More Than a Duke(36)
Margaret had opened his eyes to the truth—women were parsimonious, indulgent creatures and he’d neatly placed Anne into the category of grasping young ladies.
Until now.
After bating Anne about her collection of satin ribbons, he’d learned there was, in fact, a good deal more to the young lady than beauty with a mercurial desire for material possessions. In just a handful of days, she had shattered all the notions he’d carried of her as an empty-headed, self-indulgent, title-grasping miss.
Instead, he saw a woman who’d braved great trials in her young life and had been shaped by them. She was a lady who’d be the arbiter of her own fate, and in a world where women were considered mere property of their husbands, Anne would find security where she could.
She’d selected her duke, enlisted Harry’s aid to attain that duke, and in that, would steal what freedom she could as a woman in a world dominated by men who’d wager the happiness of their wives and daughters on a game of chance.
Since leaving her, he found he rather hated himself for the hard-won reputation that placed him into the class of cads like her father. The world of black and white he’d lived in after Margaret’s betrayal, and before he’d truly come to know Anne, ceased to exist, ushering in a less certain shade between.
“Tsk, tsk. First courting proper, English misses, and now visiting White’s instead of Forbidden Pleasures. The lady has quite the hold over you, doesn’t she?”
Harry glanced up. His friend, Lord Edgerton grinned down at him. He sighed. “Edgerton. Don’t you have a sister to escort around?”
“Two of them to be exact,” his friend muttered. “At Lord and Lady Huntly’s soiree.” He hooked his foot under the chair opposite Harry and tugged it out then settled into the seat, just as a servant rushed forward with a glass. Without asking, he picked up the bottle and sloshed several fingerfuls into his glass.
“Perhaps you should get yourself there,” Harry drawled. All he knew was that he preferred his solitary musings to his friend’s company this evening.
Edgerton grinned. He raised his glass in salute. “Then, one of the benefits of being the spare is being absolved from most responsibilities.”
Harry wouldn’t know much of it. As the only son of the late Earl of Stanhope, he’d never had a sibling and both of his parents had died when he’d been in his early days at university. His responsibilities through the years had been to the title and his own self-comforts. And for a very small while—Margaret. He expected the familiar rush of hurt bitterness—a bitterness that did not come.
“I imagined with your courtship of a certain creature with golden-ringlets, you’d be at the lady’s side.”
He eyed his barely touched brandy, filled with a longing to drink until he was bloody soused so he wouldn’t have to think about the agreement he’d entered into with Anne. Considering Crawford’s early afternoon visit, Anne was one near-offer of marriage away from ending Harry’s role in the whole blasted scheme. He gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. “I intend to put in an appearance at Lady Huntly’s later this evening,” he said at last. After all, he’d pledged his support.
Edgerton took a sip of his brandy. “I’d venture you’d be better served going to Huntly’s sooner rather than later, chap.” His friend dangled that damned bit, attempting intrigue.
Harry swallowed down a curse. “What are you on about?”
Edgerton waved over to the betting book at White’s. “Wagers have been placed that the young lady will find herself the next Duchess of Crawford. And you, my good friend, are already at a great disadvantage with a mere earldom.”
Harry growled. He’d not let his friend bait him.
“Rumors have it, Crawford is quite taken with the young lady.” His lips turned up in a wry smile. “Though I must say I don’t see the fascination with a proper English miss with those silly ringlets—”
Taken with the young lady. “They are not silly,” he mumbled under his breath. And why shouldn't the spirited beauty charm Crawford?
“Crawford was seen with the young lady at Gunter’s yesterday afternoon.”
After Harry had taken his leave of her. His body went taut.
Edgerton chuckled, seeming unbothered by carrying on a conversation with himself. He settled his elbows on the table and waggled his brow. “The gossip sheets report the duke didn’t remove his gaze from the lady’s—”
Harry surged to his feet. He started for the door. As he wound his way through the club, past throngs of dandies and crowded tables, he dimly registered his friend hastening to match his step.