Page 2 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

Victor’s attention went to Anne. He turned to face her fully and ignored everyone else, despite their ear-splitting volume.

“Guess what we did today?” Anne beamed up at him, causing his heart to skip a beat.

Victor glanced over to Mary, who was gently bouncing from foot to foot.

Mary had some resemblance to Anne but took strongly after her father, Bernard, who had been tall and lanky, with dark-brown hair.

Anne, meanwhile, was blonde, blue-eyed, and shorter than her daughter.

Victor looked between them but couldn’t guess what else they had done. However, he did note that behind Anne’s excitement lay something else. Sadness, perhaps? “I don’t know. What did you do today?”

Mary was the one who spoke up. “I was measured today!”

Victor crossed his arms. “For?”

Mary, he just now realized, was carrying a magazine.

“My debut next year! Silly Uncle Victor. Look at this one.” Mary showed him the cover of Le Moniteur de la Mode and flipped to a page inside.

She then turned it so Victor could see better.

It was an illustration of a model wearing a cream-colored dress with a long train and elaborate trim.

There were bows, beads, and sequins over nearly every inch, like stars in the night sky. It even had pleats on the hem.

He couldn’t even begin to guess how much something like that would cost. “That’s very nice.”

Mary laughed, glanced once more at the dress with awe, and then hugged the magazine tightly.

“But you don’t debut until next year,” Victor said. “Why were you measured today?”

Anne spoke. “Oh, it’s a nearly year-long process and you have to get in as early as possible before their appointments are all filled. She will still need to go in for several fittings, not just for her presentation dress, but for several other dresses for the season.”

Victor furrowed his brow. “But what if she grows?” The first time he’d met Mary, she’d been a small child, and he had watched her grow up through the awkward, gangly years to become the elegant young lady she was today.

Anne exchanged a giggle with Mary. “Victor, she’s done growing. But just in case, the fittings will be able to address that.”

“Oh.” This revelation that Mary was done growing forever lifted an odd feeling with him, almost like nausea. He distracted himself by recalling the note in his pocket. “Actually, Anne, do you have a minute?”

Mary’s eyes darted between them until they settled on Anne. “Mama, will you…?”

“Soon,” Anne replied in a low voice. “Don’t worry. Go show your Aunts Vivian and Evelyn your pretty dress again.”

Seemingly satisfied, Mary practically skipped over to the women and they immediately flipped through the pages while huddled together.

Without saying anything, Victor began walking toward the back office while Anne followed. He shut the door behind them and went to sit on the edge of his desk. His lips pressed tightly as he tried to figure out what to say next.

But often, with him, words didn’t come. Thus, he pulled the unopened letter out of his pocket and handed it to Anne.

Anne studied his face, her own pinched with the same concern he felt, and she gently took the envelope and observed it. “This is from the Duke of Invermark,” she said after a long moment, her voice quieter than usual.

Victor didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Finally, she looked up at him again, now paled. “When is the last time you spoke to them?”

Victor sniffed. “Back when Ollie and Evelyn got into that trouble. You recall that?”

Anne blinked rapidly. “You haven’t talked to them in almost ten years?”

“No. And before that, the last time I spoke to them was when I’d been sixteen.”

Anne glanced down at the envelope. “Do your brothers know you received this?”

“No. A footman delivered it not long before you all arrived.”

Anne turned it over. “You haven’t opened it yet.” She met his eyes again and he swallowed. “You’re nervous to.”

Again, he kept quiet, as she had figured it out on her own.

“Do you want me to open it?”

Victor held his hand out and she gave him back the envelope. “No, but…” He paused as he looked down at his calligraphed name on the front of the envelope.

Anne put a gloved hand on his forearm. He stared at it. “When Bernard died, you were there for me.” She stammered a bit. “He and I had been separated for a year by that point, and we held no affection for each other. But we had two young children. It was difficult, as you know.”

Her eyes held his as he recalled that time.

With their families enmeshed through the marriage of Vivian and Dantes, Victor and Anne were family in a roundabout way.

But it was more than that. Victor and Anne were friends as well.

And when Bernard Winthrop, the former Marquess of Litchfield, had been killed after a drunken horse race at some country house in Kent, it had been hardly a thought for Victor to be there for Anne and help her navigate the sudden life change.

Vivian was Winthrop’s sister, and had done her best to help Anne, but she’d had her own emotions to face with her brother’s death, and a young marriage to worry about as well.

Regardless, Anne had seemed to prefer Victor’s companionship during that time, thus they had quickly became good friends.

It wasn’t long before Anne had insisted he quit calling her “Lady Litchfield,” as she thought the formality no longer necessary between them, but also because it made her think of her dead husband.

“You were solidified as my dearest friend from then on.” Anne gave him a small smile that caused his heart to pick up its pace.

She was a pretty woman, with her golden hair and clear, pale-blue eyes.

Those eyes always belied the emotion she felt, no matter how much she tried to cover it up, but she usually wore her explosive emotions on her sleeve.

But those eyes could hypnotize a man. Even now, Victor still could not fathom what in the blazes that cad husband of hers had been thinking.

How could Winthrop have wanted more than what he’d already had?

How could the idiot not see how lucky he had been?

Victor nodded in acknowledgment and ripped open the envelope. After taking a deep breath, he pulled out a piece of paper and read the single sentence written upon it.

It’s the duke. You must come, posthaste.

Victor swore, then showed Anne the letter.

She read it. “Are you going to go?”

“I have no choice.” He was rather sure what the visit would entail.

“Are you going to tell your brothers?”

Victor gave this some thought as he placed the letter back in the envelope. He looked at the closed door. “No. Not yet.”

“When are you going to go?”

“As soon as you all leave. You will keep this to yourself, though, yes?”

Her brow furrowed. “Of course. Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight? You can tell me what happens.”

Victor nodded. It was fairly normal for him to dine with Anne and Mary, and Anne’s son, Freddy—the current Marquess of Litchfield, though it was difficult for Victor to think of him that way—when he was home from school.

He dined at Anne’s house once a week. At the very least. But he had a horrible feeling that tonight, he would need her friendship in a dire way.