year and I have every confidence that they will be very happy together.”
Incensed by her quick dismissal, Anthony rose to his feet, stared down his nose at her and said, “It appears, Mrs. Chilcott, that you are completely blind when it comes to the affairs of your daughter. Either that, or you simply do not care. Good day.” And with that, he exited the parlor and the house, taking what little pleasure he could from slamming the door behind him as he left.
Chapter 16
“You look fairly miserable.”
Looking up from the tiny figure that was standing before him on his desk, Anthony met his brother’s gaze as Winston entered the study and moved toward one of two empty chairs that stood on the opposite side of the table.
Anthony shrugged as his brother lowered himself onto one of the seats. “Just busying myself with my latest project,” he said. He’d no desire to talk about the conversation he’d had with Mr. and Mrs. Chilcott earlier in the day, for the experience had left him not only drained but also with a sense of hopelessness that he was finding hard to shake. They were all against him, including Miss Chilcott. Reaching out, he picked up the figure he’d made of her using an old teaspoon, some wire and a bit of horse hair. He’d fashioned a gown from the piece of torn fabric he’d found and painted her face to the best of his ability on the spoon. Twirling her gently between his fingers, he met his brother’s gaze. “I should probably just give up.”
Winston raised a brow. “Is it that hopeless?”
Anthony sighed. Reluctant though he was, he knew that he might as well tell his brother everything, so he did, as accurately as he could manage but without any mention of the intimate moment he’d shared with Miss Chilcott on the way to her aunt’s house. Some things deserved to be kept private. When he was done, he couldn’t help but note the look of disbelief on his brother’s face.
“Mrs. Chilcott said that to you?” Winston asked, gaping. He frowned as he shook his head, as if trying to make sense of it. Anthony understood him—he’d been trying to comprehend the woman’s boorishness since the moment he’d left her house. “She clearly has no respect for your title, Anthony.”
“That goes without saying,” Anthony said dryly. He paused for a moment before adding, “Her daughter claims she hates the nobility and all it stands for. I just hadn’t expected her to be quite so . . . difficult to deal with.”
“One cannot help but understand her reasoning though.”
“Whose side are you on?” Anthony growled as he set the figure of Miss Chilcott down and glared across at his brother.
Winston rolled his eyes. “Yours, of course, you idiot, though you have to admit that your talk of having found some profound connection with Miss Chilcott that you believe will lead to true love—all in the space of one evening—does sound just a little bit unbelievable.”
“You think I’m being fanciful,” Anthony blistered. He’d had a headache since leaving the Chilcott’s, which had abated during the course of the evening, but he could feel it threatening to return now in full force.
“I would prefer to think of you as hopeful. However, all I am saying is that it would be odd if Mr. and Mrs. Chilcott would welcome you with open arms on the basis of such a claim, agreeing to end their daughter’s acquaintance with a suitor who, while he may not be the ideal match for her and might be a cold fish with some rather peculiar notions, is firmly grounded in reality—the Chilcotts know what to expect of him.”
“Are you saying that I am not realistic?” Anthony asked. He spoke slowly in an attempt to keep his rising temper at bay.
Winston regarded him for a moment. “I’ve always thought you were,” he eventually said. “Being a rake and all that . . . Well, you know how it is—rakes don’t usually believe in love, or at the very least, they don’t plan to find themselves immersed in it. But you’ve changed over the last few years, and now, with this whole business regarding Miss Chilcott, I daresay you’ve taken on quite the romantic streak, and we all know that romantics are not grounded in reality, Anthony.”
Anthony frowned. “That’s not true.”
“Of course it is,” Winston countered. “Romantics are dreamers, and dreams rarely have anything to do with reality.”
“What the devil are you talking about? You married Sarah, didn’t you? And Lord knows y
ou dreamed of her for an eternity before anything came of it.”
“True, but I never would have presumed that she’d accept my proposal or that her father would give us his blessing unless they’d been certain that my intentions were honorable and that I wanted her for her and not for something more . . . devious . . . though of course I did.” Winston grinned broadly at that, which could only suggest that there was real passion between him and his wife.
“Would you please speak plainly?” Anthony said, crossing to the sideboard to pour two glasses of brandy.
“What I’m trying to say is that you might have more success at convincing them by avoiding whatever feelings you have for their daughter until you can speak of them without sounding as though you merely wish to toss her on your bed.”
“I alluded to no such thing!” Anthony turned abruptly in response to his brother’s words and the brandy sloshed over the side of one of the glasses, wetting his hand. He handed the other glass to Winston and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket so he could wipe away the liquid.
“Of course you did,” Winston protested. “How else do you suppose they might interpret your talk of being inexplicably drawn to their daughter? You need only look to Mrs. Chilcott’s response—inappropriate though it may be—to find your answer.”
Silence filled the room while the two brothers stared back at each other. Anthony eventually raised his glass to his lips and took a deep sip before sitting back down on his chair. “I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I?”
Winston sighed. “Honestly, I can’t say. It’s possible that they would have turned you away regardless, but I do believe you might have stood a better chance if you’d done it differently. You should probably have romanced the mother to get to the daughter—flowers, chocolates and such.”
“Hmmph . . . I doubt that would have made a difference. I’m a duke, Winston, most parents would be thrilled at the prospect of their daughter marrying so well. Not the Chilcotts though. From what I gather they’d be more accepting of me if I were a laborer, which of course is absurd. In any case, using my title for leverage is having no effect at all—quite the opposite. I believe I’ll have to find another way.”
Sophie Barnes Page 15