by Esther Hatch
“Anthony, you have one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. It transforms your face.”
“Pardon?”
“You must know. Your face—it is like it was born to be serious. So a smile on it . . . I don’t know. It changes your features into something beautiful.”
“Like a duck.”
Sophia burst out laughing, and Harry and Augusta stopped in the middle of their bows. Their hands, which had been linked, dropped to their sides as they stared at their mother. Sophia didn’t stop. Her hand went to Anthony’s shoulder. “That is what they meant.” She patted him softly. “All week they have been asking me about ways to make you smile because Miss Patience had told them you smile like a duck. I’ve been worried about having them near you for fear they would hurt your feelings.” She wiped a tear from the side of her eye. He hadn’t seen Sophia laugh for a long time. Perhaps not since their brother Howard had died. “Here I was trying to protect your feelings when, actually, they were being quite sweet.” Sophia walked over to her children and wrapped them in her arms. “It was a good play. I loved it.”
Augusta put both her hands on Sophia’s face and patted her cheeks. “You smile like a duck too, Mama.”
“Thank you, Augusta. That means the world to me.”
Patience was tiptoeing toward the door, her head down and her shoulders up. Anthony jumped up and crossed to that side of the room. He carefully placed a hand at her elbow, not wanting to startle her.
“You were the one who first said I smiled like a duck, weren’t you?”
She didn’t answer. Nor did she look up at him, but she didn’t pull away either.
“Do you think my smile makes me beautiful?”
The graceful curve of her neck didn’t turn. She had only been here a few days when she had said that about him. He shouldn’t be so happy about a woman saying he was beautiful. It was a strange thing to say and a strange way to say it. Without looking up, she turned her body towards him. “I have told you that you should smile more often.”
He took her chin in his hands and pulled her face upwards. He was smiling now, and he wanted her to see it. “Because it makes me beautiful?” he asked just before their eyes met.
“Because it means you are happy.” Her eyes were stormy, more grey than green, and wet with unshed tears.
He dropped his hand from her face. Where was her smile? This was all a game, wasn’t it? He couldn’t see past the wetness on her lashes without wanting to wipe it away.
“And happy people are beautiful. Or I suppose, in your case, handsome. Now may I leave?” She looked pointedly down at his arm. He had forgotten it was there. He pulled his hand away.
He didn’t want her to go. He had so many questions. No one save his mother had ever called him handsome. But he wouldn’t keep her here against her will. He had touched her again. This time on her chin, and so soon after she had asked him not to. He was a dolt. “Of course you may leave.”
She nodded, the slightest tinge of pink garnishing her neck. She was embarrassed. She shouldn’t be. Now that the children had cleared up what she had meant, he was quite pleased with himself. It wasn’t every man’s smile that put a tinge of pink at a lovely young lady’s neck. “But thank you. That is one of the nicest compliments I have ever received.”
Rather than answer him, Patience ducked around him and surged through the doorway and out of the nursery. It was just as well. He had embarrassed her enough for one afternoon. He rubbed the sides of his mouth.
He smiled like a duck.
If that were the case, he supposed he would have to smile more often.
Chapter 14
Anthony checked his pocket watch for the fourth time. It was 2:30. He was precisely on time, but if he didn’t march across the street and up the steps to the Morgans’ door, he would be late. Miss Morgan had assured him in a note that her parents would be out of the house, and they would have a chance to speak alone.
What he wouldn’t have given a month ago for an opportunity like this. And yet, as he stood now, he couldn’t make his feet move. His watch was still in his hand, open and ticking. The second the minute hand reached 2:31, his feet moved forward of their own accord. He was late, and he was never late.
He knocked on the door, and a maid opened it. Despite his two-year courtship of Miss Morgan, he had only been to their home a handful of times. He had never seen this maid before. The butler had always been the one to answer. She smiled and ushered him into the home without taking his card.
“Miss Morgan is waiting for you in the drawing room, Mr. Woodsworth. I will show you there.”
She must be Miss Morgan’s informant. The one who knew the location of Miss Paynter at all times.
Miss Morgan was sitting in the drawing room alone, a fire crackling in the ornate Rococo-style fireplace directly in front of him. The Morgans’ drawing room was decorated with the express purpose of allowing visitors to converse. Chairs were placed opposite each other and the long settee. Miss Morgan stood from the settee as he entered. She nodded to the maid behind him, and the door clicked shut.
Anthony was alone with Miss Morgan. If word of their meeting in such a way met with society’s ears, they would need to marry swiftly.
“Would you like me to open the door?” He stepped toward it. After two years of courtship, he didn’t want to force Miss Morgan’s hand.
“No.” She shook her head. Her perfectly styled hair didn’t stir with the movement. Her hair was parted down the middle and pulled back, completely smooth and flawless, unlike a certain maid’s who had called him beautiful just two days ago. “Bertha is the only servant in the house, so we shouldn’t run into any problems. I need to speak to you about something.”
Anthony took a deep, calming breath. The moment he thought she had come into his drawing room alone weeks ago flashed into his mind. She hadn’t come to visit him but had invited him instead to her home. Why had she invited him here? Had their plan actually worked? Was it time to propose? He coughed into his hand. He didn’t feel the same excitement and triumph he had felt when he’d thought it was her behind the curtain.
“I wanted to speak to you in private. As you are aware, I went to a card party three days ago. You weren’t there.”
“I didn’t see the need for us to always attend the same events when our purpose is to look as if we are naturally growing apart.” And he hadn’t thought Patience should attend another function so soon. Not when he knew Lord Bryant would be there. She had told him she was fine to walk alone with him while they were in Green Park, but it had been obvious that she was nervous about it. He didn’t want to put her in another situation where she felt she had to comply with a man’s wishes just because of his station in life. Especially if that man was Lord Bryant.
“Of course.” She threw her hands to one side and shrugged her shoulders. “In fact, I think it was a good choice. Lord Bryant was much more attentive without you there.”
“He was?” The nerves that had been tightening the muscles on the back of his neck relaxed. She wasn’t expecting a proposal today. The way she said Lord Bryant’s name made that apparent. “I thought he was pursuing Miss Paynter. Was she also absent?”
Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “No, Miss Paynter was there.”
“Has he already tired of her?”
Miss Morgan took a deep breath. “No, I don’t think he has tired of her. They played two sets of whist together. But after, he asked if I would like to try a hand at playing with him.” Miss Morgan stood taller. “And we won. It was one of my better played games of whist. I think I just knew I needed to win to impress him.”
Impress Lord Bryant? When had that become her goal? All she really needed from the baron was to be seen in his company. “You aren’t actually interested in the man, are you?”
Miss Morgan laughed. The sound that had always been pleasant to hi
m suddenly grated on his ears. “He is Lord Everton Bryant. Every woman in London is interested in him.”
“Certainly not every woman.”
She leaned forward and tipped her chin up so her face was not far from his own. “Every woman.”
She was wrong. Lord Bryant was good-looking—Anthony had seen how the women looked at him—but most of the women of London must have known that he was a rake. Why would a woman actually want to be involved with a rake?
“So what are you telling me? Are we done with our charade? Have you moved on to Lord Bryant?”
“No.” She swatted his shoulder with her hand. He resisted the urge to grab it. “But I may make a play for him for now while we are not courting. You never know.”
“You never know?” Miss Morgan was not even Lord Bryant’s type. Anthony hadn’t followed him closely, but he knew Lord Bryant had managed to ruin the reputations of a few serious and well-spoken women. Miss Morgan wasn’t serious, and although at times she was well-spoken, it was not in the manner of the quiet Miss Paynter. “He will never have you.” She was much too silly.
“He may! I know the rumors say he won’t marry, but perhaps he just needs someone of quality.”
“Last year he had a scandal with the daughter of a marquess, and he never bothered to marry her. And you know what happened after that.” Miss Morgan was foolish at times, but she had always been smart about how she moved about in society. She must see the folly in her actions. “The woman was forced to settle for the only man that would have her. A squire. A man not much higher in society than a farmer. Do you want to end up like her?”
Miss Morgan’s face hardened. She stepped forward until they were close enough that if someone opened the door on them now, it wouldn’t matter what either of them thought. They would be rushed into a marriage.
“A squire is more than what you are.” She scrunched her face in a manner that was not endearing at all. “I’m going to try for Lord Bryant. It isn’t as though I have much to lose. My position in society and my money will still be the same if, indeed, he has no long-term interest in me. We have always known a match between us was not a love match. Let’s not let jealousy enter into our agreement.”
Anthony’s fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, and he gritted his teeth. “We have no agreement.” His voice was low and rough, but he didn’t care. “I’ve worked for two years to get an agreement out of you, and in two weeks’ time, you have managed to succumb to the charms of that rogue, Lord Bryant.”
“He is dashing and exciting—not to mention a lord.” She reached up and pushed him farther away with her index finger on his chest. “The exact opposite of you. Perhaps after two years I am craving something exciting. If nothing happens from it, we can return to our original plan.”
He was serious and boring, was he? No comparison to the exciting baron. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his chest. After watching the children’s play, he had vowed to try harder to smile more. Well, he could try to be more exciting as well. If the only thing missing from his relationship with Miss Morgan was excitement, perhaps it was time to give it to her.
He cupped her chin in his hand and angled her face to his. Her breath hitched, and a spark of interest flashed in her eyes. This is what he should have done a year ago. “Kiss me, and let’s put an end to this game.”
For a moment, she leaned toward him, until the sparks faded, and she slowly pulled her hand out of his grasp. “No.”
He stepped away, not sure what had possessed him. When he had walked into the drawing room, he was worried she was expecting a proposal, and now he was trying to kiss her and get an agreement out of her? The way her eyes lit up when she spoke of Lord Bryant made his eyesight and his reason lose focus. When he finally spoke, his voice was like gravel. “Why not?”
“Mr. Woodsworth.” She emphasized the formal use of his name. “We are not engaged.”
“Yes, you have made yourself quite clear on that point. But let me ask you this: if Lord Bryant wanted to kiss you, would you allow him to?”
She flicked her wrist. “That is different. You would take it so seriously.”
“And he would not.”
“Precisely.”
“So you would happily kiss a man who felt no responsibility toward you just because of his rank.”
“Not just because of his rank. Lord Bryant is exciting, and talked about, and so, so . . .” Her hand went to her chest. “Alive.”
“And I am not?”
She laughed again. He had the sudden desire to throw his hands over his ears. How had he ever thought her laugh endearing? She threw her arm out as if she were about to hit him on the shoulder again but pulled it back before making contact. She must not want to run the risk of him touching her again. “Of course you are not. And no one expects you to be. I don’t see why this changes anything between us. I know your head will win over your heart. There still isn’t a better match for you. In the meantime, this will give us more time apart. Perhaps during that time you will see the wisdom in joining the army. Once you have a solid position there, I see no reason we couldn’t marry. The only thing better would be if the parliament finally ennobles your father. There have been rumors of it for years. He did nearly as much for the war as Wellington. And he is—”
Anthony stopped breathing for a moment, the rest of her words lost in the rush of sound in his ears. He went through the timeline in his head. Two years. Miss Morgan had first showed interest in him two years ago. Right after his mourning period for Howard was over. Her family had been waiting for an announcement of his father’s ascent into the peerage. “That is what you have been waiting for?”
“Well, that or for you to join the army. Either would have raised your position in society to an acceptable place.”
“My father has hoped for a position of rank for years. If it was going to come, it would have much sooner than this.”
“What do you mean?”
“General is as far as a commoner can go. If life has taught my father nothing else, he knows that. That is why it was so important to me that you are in line for that Scottish barony.”
“What?” Miss Morgan’s face pulled back in horror, her nostrils flared and her breathing fast. “You never told me that was my main draw.”
“I hadn’t realized my main draw was a possible position in the peerage either. What if Howard was still alive? Would we have even met?”
Miss Morgan didn’t answer. Instead she turned and strode over to a desk, lifted up the cover, and pulled out a sheet of paper, bottle of ink, and pen. Without bothering to sit down, she scratched out something on the paper and marched back to him. She practically threw the paper at him. “Now, get out. I will do whatever I want with Lord Bryant. We have never had an agreement, but just in case anyone questions you on it, that paper should clear it up. Feel free to dally about with your Miss Smith. She is just dull enough not to care whether or not your father ever gains a title.”
“Perhaps I will.” He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Although he was quite certain she wouldn’t reject him quite so harshly as Miss Morgan just had. He didn’t bother to look at the paper. It didn’t matter what was on it. His two-year courtship of Miss Morgan was over. In two years, he hadn’t managed to gain Miss Morgan’s respect, let alone her love. He was boring, common, and a disappointment to his father. He had known that his whole life. A rejection from Miss Morgan shouldn’t change how he felt about it.
But as he stormed out of Miss Morgan’s home—he hoped for the last time—he knew it was a lie.
Chapter 15
Patience ran the feather duster along the banister. It was one of the duties she performed nearly every day. She didn’t really understand the point of it. If Mrs. Bates would allow her to wait for a day or two between dusting, there would actually be dust to remove.
She had avoided Mr. Woodsworth
ever since the play two days ago, and it was starting to wear on her. She had less than two weeks left to complete her goal of working here a month. She would just need to avoid him for that much longer. If he needed her to be Mary Smith again, she would do it, but other than that, she would stay out of his path. That was her plan, and so far, she had stuck to it.
The last two days had been dreadfully boring without him.
And lonely.
If she were home, she would find Ollie. They would run for a while, and then, when she was tired out, Ollie would let her rest her head on his chest. She had been lonely at home as well, but at least she’d had Ollie to help her feel at peace.
A few moments later, she had dusted her way to Mr. Woodsworth’s study. The door was shut. He was most likely not inside, as she knew for certain he had been out all afternoon, and she hadn’t heard him return. Her instructions had been very general. Dust the house. Well, Mr. Woodsworth’s study was part of the house, and even if she couldn’t allow herself to be around him, a few minutes in his study wouldn’t hurt. Mr. Woodsworth was the closest thing to Ollie she had.
She opened the door without knocking and quietly snuck in.
He was there, at his desk. His back was as straight as it always was, but his collar was undone and his neckcloth loose. His hair, normally as controlled as he was, looked as if he had never combed it. At five in the evening, she found that impossible to believe. Piles of papers were stacked in neat rows, but several papers were strewn about the floor. In all of her time cleaning, he had never left paper on the floor. His eyes were wild as he looked up and caught her walking into his sanctuary.