“Has he spoken of proposing?” Bridget asked.
“Not yet,” Anna said, “but I feel that he will before the Season ends.”
“How can he not?” Bridget asked.
“And maybe you and His Grace will likewise become engaged by the end of the Season,” Anna said.
Bridget nodded. The idea was unlikely, but it did give Bridget a thought. She had enjoyed the kiss, and it was impossible to deny her attraction to Anthony. Besides, Bridget liked him, and from that look in his eyes, she suspected that he also liked her. Would it be possible for him to persuade Anthony that they would be perfect together? Her heart thundered against her ribcage.
Was there the potential to let their feigned relationship blossom into something more? Bridget was nearly breathless from the thought of truly being courted by Anthony. Her mind was awash with delightful fantasies of heated touches and fervent kisses. She traced her fingers over the pianoforte and imagined them instead tracing the defined planes of Anthony’s chest. She ached with thoughts of him, and that place between her thighs twitched and pulsed with longing.
“We shall see,” Bridget said. “I do adore him, but I am unsure if he loves me.”
Certainly, there was desire for her in his eyes, but it was impossible to know if he loved her or if he would be willing to let their relationship become something real.
“How could he not?” Anna asked. “I have seen how he gazes at you. Everyone in the ton can see his affection for you!”
Bridget bit the inside of her cheek. “There is still my engagement to Lord Thornton.”
“It has not been announced yet,” Anna said. “Lord Thornton could withdraw his proposal, and he would not even endure the embarrassment of having done so. Everything would be fine.”
Anna made a good argument, but Bridget knew Anthony could not wed her. Even if he desired her, she had no dowry. If she pursued him, the subject of her dowry would inevitably be raised, and Bridget could not ask a man such as him—the Duke of Hamilton—to wed her without one.
“Has anyone else mentioned that Anthony looks at me like you say?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “I have heard a few ladies note how affectionate he is with you. It has been difficult for him to be tender toward a woman since Lady Anastasia’s death. I have heard that he really loved her.”
The entire ton knew of Lady Anastasia’s death. It was a great tragedy, that a young lady had died in such a terrible way. Bridget frowned. “I did not realize that he loved her.”
“I am told that they were to be wed,” Anna said.
Bridget pressed her lips together, thinking. “I believe he has mentioned her once or twice in passing. He has never spoken frankly about her, though.”
“He must miss her dearly.”
“Yes,” Bridget replied. “I wonder if he…”
Perhaps his love for Lady Anastasia was the reason why he gazed at her with such desire and yet told her their shared kiss was a mistake. Maybe he wanted something more for them, and it was his love for Lady Anastasia that caused him to hesitate.
“Never mind,” Bridget said.
She would need to think through her thoughts more. Poor Anthony! Her heart ached, thinking about how he must have felt when Lady Anastasia died. Bridget was unsure if she would ever be able to open herself up to love again if she had lost her beloved in such a sudden and tragic way.
“Girls!” Their mother swept into the room. “Lady Hastings has invited us to tea tomorrow.”
“That will be enjoyable! I have heard that Lord Hastings has one of the most expansive art collections among the men of the ton.”
Bridget’s mother threw herself onto the settee, her smile bright. “Indeed. And it is very seldom that Lady Hastings arranges such invitations. I am surprised by how involved she has been this Season.”
“I do not think she has ever invited us to any event,” Bridget mused.
Bridget barely knew the woman; they were acquainted with one another only because they had occasionally attended the same social functions.
“She was present at the poetry reading,” Anna said. “I recall seeing her there.”
“Ah.” Their mother’s face pinkened. “I heard that the poem that Lord Elmonde shared was quite unusual.”
Unusual was the most tactful way Bridget could imagine anyone describing it. “The poem was certainly one which provokes thought,” she said. “I was startled to hear it read before such a crowd.”
