“It may have been the leader of her company,” Anna guessed, shaking her head slowly. “Your mother’s friend might have mistaken their meeting for a rendezvous. Alicia might have been informing him about her decision to quit somewhere he couldn’t scream at her.”
It was all speculation. She was grateful that Sophia had told her in the end, even though she would have liked to hear the story directly from Alicia. Her cousin was a private woman, for the most part, not sharing things unnecessarily.
Perhaps she wanted to keep her decision a secret from her family, from me, until she was confident that it was the right choice for her. I don’t believe that she would hide things from me on purpose. Especially not this. But that begs the question. Does this have anything to do with her strange behavior the other night?
Anna ruminated quietly while her friends changed topics, descending into another conversation. She could sense Margaret watching her, worried for her.
But what Margaret didn’t see was Anna reaching into her pocket and grabbing a small box. Her fingers curled around it, comforting her, like her own little worry stone.
Anna had kept it on her person for the past week, having recovered it from the dinner party. She had been having tea with Margaret in the library while the party was winding down. And there, on one of the reading tables, had been a glittering, tortoise-shell box.
She had recognized it immediately, scooping it up and hiding it before Margaret could see it.
The Duke of Wells’ snuffbox. A snuffbox she intended to return to him but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
If Alicia is looking for a husband, and the Duke of Wells is eligible, maybe she should be the one to hand it to him…
* * *
The punches came hard and fast as Philip navigated around his opponent. His evasion skills had never been his strongest suit. He might not have acquired his scars if theyhadbeen. He couldn’t rely on fast footwork, but at least he had the stamina to match his opponent in combat.
On the floor with him at present was an old friend from the war. A lieutenant who, like Philip, had left behind a life in the aristocracy to pursue a career in the army. His brawling techniques were tough and unyielding, and Philip struggled to avoid his heavy attacks as they came in quick succession.
His attention faltered as the lieutenant put more space between them, catching his breath. Sand tickled his nose as it was kicked up from beneath them. Sweat dripped down his bare chest, cascading over the gnarled ridges in his skin. He swept back his wet hair, preparing for the next onslaught, just as the boxing master shouted at him from the edge of the room.
“Get back in there, Wells,” he commanded, clapping his hands together to get Philip’s attention. He was a former military trainer, and the sound of his voice brought Philip right back to those evenings spent in the cantonment, sparring with his soldiers. “You’re all over the place! What’s eating away at you this afternoon?”
A great number of things were eating awayathim. Though Philip wasn’t about to list them for the whole boxing club’s amusement. He had a reputation to maintain, and he already feared that they were treating him with kid gloves because of his injuries. Hewantedto work hard, to hurt, to be pushed to his limit. He would not have come to the boxing club otherwise.
Thinking as much, he didn’t wait for the lieutenant to come to him. Not this time. Raising his mufflers, he darted forward, launching his own series of attacks on his opponent. The lieutenant blocked the first three blows with ease, until Philip exposed his bad side to him, making himself vulnerable, and planting a decisive blow where the lieutenant expected it least.
The man staggered backward, falling onto his haunches.
“That’s enough,” the boxing master ordered, calling an end to the round. “Get out of there and leave some for the rest of us, Your Grace.”
A little while later, the smell of castile soap clinging to his skin after his ablutions, Philip exited the boxing club into an alley behind Bond Street. He fixed the lapels of his jacket, surprised by the warmth of that February day, and proceeded into the street. He patted his pocket, expecting his snuffbox to be there.
Of course, it wasn’t. He hadn’t seen the blasted thing for a week and had no idea where he had left it. It was too soon to purchase a new one—that trinket held too many memories.
Bond Street hummed with frenetic activity. It seemed half of London had decided to window shop that morning, gathering in front of the print shop directly opposite him—which competed fiercely with the broadsheet hawkers nearby.
When it comes to the ton, little changes, he thought miserably to himself, walking toward his awaiting carriage.Every one of them, hungry for a scandal. If Lady Anna and I had not agreed to protect one another, we would likely be figuring in a shop window just like that.
As though he had summoned her with his thoughts, her face appeared in the crowd, moving toward him. At first, he thought that he had imagined her. But it really seemed to be her, in the flesh, wearing a white pelisse and matching bonnet. His heart clenched in surprise, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. Thunderstruck, he raised a hand to get her attention…
And realized that it wasn’t Anna he had seen. It was her cousin, Alicia.
TheSeconda Donnawalked down the pavement on the arm of her cousin, George. He spotted Philip before she did, beaming as Philip nodded at him.
There was nowhere to hide from Alicia. Since the opera, he hadn’t thought about her once. And he certainly had no plans to reunite with her like George and Simon had suggested. Even though her voice had moved him like no one’s ever had.
It seems, for now, that a reunion is inevitable.
“Boxing, were you?” George asked once they were clearly in view.
He shook Philip’s hand, then turned to Alicia.
Philip’s mind flashed to the week prior, when George had performed a similar introduction between him and Anna. That meeting hadn’t made him feel quite so nervous as now.
