Page 95 of Duke of Bronze
She blinked. Hester and Nancy were both staring at her, expressions poised somewhere between confusion and concern.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked, struggling to recover her place in the conversation.
"You've not heard a single word I've said, have you?" Hester asked, her brow knitting with concern.
"You're distracted," Nancy said plainly, though her gaze was anything but unkind. "Quite thoroughly, I might add."
Anna opened her mouth, then closed it. She smoothed her skirts, looked down at her gloves, and gave a faint smile. "I'm simply tired. That is all."
"Anna," Nancy said softly, reaching across the small tea table to take her hand. "Whatever it is, we are here. That is what friends are for. What purpose would we serve if we could not shoulder your burdens with you?"
"Indeed," Hester said gently, adding her hand atop Nancy's and giving Anna's fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Do talk to us, Anna dear."
And in that moment, surrounded by their care, Anna felt the first crack appear in the composure she'd fought so hard to maintain.
Anna forced a smile and blinked back the sting behind her eyes, willing herself not to betray the truth beneath her carefully held poise. "I am quite alright," she said lightly. "As well as anyone might be, I should think."
Nancy's hand still rested warmly atop hers, and so Anna patted it with quiet reassurance. "It's nothing more than a trifling headache. One that saw fit to rob me of sleep last night, that isall. I daresay the lack of rest is catching up with me now." She let out a faint chuckle, though even to her own ears it sounded too thin.
"Not so trifling if it kept you awake," Hester said, frowning.
"My, you should have said something sooner," Nancy added. "We'd have not stormed in with talk of linen colors and orchestra selections had we known."
"Indeed not," Hester agreed, already reaching for her reticule. "We shall leave you now, so you may get some proper rest."
"Oh, truly, you needn't—" Anna began, rising slightly from her seat.
But Nancy was already on her feet, smoothing her skirts with that air of finality only a woman determined to mother could summon. "We insist. Rest, Anna. And if there is anything—anything—you must promise to write to us at once."
Anna nodded gently, offering a grateful smile. "Thank you. Both of you. I shall."
She saw them to the door, exchanged the expected pleasantries, and watched until the sound of their carriage faded from the street. Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
And though she would never say it aloud—especially not to them—she was grateful for the solitude.
How she longed for the Season to end. To escape the ceaseless expectations, the endless noise, and most of all, the memories that now seemed to haunt every corner of London.
Colin.
Everything about this city reminded her of him. Of stolen glances and shared laughter. Of a closeness she now knew had been far more dangerous than she'd ever allowed herself to believe. And when the Season closed, she would leave. She would retire to the country and rusticate like an old spinster if she must. And perhaps—in time—she would forget him.
Though at present, she had very little faith in that hope.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft knock of the butler at her door. He entered with a silver tray, a single envelope resting atop it.
"A letter for you, my lady. Just arrived."
She took it with mild surprise, noting the lack of seal. Roderick. She opened it, eyes scanning the familiar hand.
Dearest Anna,
You shall never believe it unless I commit it to ink—so here I am, writing to tell you what you've long encouraged and I've long resisted. I've accepted Copperton's offer. Entirely,wholeheartedly. And I daresay it feels rather like shedding a weight I didn't know I was still carrying.
I don't know how you managed it, Anna, but I know this much: without you, I'd never have trusted the idea. Or him. I owe this new chapter to you.
Thank you.
—R.
