Page 30 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Poor fellow. He needs someone to help him.”
“I am sure,” Sidney said sadly. He did not know what to do. He could not restore Giles’ faith in the world or his trust in his own heart. He knew that those things had been taken from Giles and he would have given them back, if he could, but Giles was interested in only one thing. All he wanted was to forget, and if that took a bottle of brandy a day, he was apparently unconcerned by the unpleasant results.
Or Sidney thought sadly, forgetting was more important.
“Poor man,” his mother repeated. “But, if this continues, he cannot be the heir.” She gazed up at Sidney worriedly.
“I am aware of that,” he said carefully. “Mama, I will do my best. I promise.”
“I am sure of that,” his mother said and smiled up at him. “You are the best son, Sidney. Truly, you are.”
Sidney kissed his mother on the brow, hugging her close. She had never even noticed his scars, or so it seemed. She loved him and he loved her. He wanted to do what made her happy.
“But it’s impossible,” he told himself sadly as he entered his chamber.
“Your Grace? What is impossible?” His manservant, Mr. Richford, demanded. He was tidying the room and Sidney let out a sigh.
“Nothing, Richford,” he said gently. “If I might have a moment?”
“At once, Your Grace,” Mr. Richford agreed, and hurried to the door.
Sidney sat down on the bed heavily. He stretched out his long legs and leaned back, one hand going to his cravat and tugging at the knot to loosen its itchy, hot band.
It was impossible—the entire situation was impossible. He could not fail to do his best for his mother. Yet, how was he supposed to find someone? He was hideous, and the scandal sheets delighted in ridiculing that. He blinked, the tears returning. He took a deep breath, trying not to cry. If he let himself feel sorrow, he would not be able to move forward.
He blinked again, trying to think about the promise he’d made. Miss Highbury, as much as she hated him, was at least being practically forced on him. He had to consider it. His mother would be delighted. It was wrong, though—she would be miserable. So would he. He could not do it.
He shut his eyes. Papa was not there to guide him, and he wished beyond all things that he was.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said to the empty room. “Papa? Help me.”
He leaned back on the bed, his eyes open, wishing that his father was still there, ready with an explanation to clear up the mystery of everything from the gyroscope to some complicated question about navigating the globe. He longed for thatreassuring voice, those gentle hazel eyes as he gazed at Sidney with understanding.
As he shifted on the bed, he was surprised that, instead of an answer coming to him, Lady Anastasia’s face was suddenly clear in his mind. He could see all her features clearly, even the ones he had struggled to draw. He focused on the image in his mind, recalling the way they had talked. He smiled, recalling her witty banter.
At least you have reminded me of how her nose looks,he thought silently to his father, with some amusement. It wasn’t possible that Anastasia was the answer to his questions.
He could not allow himself to hope that. Hope would be too painful.
Chapter 11
“And I thought perhaps a plume or two for my hair. I...Anastasia? Can you hear me?”
Anastasia blinked. She was in the drawing room, she realized suddenly, sitting and taking tea with Camilla. Her mind had been with the Duke of Willowick. Ever since she last saw him in the street when she and Camilla had been shopping, just two days ago, she had been daydreaming about him.
“Sorry, Camilla,” she murmured. “My mind was elsewhere.”
“Oh?” Camilla’s red lips moved into a grin. “With a gentleman, were they?”
“Camilla...” Anastasia made a shooing gesture with her hand, but a grin stretched across her face.
“You see! I’m right!” Camilla said delightedly. “Who was it? It wasn’t Willowick, was it?”
Anastasia blushed. “And if it was?” she asked defensively.
“Anastasia!” Camilla shrieked. She was smiling, but her eyes looked worried. “He’s...he’s odd. That’s what all of society says. And usually I wouldn’t believe them, but...”
“He has a scar, Camilla,” Anastasia interrupted gently when her friend paused. “He’s not evil or anything. He’s actually very pleasant,” she added defensively.
