His apology was the least repentant one that Anthony had ever heard in his life. He scowled. “Why should I go?” he asked.
James’s brows rose so high that they disappeared into his hair.
“I cannot wake Bridget,” Anthony said. “Her parents will doubtlessly not welcome my presence. If anything, I would be a distraction to them when they are trying to care for their wounded daughter. It is for the best that I stay away.”
“But how do you know?” James asked. “Have you considered that the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk may have experienced a change in heart given Lady Bridget’s injury? They might welcome the chance to speak civilly about the situation.”
Anthony grimaced. “Given that the Duke of Norfolk was determined to marry Bridget to the Marquess of Thornton to cover his debts, I strongly doubt that.”
He could not forget how Lord Thornton, having seen Bridget unconscious and bleeding, had declared that he no longer wished to be engaged to her. What sort of monstrous man would even think of something like an engagement when a young woman was so badly injured? Anthony spitefully hoped the Marquess of Thornton never wed another woman and never received his desired heir. That would be fitting penance for a man who behaved so abominably.
“You may suspect that,” James said. “However, you shall not know until you try, Your Grace.”
Anthony frowned. “I hate that you are right.”
James’s lips twitched into a smile. “That is the curse that I must bear, regrettably.”
Anthony sighed. “I will take your advice under consideration.”
“You should follow my advice,” James said. “It will be better for you.”
“That is enough,” Anthony replied. “Thank you for your thoughts.”
James bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”
One thing that Anthony had always liked about James was that he understood a dismissal without having to be told outright that his presence was unwelcome. After his valet left, Anthony rose from his chair and gazed at Bridget’s portrait. Her flat green eyes stared back at him. Anthony had not yet put his fears to words, but he suspected that part of the reason for his hesitation to visit Bridget was that he did not wish to see her unconscious and mangled body.
The thought of seeing Bridget so injured made something within him twist and writhe uncomfortably. He could find no concrete reason for not wanting to see her, but he nonethelessfelt a strange sense of foreboding. Anthony felt as if some unknowable, terrible thing would occur if he saw Bridget lying wounded in her bed.
But Rose and James were right. It was time to take action. He needed to visit Bridget, and if that meant confronting her father, so be it.
Chapter 39
Bridget winced against the sharp pain in her skull. She felt somehow detached from her body, as if she were a ghost haunting someone else’s mortal shell. The last thing she remembered was Lady Hastings shoving her down the steps.
Glimpsing movement out of the corner of her eye, Bridget squinted. Even though the room was dark, her eyes still ached at the sight of the flickering candlelight. She glimpsed lilac silk, and a blurry woman swept toward her.
“Oh, Bridget!” The voice was soft and familiar, but it still took Bridget a moment to put a name to it. Anna, her sister. “Can you hear me?”
Anna curled her hand around Bridget’s. Her sister’s face came into sharper focus, and Bridget had so many questions. She tried to find the words to voice them, but her tongue was so thick and heavy. When she opened her mouth, no words emerged.
“Give me a moment!” Anna exclaimed.
Bridget winced at the volume of her sister’s voice. Anna stepped away, and although Bridget longed to beg her sister toreturn, she felt still the dull pull of sleep. Black spots dotted her vision.
She must have fallen asleep. To Bridget, it seemed as though no time had passed, but some must have. Anna and her parents were in the room, and an elderly man raised a teacup to her lips. Bridget swallowed. The warm herbal tea was like a balm to her aching mouth and throat. She coughed.
“Careful,” the man murmured.
A physician, she realized.
“Can you hear us, Bridget?” Her mother’s voice was soft. “Dearest?”
Bridget swallowed hard. “Y-yes,” she croaked.
Her head and neck hurt so badly that she thought she might vomit. Bridget wanted nothing more than to roll over and fall into the blissful darkness of nothing once again, but her body would not obey her.
“Take your time,” her father said. “You suffered quite an injury.”
