Anthony still felt the faint throb of guilt for his role in that young lady’s loveless life, and he could not let Lady Rose emerge from her second Season with a ruined reputation. It all sounded terribly tiresome, but an honorable man would bear such a burden with grace. If he was not honorable, he was conscientious, so he had returned from his self-imposed solitude in the country.
“You should purchase her a gown better than the one you ruined,” Lady Rose continued, her expression brightening. “It is only fair.”
“Fair would be purchasing a gown of the same price and quality.”
Lady Rose shook her head. “No, but that was Bridget’s favorite gown! It will be just like a fairy tale when she enters the first ball of the Season. Like Cinderella!”
Anthony stared at her for a long moment. He was beginning to suspect there was something Lady Rose was not telling him. Perhaps this seemingly absurd plan was not merely the product of a young romantic mind but instead something else entirely. He could not imagine what that might be, though.
“Well,” Anthony said, “you and Lady Bridget may decide on the gown. Make your arrangements with the modiste and purchase her whatever you wish. I cannot have the lady perceiving me as uncharitable, after all.”
“No, of course not!” Lady Rose looked rather pleased with herself, as though she had just emerged victorious from some game that only she knew how to play. “I will be certain that she does not think that.”
Anthony let out a low breath of air. Being around Lady Rose’s tireless energy exhausted him sometimes. He felt the usual longing for the silence of his study. “I trust that you have already made arrangements for your own wardrobe this Season?” he asked. “If not, I can enlist your mother’s aid.”
Lady Rose looked askance, and Anthony’s face softened in sympathy. His aunt, Lady Rose’s mother, had always been a strong and passionate woman, but her husband’s deathhad broken something deep within her. Some days, Lady Victoria was fine, if a little melancholic. Other days, she was inconsolable. Her grief was sharp and unpredictable.
“No,” Lady Rose said. “There is no need to bother my mother with something so trivial. I am capable of procuring my own wardrobe.”
She said that, but they both knew Lady Rose had little experience in procuring her own wardrobe. Her first Season had been a hasty affair, nearly an afterthought. Lady Rose was not as polished as the other ladies, and her only friend was Lady Bridget. She was a lawyer’s daughter and had been raised like one with little thought given to her aristocratic blood.
Anthony cleared his throat. “I know it has been difficult for you. You have handled everything most admirably.”
Lady Rose hummed. “I do not recall having a choice save for to bear it gracefully.”
“That is the way of the ton,” Anthony said. “I do understand some of it, just… just so you know.”
He was terrible at comforting people, especially women. Anthony suddenly worried that Lady Rose might cry, and he would not have the faintest idea what to do then. Still, it felt right to persist and reassure her that he did understand grief, at least.
“I know what it is like to live and pretend that all is well when you are grieving,” he continued. “I know how terrible it is, and I am sorry you must bear that weight at such a young age.”
“I know you do.”
He frowned.
Lady Rose sighed. “Mother told me about… about Lady Anastasia.”
“Ah.”
“I am dreadfully sorry,” Lady Rose said.
“As am I,” Anthony replied.
A heavy silence fell between them, broken at last by Lady Rose’s audible swallow. “Does the grief ever lessen?”
“Not in my experience,” Anthony said, “but you learn to bear it better. I suppose we must be grateful for small mercies.”
Lady Rose nodded and turned her head toward the window. The cheerful and romantic young woman from earlier was gone, in her place a soft and pensive creature. Anthony glanced at her a moment longer. He did not understand youngwomen, but he understood the need to distraction in the face of loss. If Lady Rose wanted to devote herself to some bizarre quest to find Lady Bridget a love match, who was he to discourage her?
Chapter 3
Bridget had never kept any secret from her sister, but the overheard conversation felt like something she simply could not share with Anna or anyone else. She lay awake in bed, thinking through all the possible solutions. Bridget could tell her father that she knew of his conversation with the Marquess of Thornton, but she was not sure how that would improve her situation. She had no means of repaying her father’s debts.
She could speak to her mother, but Bridget suspected she would not receive the answer she wanted. Her practical mother would be, firstly, horrified. She would quickly see reason, though, and insist that marriage was—albeit somewhat disagreeable—a practical solution to their plight. Besides, it was not as if Bridget had an army of potential suitors willing to fight for her hand. She roughly rubbed her face and groaned.
“Are you well, my lady?” Elizabeth’s soft voice came from the shadows.
Bridget furrowed her brow and shifted onto her forearms, squinting at the darkness. “Why are you still awake? The hour is late.”
