Page 33 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
They sat silently as she stirred her tea.
“At my estate we take tea at half an hour past ten, and then at half-past three,” he told her pompously. “Exactly on time.” His gaze moved to her as though it was her fault that it was later than usual.
“I see,” Anastasia murmured. He acted as though she was a terrible burden, so why was he speaking again of the estate as though she might one day live there? It made no sense at all.
She sipped her tea while he talked about Ridley Hall and how pleasant it was in the summer. Anastasia tried hard to focus, lest he spring a question on her, but she could not keep her attention on him. She glanced at the clock, wishing she could run.
The peal of church bells made Lord Ridley look up. They were chiming the hour.
“Is that the time?” he asked, interrupting his own long one-sided conversation. “I must make haste. I have an engagement at the bank.”
“Of course,” Anastasia murmured, her heart thudding with relief. She pushed back her chair and, beside her, Rachel stood up in a hurry as if she, too, was desperate to escape.
They went down the front steps and out to the coach.
Lord Ridley was silent on the way through town. Anastasia sighed with relief as the coach drew up outside the townhouse.
“Good day,” she murmured in a small, polite voice as Lord Ridley helped her down from the coach.
“I will call on you again soon,” Lord Ridley said as though he was genuinely sure she wanted to see him. He smiled at her. “Until we talk again.” He lifted his top hat.
“Until then,” Anastasia agreed coolly.
She hurried up the stairs with Rachel following her and she felt relief flood her as the butler opened the door.
“Daughter! I trust you had a pleasant afternoon?” her father greeted her on her way past the drawing room. Her eyes widened and her heart fluttered, feeling nervous. He looked pleased, as though he approved heartily of Lord Ridley.
“I had a...strange afternoon,” Anastasia began. She was not particularly close to her father, and she was unsure of how to confide in him about how unsettling the afternoon had been.
“Of course.” Her father beamed. “Courting is always strange at first, Daughter. I trust you will become accustomed to it.”
“Courting? Father? What?” Anastasia gaped at him.
“I must hurry,” he said, walking past to the stairs. “I am late for a meeting at the club with investors.”
Anastasia stared after him, horrified. Mama and Lily had gone to tea, so there was nobody to talk to. She stood where she was, rooted to the spot.
Her father had given Lord Ridley permission to court her.
Her heart sank. He was pompous, rude, and confusing as well as unpleasant. She could not court him. She could not!
She ran to her chamber, desperate to think of a plan. Nothing sprang to mind—her father was not one who would listen to her opinion, no matter how firmly she tried to deliver it. Nor would he listen to Mama—if Mama was not already half-convinced that Lord Ridley was good for her.
Anastasia ran a hand distractedly through her hair, heart pounding. She had no idea what to do. But she had to do something, and hopefully before the ball where she would doubtless see Lord Ridley. And where her papa would doubtless do anything that he could to stop her from seeing the duke himself, were he to be there.
Chapter 12
“Ah! Your Grace. A delight to see you again,” Lady Kepford gushed. “My dear Priscilla was quite hopeful that you might be here.”
Sidney stood in the corner of his sister’s ballroom at Barrydale House. The chandeliers poured bright golden light down on the polished marble floor of the ballroom. The sound of delicate conversation filled his ears, and a soft breeze wafted through the door that led to the terrace. He gazed across at her daughter, Priscilla, who was known—as she was the daughter of a baron—as The Honorable Miss Highbury.
Her lovely dark-colored hair was arranged in a mass of curls decorated with small, white flowers. She wore a white gown with a low square neckline showing pale skin. The overskirt was lace and she would have looked beautiful, except that her mouth was set in a curl of distaste, her hazel eyes flint-hard and aloof.
“I expect that Priscilla’s card will fill up fast,” Lady Kepford continued, her own hazel eyes piercing and expectant.
Sidney drew a breath. He did not wish to dance with Miss Highbury, but her mother was clearly, and not indirectly, trying to make him ask her. He cleared his throat.
“May I dance the quadrille with you, Miss Highbury?” Hemanaged to ask. His throat was tight and he cleared it. He did not wish to dance with her, but when he thought to refuse, he imagined Willowick in ruins, his father’s legacy a barren wasteland and their tenants evicted because the cottages were falling down.
