Page 32 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Lady Camilla will not mind. Not so, Lady Camilla?” Papa’s gaze on Camilla’s seemed to warn her to agree.
“I...” Camilla began. Her voice was wobbling but Anastasia knew her well enough to know she was about to argue with Papa. She stood up quickly, not wishing Camilla to have to face her father, who had a cruel temper.
“I shall attend,” she reassured Camilla swiftly. “Pray grant me ten minutes to change my gown, Papa.”
“Of course, daughter,” her father replied, sounding friendly again.
Anastasia felt her stomach knot up. There was something very peculiar going on. She did not understand it, but it seemed that her father and the viscount were on the same side. She could not imagine what Lord Ridley had discussed with her father, but she likewise did not wish to think about it.
“If you could fetch my green dress,” she asked Rachel as her maid appeared in answer to the bell, “and tuck these stray curlsback into the chignon?” She gestured to her hair, which had come slightly loose during the afternoon. She had been dressed informally for tea with Camilla; wearing a pretty but worn blue muslin gown. The green dress was the only dress she felt comfortable in when Lord Ridley was there. His gaze on her was uncomfortable enough as it was without there actually being any visible skin for him to stare at.
“You might have hurried,” Lord Ridley complained as she clambered into the coach. Rachel followed her, and then Lord Ridley swung up behind her and sat down. Anastasia stared out of the window.
“I hurried as much as I could,” she said, not quite looking at him. “I also needed to be polite to my earlier guest.”
“I was waiting,” Lord Ridley said angrily. His blue eyes flashed as though nobody should dare to inconvenience him.
Anastasia inclined her head in agreement but said nothing. She did not wish to argue but she also did not wish to agree.
Rachel, beside her, looked concerned.
Anastasia looked at her with what she hoped was a reassuring look. She herself was sweating, her palms damp with perspiration that had little to do with the fact that she wore long sleeves. It was not cold, but nor was it particularly hot.
She gazed out of the window and watched the streets roll past. Soon, before she had expected it, the tall, gabled building with its stone facing appeared on the left of the coach. She felt her stomach knot with discomfort as they rolled up outside thetea shop.
“We would have been earlier,” Lord Ridley complained as he helped her down. “Then we might have had a better seat.”
Anastasia said nothing, just bit her lip and followed him up the stairs. There was no use arguing with the fellow—she understood that already. His pomposity required him always to be right and he would achieve that by bending the truth or accusing everyone around him.
“Now,” Lord Ridley declared as they made their way to a table that was in full sun by the window. “I suppose you will take cake with the tea?” His expression was expectant.
Anastasia tilted her head. She had not wanted to eat anything—she had no appetite in his company. “I would prefer just tea,” she began.
“Oh! Do you have to be so difficult?” Lord Ridley pouted. “I had planned to try the new gateau, and since you won’t have any, then nor shall I.”
Anastasia drew a breath. She felt a twist of guilt, and then she frowned. She had not told him not to eat cake—that was his own choice. Everything sane and safe seemed to slip away when she was in the company of Lord Ridley, who seemed to bend the truth to suit himself.
She sat down and Rachel sat wordlessly beside her at the round table. Lord Ridley sat opposite, and the proprietor came over.
“A pot of tea,” Lord Ridley demanded, shooting Anastasia a sour glance as though she had spoiled everything.
Anastasia glanced at the tablecloth, which was fine linen. She tried to recall how it had felt to dance with the duke. It had been beautiful, a moment of pure bliss. Her cheeks flushed at the thought.
“Lady Anastasia?” Lord Ridley interrupted her thoughts. “What is your opinion on attending Almack’s tomorrow...?”
“Almack’s?” Anastasia blinked. He must have mentioned it earlier, but she had hardly heard him. She frowned. She had an invitation to a private ball at the Earl of Barrydale’s home the following evening. At that moment, the proprietor appeared, bringing their tea. A tall man in a white apron who poured them each a cup and then walked across the room to address another table of guests.
“It’s hot in here,” Lord Ridley complained, forgetting his earlier statement.
“We could move to another table?”
“There you are again! Being difficult!” Lord Ridley said in an accusatory tone. “Can you not be content for two minutes? We are sitting here now.”
Anastasia gaped at him. She was wearing long sleeves, the collar of her dress reaching to her neck. She was sweating and she was seated even closer to the window than he was. Besides, she was not the one who had complained. He had.
“Could you please pass me the sugar?” she asked.
He shot her a resentful look as though she had interrupted some deep musing. He lifted the sugar bowl and set it down in front of her.
