“Casper, surely you have been a friend of this family long enough now to know we’re not as conservative as most. It is my very deepest wish that my children will be as happy in their choice of partners as I was with my husband. If Miss Chilcott is the woman Anthony wants, then I have no intention of standing in his way. The rest of Society will give both of them a hard enough time—I see no reason to make the situation more difficult.”
Anthony felt his heart swell with a bit of hope—the only bit of hope he’d had all day. “Thank you, Mama. I really appreciate your support in this. However, there is a complication that you ought to know about.”
“Please don’t tell me that she has a child out of wedlock,” his mother said, concern marking her drawn features.
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Taking the carafe Winston offered him, Anthony poured a measure into Casper’s glass before adding another to his own. He’d already told his family that Miss Chilcott was planning to marry someone else—that he believed she felt duty-bound to do so. “I happened upon her this afternoon in Moxley as I was on my way to meet with her father. She was buying gloves.”
His mother raised both eyebrows. “I approve.”
Anthony sighed. “She was not alone but in the company of Mr. Roberts, who was acting as her escort—he is the man she intends to marry.”
Both his mother and Winston frowned.
“The carriage maker?” Casper asked.
Anthony nodded. “The very one.”
“I thought the name sounded vaguely familiar,” Winston said. “Didn’t you acquisition your new curricle from him, Anthony?”
Anthony gave his brother a tight smile. “You see my dilemma?”
“Not particularly,” Casper said, looking annoyingly calm.
Trust Casper to change his view on the matter just so he could argue the point. “A moment ago, your opinion was quite pessimistic,” Anthony told him.
“That was before I discovered how open your mother is to the idea of having Miss Chilcott for a daughter-in-law,” Casper said, directing a sweet smile at the duchess.
“I’m not particularly fond of toadies, Casper, though I do appreciate the consideration,” the duchess remarked, sipping delicately at her sherry.
“Whatever your opinion,” Anthony said, deciding he’d had enough of their backscratching, “the fact remains that I know Mr. Roberts, perhaps not personally, but enough to feel some remorse at the thought of stealing Miss Chilcott away from him.”
“Then you’re a better man than I,” Casper said.
Anthony grinned. “I believe that goes without saying.” They saluted each other with their glasses before proceeding to take a healthy gulp.
“There is also the question regarding the gown,” the duchess said, breaking the silence. “However would the daughter of a mere driver have come to possess such an expensive item?”
“I cannot give you an answer to that yet,” Anthony told her. “But I don’t believe Miss Chilcott to be a thief. Whatever the case, I think there’s an honest explanation. Until I discover it though, I’ve no intention of alerting the Deerfords. I trust you’ll make no mention of it to them either.”
“You have our word on it,” Winston told him seriously. “And if there’s anything at all that we can do to help . . .”
Anthony nodded. “Thank you, but I can’t think of anything right now. It’s good to know that I have your support though. Now, if I can only convince the lady herself.” He frowned, realizing he’d neglected to tell them how his visit to the Chilcotts had actually gone. “When I spoke to her father and showed him the drawing of his daughter, he denied recognizing her. For whatever reason, they’re insistent upon marrying her off to Mr. Roberts, though I cannot for the life of me understand why.”
“Could they be indebted to him somehow?” Winston asked.
“I’ve wondered that myself,” Anthony said as he leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and placed his chin in his hands. “I suppose it’s possible. Her father is in Mr. Roberts’s employ.”
“The father of the woman you wish to marry is her fiancé’s driver?” Casper asked, looking undecided about whether to laugh or frown. He picked the latter.
Anthony nodded. “He test-drives the carriages that Mr. Roberts manufactures.”
“Well, then perhaps Mr. Roberts is blackmailing the poor man in some way?” the duchess suggested.
“That would certainly explain a lot,” Anthony agreed, “but Mr. Roberts, as peculiar as he may be, doesn’t seem like the sort of man who’d resort to such baseness of character.”
“I agree,” Casper muttered. “It takes an evil-minded person to bend someone’s fate to their will. If Mr. Roberts had it in him, you’d know.”
“But if all the Chilcotts are looking to accomplish is to marry off their daughter to an affluent man—which Mr. Roberts is, by the way—then I see no reason for them to deny you, Anthony,” the duchess said, her tone taking on a defensiveness unique to a proud mother. “You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake! She should be thanking her lucky stars that you’ve paid her any attention at all.”
“Unless of course she’s in love with Mr. Roberts,” Winston pointed out.
“She’s not.” Anthony’s voice was clipped as he spoke. “She believes she has to marry him—that she has no choice in the matter. I mean to prove her wrong. I will speak to her father again, and when I do, I will be very clear about my intentions.”
“And if they still refuse you?” Casper drawled, his gaze meeting Anthony’s.
“Then I may have to whisk Miss Chilcott off to Gretna Green.” He was joking of course. He would never force a woman to marry him against her will, but he did feel as though he was being brushed aside too easily. Perhaps it would be good to assert himself a bit more—remind Miss Chilcott of what they’d shared the night of the ball. Seeing his mother’s horrified expression, he couldn’t help but add, “Let’s not forget that I used to excel at seduction. Perhaps a rake is precisely what Miss Chilcott needs.”
Smiling to himself, he drank deeply from his glass just as his mother muttered faintly, “Heaven forbid.”
Chapter 14
Anthony set out for the Chilcott home the following afternoon. He was tired, having suffered yet another restless night with thoughts of Miss Chilcott, and he still wasn’t sure of what he would say to Mr. Chilcott—how best to make his case so that he wouldn’t be turned away yet again. Pondering this, he trotted along at a leisurely pace, his horse’s hooves stamping the road that led toward Moxley when suddenly, in the distance, he saw someone walking toward him. As he got closer to the individual, his heart rate picked up in realization of who that person was.
It was Miss Chilcott—there could be no mistaking it, even though her face was downcast as they approached each other, leading Anthony to suspect that she’d determined his identity as well and was probably hoping he wouldn’t notice her. As if such a thing had been possible.
As he came closer to her, he pulled his horse to a complete stop and tipped his hat in salutation. “Good afternoon, Miss Chilcott.”
She looked up at him, her hand shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. “Oh, Your Grace—what a surprise!”
Did the color in her cheeks just deepen, or was he imagining things?
“What brings you all the way out here? You must be at least a mile from town.”
“I . . . er . . .” As if unaware of where she actually was, Miss Chilcott looked both left and right before returning her gaze to Anthony, who was trying his damndest to keep his expression straight. “I was on my way to visit my aunt with a pie.” She held a small basket up for him to see.
“Does she live far from here?” Anthony asked, a little concerned that a woman of Miss Chilcott’s beauty was roaming the countryside on her own. Had she no inkling of the sort of danger she was placing herself in?
“Another mile perhaps—there’s a turn up ahead that will take me straight there.”
Looking down at her, Anthony considered his next move. She looked dazzling with the sunlight casting a golden glow upon her hair. Her gown was simple and white, yet so much more enticing than the more elaborate ones he’d seen ladies in London wear. And then of course there was her bosom, of which he was afforded a very clear view from his vantage point.
His stomach was not the only part of him to tighten as he thought of what it might be like to bare it. Bloody hell, Casper was right—he might have stopped behaving like a rake, but his mind was not so easily controlled.
Taking a tight hold on the reins with his left hand, Anthony swung himself down onto the ground, landing right in front of Miss Chilcott. He turned to face her, noting the look of surprise and . . . was that dread in her eyes? “Allow me to accompany you.”
“I cannot possibly,” she gasped. “It’s . . . it’s not proper.”
Intrigued by her level of discomfort, Anthony leaned toward her. “How so?”
“We have no chaperone.” She looked around again, like a naughty child who feared being caught. “If anyone saw us together, it would make things quite difficult for me. You see, I am to marry Mr. Roberts, in case you were not aware. Whatever will he think if he hears I’ve been out walking alone with you?”
“I imagine he’d thank me for seeing to your safety,” Anthony said. As reluctant as she was for his company, he was enjoying their discussion. Determined to win, he added, “Besides, if anything were to happen to you—a sprained ankle perhaps, or, God forbid, something worse—I’d quite simply never forgive myself.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Miss Chilcott nodded. “Very well then,” she acquiesced. She started walking again while Anthony kept pace, leading his horse by the reins.
“Do you often go for walks like this? On your own?” he asked.
Turning her head, she met his gaze, her deep frown alluding to her displeasure at the question. “I suppose you’re about to tell me that you don’t approve.”
Sensing she would not respond well to overprotectiveness but feeling an elemental need to keep her safe, Anthony shrugged and said, “The world can be a dangerous place, Miss Chilcott. I merely mean to caution you.”
Looking at her, he could tell she was struggling with what to say. Her voice was low when she eventually spoke—so much so that he had to strain to hear her. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall take your concern under advisement.”
Well, she’d certainly taken the high road, which of course only served to increase his admiration of her. “So, what sort of pie are you taking to your aunt?” he asked after a moment’s silence.
Miss Chilcott didn’t turn to look at him as she said, “Apple,” her eyes fixed firmly upon the horizon.
“Something tells me you’re not so fond of apple pie yourself,” Anthony prodded.