Page 93 of Duke of Bronze
Just a peek. Just a glance at the latest column.
And there it was.
Colin. The Duke of Copperton. Tracked, as always, by the gossips. But no longer alone.
His new favorite acquisition, the paper had claimed.A striking pair, they gushed.London's latest diamond.
Fiona.
Anna's stomach had dropped at the name, though she'd feigned indifference even in her solitude.
Could it be true? Had all those quiet moments, the stolen glances, the maddening banter—all meant nothing? Had he returned to Town only to forget her entirely, to turn his attentions elsewhere without so much as a by-your-leave?
A week. He had been back a week, and not a single word. No note. No visit. No sign.
It was foolish to feel wounded. She knew that. And yet the ache bloomed just the same, lodged tight in her chest, immovable.
She exhaled sharply, only to realize she had sighed aloud.
"Oh, do quit sighing like a bored old woman," a voice called out, bright and irrepressible. "And come take a look at this magnificent surprise."
Anna startled slightly and turned toward the doorway. "Aunt Petunia! When did you arrive?"
"I might ask the same of you, my dear," her aunt said as she swept into the drawing room with a rustle of lavender skirts. "You were so lost in thought, you missed my entrance entirely. I could've been a footman in full armor and you'd not have blinked."
Anna rose, chagrined. "Forgive me. I did not hear the door."
"I arrived just in time, as it so happens," Aunt Petunia declared, her eyes dancing. "To interceptthis."
She gestured with dramatic flourish to a parcel, delicately wrapped in pale pink paper and adorned with a ribbon that looked far too elegant for anything mundane.
Anna frowned. "Did you say that's for me?"
"So the butler insists," Petunia said, clearly delighted to be the bearer of mystery. She stepped aside, hands clasped before her like an actress awaiting applause.
Anna approached the table slowly, the faintest flicker of curiosity tugging at her composure. The box was exquisite, and unfamiliar.
What on earth could be inside? And, more pressingly—whohad sent it?
"Oh, Ishouldhave known it was from Copperton! Who else could it possibly have been from?"
Anna blinked as her aunt read the attached note over her shoulder, a flagrant invasion of privacy if ever there was one. But Aunt Petunia was already too engrossed, her eyes darting across the page, mouth agape in a dramatic little gasp.
Anna's fingers trembled slightly as she peeled back the final fold of silk paper, revealing a gown so magnificent it momentarily stole her breath. The deep crimson fabric shimmered even in the afternoon light, catching along the gold-threaded embroidery that swept like fire across the bodice and hem. Nestled beside it were matching gloves, delicate gold accessories, and—tucked into the corner—a golden mask, elegant and sharp-edged, meant to veil and intrigue in equal measure.
"Oh my word," Anna whispered, her fingers brushing the fabric with reverence. It felt too fine. Too beautiful. Toothoughtful.
Colin was taking her to a masquerade. For their final date.
The idea should have made her scoff—it was excessive, theatrical, wholly extravagant.
Instead, her heart stuttered.
"I am going to have amarveloustime preparing you for this one," Petunia declared with glee, clapping her hands like a child at a fair.
Anna tried to speak, tried to rein her in. "What difference shall it make when my face shall be concealed beneath a mask, Auntie?"
"Nonsense," Petunia huffed. "If anything, it demands more effort! The mystery must be irresistible, and mystery, my dear girl, begins at the chin and works its way up."
