“I haven’t a clue, Anna. From the way she phrased things, it sounded like she expected him to ensure he did not return. Or that he was hoping not to. That going away would mean his death, and he would not be satisfied with any other outcome.”
Anna leaned back, making sure she understood what George was implying.
The Duke of Wells was a powerful albeit quiet man. He hadn’t struck her as being so grimly fatalistic. Had he wanted to become a war hero? A martyr?
That didn’t seem right either.
“I can’t be certain of anything,” George added, lowering his voice as they heard the footman hop off his step somewhere behind them. “And I’m certainly not about to ask Philip whether he has—had—a death wish. Elinor knows him so well. She wouldn’t say something like that if her suspicions weren’t justified. Only… What does one do with that sort of information?”
The footman came around to open George’s door. He held it shut when the footman pulled on the other side, giving them a few moments more to talk.
“Well…” Anna began, her mind racing. “If you want to help, you might start by giving him some room to breathe this Season.” George started to protest, and she raised her hand to stop him. “I know you mean well and only want the best for everyone. But if what Lady Kirkby said is true, pressuring the duke into a courtship he evidently does not want will not help matters.”
George sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Sometimes people don’t know what is good for them. And sometimes they don’t know their own hearts. He says he has no interest in Alicia, but as we were leaving, he told me that he intends to attend the soirée she is hosting tonight. I shall consider your advice, cousin. But I will remain hopeful that Philip can be saved from himself. Alicia, too.”
Anna wanted to say something more, driven by a sudden wave of concern for the duke. By that point, however, George had lost the tug-of-war on the door with the footman. It opened, flooding the carriage with cold air, and forcing Anna to exit after her cousin.
“You don’t want to come inside?” she asked as George planted a goodbye kiss on her cheek.
“You just want to keep gossiping about Philip,” he riposted, laughing sadly. He straightened his coat and turned toward his carriage. “Everything will be fine, Anna. Pay my respects to your parents, and go in and enjoy your evening.”
Anna watched the carriage drive around the square, her heart heavy with sadness for the Duke of Wells and his sister. There was something else niggling at the back of her consciousness. A deep desire to see him again despite knowing it was foolish.
She walked up the front steps and pushed open the door, hoping that she wouldn’t alert her parents to her return. It was already late. The roads had been busy with people returning home to begin their preparations for the evening.
Her parents had been invited to a dinner with Lady Jane and some other acquaintances, and Anna planned to retire to the music room to study. It was the best way to spend an evening alone, languishing over old sheet music.
Slipping out of her pelisse, she crept toward the central staircase. The low rumblings of male voices sounded from one of the downstairs rooms. Her father occupied one of them, most likely hosting a friend. She did not want to interrupt them if she could avoid it.
“You were gone for hours,” came a voice from behind her. “You didn’t think to come in and announce your return? Surely, I taught you better manners than that.”
Her mother stood with her hands on her hips by the door to the drawing room. Her emerald green gown was the same shade as the wallpaper, and Anna had to squint to make her out in the dimly lit hallway.
“Forgive me,” Anna said, immediately descending the steps. “I thought you would be upstairs, preparing for the evening ahead. I meant no offense. As you know, George and I called on the Duke of Wells. We stayed awhile and talked.”
She didn’t need to mention how much she had enjoyed her afternoon, how much she yearned to tell someone everything that had happened between her and the duke, how courageous and confident he made her feel in her own skin.
Anna had never been a proficient liar. Her mother would be able to tell just how much he had affected her.
“Hmm,” was all her mother said.
Rosamund looked at her from head to toe, less pleased than she had anticipated upon hearing of Anna’s successful effort to socialize. Instead, she beckoned her over.
“Be that as it may, we have a visitor—one you should meet. Do not mention your exertion this afternoon to your father.”
Anna groaned inwardly, struggling to hide the displeasure on her face. Her mother scowled at her, all but ripping her pelisse and bonnet from her arms and leaving her to enter the drawing room alone.
She drew in a fortifying breath, hoping her father only wanted to show her off before sending her to her chambers. He wasn’t proud of her, not really. But he liked to pretend that he was in front of his friends.
Entering the drawing room, she found her father sitting in his usual armchair by the window. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows on the wall. Before the fire stood a man. He was tall and thin, with graying hair that had once been brown. Dressed in a fine maroon coat, he was closer to her mother’s age than her father’s—maybe twenty years older than her.
The doors of their home admitted only the most powerful men in London. Another peer, no doubt.
“My daughter,” her father said upon her arrival. He set down whatever he had been drinking on the table beside him and rose from his seat—an uncharacteristic display of good manners to impress their guest. “Lady Anna.”
“Charmed,” the other man replied, crossing the room to take her hand. “We have been waiting for you.”
He was proper to a fault, holding her hand lightly for only a second before releasing her and stepping back.
