Someone to Love

“Well, then,” Anna’s grandmother said, “there is—”

But he held up a hand again.

“I have thought about it,” he said. “And indeed, now that the suggestion has been made openly like this, before the whole family, I am willing to make a formal offer if Anastasia can assure me that it is what she wishes. However, I admit that I would be marrying her primarily for the money, and that is repugnant to me. She deserves better of the man who is fortunate enough to win her hand. She deserves a man who wants her and does not care the snap of his fingers for her fortune.”

There was another brief silence, during which Anna was aware of Elizabeth drawing a handkerchief out of a pocket in her dress and pressing it to her eyes.

“Anastasia?” her grandmother said. “You could not do better, and it is perfectly clear that Alexander is holding back only because he feels the difference in your fortunes and fears you will see him as no better than a fortune hunter. But he has the title—”

“No!” Elizabeth cried, lowering her handkerchief to her lap. “It is not just that he fears his motives will be misconstrued. Alex has dreams, which he has been holding in check for years since Papa’s death left him immersed in debt from which he has only recently freed himself. He dreams of love and a quiet domestic life, and he ought not to have to sacrifice his dreams merely because the earldom has been thrust upon him. And Anna has spent most of her life at an orphanage, where there was no cruelty, apparently, but very little of what I think of as love of family either. Alex is right. She deserves love now. She deserves to be married because she is everything in the world to one particular gentleman. I love them both, Cousin Eugenia, but please, oh please, they must not be thrown together merely because it would be a convenient arrangement.”

“Lizzie.” Her mother had come to sit on the arm of her chair in order to rub a hand over her back.

Alexander was frowning. Everyone else was looking variously dismayed and embarrassed. Anna clutched her hands in her lap. They were freezing. So was she. The Duke of Netherby got to his feet and strolled across the room to stand before her chair.

“I have not compared your fortune and my own penny for penny, Anna,” he said. “It would, I suspect, be an arduous task. Edwin Goddard might enjoy it if I set him to it. I would hazard a guess, however, that I am wealthier than you by a penny or two at least. I have far more than I can spend in a lifetime, even if I live extravagantly to the age of one hundred or one hundred and ten. I could have no possible use for your fortune, and I have no desire whatsoever to get my hands on it. If I were to marry you, it would be because I would rather spend the rest of my life with you than not and because you had assured me that you would rather spend your life with me than not. You may consider the offer made since it would be a ghastly embarrassment to me and probably to everyone else if I were to drop to one knee before you now and declare undying devotion in the florid language that would doubtless be expected of me. You may be the Duchess of Netherby if you choose.”

Anna’s eyes widened and remained fixed upon his—sleepy and keen both at once, as usual. He reached for his snuffbox but did not remove it from his pocket. And she felt a stabbing of such unexpected longing that the near pain of it engulfed her.

“Avery!” Aunt Louise cried.

“Oh!” Elizabeth said.

Everybody else said something too, it seemed, but Anna heard not a word.

“How—” she began.

“—absurd?” he said softly. “If you will, my dear.”

“But what a very splendid idea, Avery,” Anna’s grandmother said. “I am only amazed it has not occurred to me before now. And you are not even related to Anastasia by blood, as Alexander is.”

“I had not thought you were the marrying sort, Avery,” Aunt Mildred said. “Indeed, I had thought perhaps—”

“Millie!” Uncle Thomas said sharply, and she fell silent.

The Duke of Netherby ignored them all. He looked steadily into Anna’s eyes. She wanted to ask him a million questions, though they could all be reduced to one.

Why?

“I want to go to Wensbury,” she heard herself say.

“And go you shall,” he said softly. “I shall take you there. With an army of chaperones if you choose to go unwed. With me alone if you should marry me first.”

Oh. He was serious. He was serious.

But why?

And why was she tempted? Why had that ache of longing settled into a dull throbbing low in her abdomen and down between her thighs?

Wed. Unwed. Wed. Unwed. But they were not her only choices, were they? She could go alone to confront her grandparents. No one could stop her. She could go with Bertha for company and respectability and John for protection along with a coachman. Perhaps Elizabeth would go with her. They could go to Bath first, and Joel would accompany them the rest of the way—her own true and dear friend. She did not have to choose anyone.

“I would wish to go wed,” she said so softly she was not even sure the words had passed her lips.

“Then wed we will be,” he said.

But why? And now the question needed to be asked of herself as well as of him. What had she said? What had she done? She scarcely knew him. He was like someone from another universe. He hid himself behind heavy eyelids and artificiality, and perhaps there was nothing at all of any value behind it all.

Except that he had granted her a few glimpses beyond the mask. And he had waltzed with her—twice—and each time danced her into a brighter, happier world. He had kissed her once and aroused all the physical yearnings she had suppressed for so long that she had come almost to believe she would never be troubled by them again.