None of them said anything further until they arrived at the Chilcotts’ cottage. “Mama, Papa,” Miss Chilcott said as she opened the door to what Anthony soon discovered to be the parlor, “we have returned from our walk and have brought with us the duke, who said he wished to meet with you, Papa.”
Following Mr. Roberts into the room, Anthony spoke a greeting and bowed toward Mrs. Chilcott, who didn’t look the least bit happy to see him. He turned to Mr. Chilcott and put out his hand. The older man hesitated only a moment before accepting it in a firm handshake. Like his wife, however, he did not smile, which could only mean that whatever they imagined the reason for his visit to be, it wasn’t good. Well, he’d just have to prove them wrong, that was all.
“If this is an inconvenient hour for you, sir, I can return at another time,” Anthony said, mostly because he felt it would be the polite thing to say—not because he really wanted to leave only to come back again later. He wanted the whole affair to be over with.
“This way if you please,” Mr. Chilcott said as he directed Anthony through to another, much smaller room that was sparsely furnished with a wooden table that could seat up to six people, and a credenza that stood tall against one wall. This was clearly their dining room. Closing the door behind Anthony, Mr. Chilcott gestured to one of the chairs. “Do have a seat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chilcott.” Anthony sat, adjusted himself so he was comfortable and then reached inside his jacket pocket to pull out the drawing of himself and Miss Chilcott. “I met a woman the other day—at the Kingsborough Ball, to be exact—but she departed very suddenly while I was attending to some business. I’d like to find her again if possible and was hoping that you might be able to help me in that regard.”
He handed the drawing to Mr. Chilcott, who studied it for a moment before he finally shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I have never seen this woman before.”
Anthony sat frozen. He could not believe that Miss Chilcott’s own father was denying that it was his daughter in the picture. “How can you say that, sir, when it is obvious even with the mask she’s wearing that this is—”
“Nobody I know,” Mr. Chilcott said firmly. “And in case you are implying otherwise, my daughter was here, asleep in her own bed that night. I know, because she and I played chess together that evening while we waited to watch the fireworks display—which was beautiful, by the way.”
Anthony was stunned. He was being deliberately shut down. Either that, or Miss Chilcott wasn’t the woman he’d danced with at the ball after all. Perhaps he’d just wanted her to be Miss Smith so badly that he’d convinced himself that they were one and the same.
They looked alike, based on the drawing, but then again there was the mask to consider. He shook his head. No, it wasn’t possible. Miss Chilcott was Miss Smith—she had to have been. He felt it deep in his bones. Whatever his reason, Mr. Chilcott was lying. Discussing the possibility of a courtship, not to mention the Deerfords, would have to wait. Anthony had to think about everything he’d learned first, and in order to do so properly, he would have to go home. His mother would be able to help perhaps, Winston and Casper too. Yes, he would have to invite Casper over, because when it came to women, he always knew what to do when faced with a problem. The fact that he was a rake was no coincidence—it was a vocation that came naturally to him.
Chapter 13
“Mr. Goodard is waiting for you in the library, sir,” Phelps announced as soon as Anthony returned home.
He handed the butler his hat and gloves with a smile. How convenient that Casper had decided to call exactly when Anthony wished to speak to him. It was probably no coincidence though—his friend would want to know about Anthony’s progress regarding Miss Smith.
“I was planning to send you a dinner invitation,” Anthony said as he walked into the library and spotted his friend, who was comfortably seated in one of the deep leather armchairs with a book in his hand, “but you’ve saved me both the paper and the need to dispatch a footman. Thank you for that.”
Casper grinned. “Truth be told, I’m desperate to discover if you’ve found Miss Smith.”
Anthony nodded and walked over to the side table. “I thought you might be. Care for a drink?” He held up a crystal carafe filled with brandy.
“Please.”
Turning his back on his friend, Anthony prepared a glass for each of them. “What are you reading?” he asked as he strode across to where Casper was sitting, placed the glass on the table in front of him and sat down opposite his friend.
“Candide,” Casper replied, handing it to Anthony. “Love the sarcasm.”
“Hm . . . trust you to find the one book I’ve hidden away.” Anthony put the book aside and took a sip of his brandy.
Casper followed suit. “That’s not entirely true—there’s also the Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure that you’ve so diligently placed behind Chaucer.”
Anthony coughed. “Yes, well . . . my mother would probably have a fit of the vapors if she discovered either one of them.” Getting up, he took the book and returned it to its rightful place—behind Defoe.
“Even with Candide?” Casper asked, frowning. He sounded unconvinced.
“She considers it blasphemous, which I suppose I can understand—in a way.”
Casper shrugged. “So tell me—did you find the elusive Miss Smith?”
Hesitating a moment, Anthony considered what he’d discovered. He then met Casper’s gaze and nodded with slow deliberation as he walked back to his seat. “Yes, I did.”
“And?” Casper’s eagerness for information was most apparent not only from his tone of voice but from his posture as well, for he was now leaning forward in his seat as if the act of doing so would elicit a quicker reply.
“And her name is Miss Chilcott. Her father is employed at Roberts’ Exclusive Carriages.” He reached for his brandy. God how he needed it with everything he’d learned today.
“Well, I hate to state the obvious, old chap, but she’s hardly duchess material then. Society dictate will want you to marry a lady and . . . Miss Chilcott, was it?” Anthony nodded morosely. “Why, she may be lovely to look at and more charming than most, but she’s not even the daughter of a baronet!”
“I am aware of that small detail, thank you very much. However, there’s no law preventing me from courting her or from marrying her should I choose to do so.”
“It will be social suicide if you ask me,” Casper muttered. “You’re a duke, which unfortunately for you and Miss Chilcott means that you have a standard to uphold.”
Anthony knew this of course, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “Hang Society,” he muttered, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Besides, it’s not as if this family hasn’t done the unconventional before. Winston has still not been accepted back into some circles because of his business, but at least he’s happy with the choice he made.”
“If I were you, I’d marry the daughter of an earl and make Miss Chilcott your mistress,” Casper said, ignoring Anthony’s comment. “Besides, you know what these highborn ladies are like—too prim to be stroked, much less . . .” He allowed the sentence to trail off. “So if you do marry one, you’ll require someone else on the side to satisfy your needs.” Anthony scowled, but Casper blithely continued with, “You may have abandoned your rakish ways, but men like us have appetites, and that’s not something that ever goes away.”
“You’re disgusting,” Anthony said, though he had to admit there was some truth to it. How often had he submitted to his own hand in the course of the past five years? Thousands, perhaps more. And since he’d met Miss Chilcott . . . if she only knew what he’d done as he’d thought of her luscious body these past two evenings since the ball.
Casper smiled. “Say what you will, but I can see it on your face. Make Miss Chilcott your mistress and I’m sure she’ll—”
“Stop right there!” Anthony warned. “Miss Chilcott is a decent woman, Casper. She’s not the sort with loose morals, and I won’t allow you to speak of her in such a degrading fashion.”
Casper held up his hands. “Fair enough.”
The door opened and Anthony, turning his head, found both Winston and his mother entering the room. “I hope we’re not intruding,” his mother said. She was wearing a rusty orange day dress that went well with her coloring, her black and gray completely abandoned, much to Anthony’s relief.
“Not at all,” Anthony told her, rising and waving them both over. Stepping around the table, he kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. “We were just discussing my investigation regarding Miss Smith, otherwise known as Miss Chilcott.”
“Oh, so you found her?” Winston asked as he poured himself a drink at the side table. “Would you care for some sherry, Mama?”
“Just a small one,” the duchess replied.
“And please bring the carafe with you over here, Winston,” Casper said as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Your brother and I are in need of a refill.”
“So, tell us about Miss Chilcott, Anthony. Is she the unwanted stepchild of a countess, hidden away so that none shall know of her beauty?”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “You read too many fairy tales, Mama.”
“Not anymore.” There was an edge of sadness to her voice. “But I used to when Louise was little. To be honest, I always did enjoy those happily ever afters—they don’t happen often enough in real life.”
“Well, it looks as though it’s unlikely to happen for me either,” Anthony said. “Miss Chilcott is a driver’s daughter, and as Casper has correctly pointed out, it would be difficult for me to make her my duchess—socially speaking, that is.”
“That explains her belief that she cannot share a future with you, though I’m not entirely sure of how it affects your decision, Anthony. When did you begin caring about what Society thinks?” his mother asked as she took a careful sip of her sherry, the tiny glass balanced perfectly between her elegant fingers. “Because if you ask me, you never gave much of a damn about anyone’s opinion until recently. I’d be greatly saddened to see you do so now, when so much depends on you doing the complete opposite.”
All three men stared at the tiny figure of a woman who sat before them. Anthony could not recall her ever using profanity before—it was so unlike her. She, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected as she looked right back at them. She eventually shrugged. “There’s little joy to be had in growing older, but having the freedom to say as you please is most assuredly one of them.”
“And here I was advising him to make her his mistress,” Casper said. “I’d no idea that you were so liberal in your way of thinking, Duchess.”