Page 39 of Duke of Bronze

CHAPTER 39

" W hen you did not respond to Roderick's letter, we feared you might not come," Jane Millard exclaimed as she opened the door, her face positively aglow.

Anna managed a smile as Jane drew her into an enthusiastic embrace. The warmth of it caught her off guard.

"But we prepared in hope, nonetheless," Jane added cheerfully.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Anna said, her voice steadier than she felt.

In truth, she had warred with herself for hours. But in the end, she had pinned a smile to her face, wrapped herself in composure like armor, and made her way to the Millards' modest home.

The moment she stepped through the doorway, the children descended upon her with squeals of delight. Their laughter, their arms thrown around her—so eager and unguarded—drew a genuine smile to her lips.

"I come bearing sweets," she said with exaggerated solemnity, offering them the little parcel she'd tucked into her reticule.

Martha was the first to snatch it, crying out her thanks, while the boys followed with equally gleeful responses.

Once they were distracted with their bounty, Anna straightened, smoothing her skirts with one hand while the other still held the small woven basket she had brought along. She glanced about the room, seeking a place to set it down?—

And froze.

Her eyes landed on the armchair by the hearth, and for a moment, time halted.

"Lydia?"

She heard her own voice, breathless with disbelief.

There, seated beside the fire with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, was Lydia Millard. Upright. Awake. Alive with color that Anna had thought long fled from her face.

"Yes," Jane said, her voice bright with joy. "She's improving, Anna."

Before Anna could speak again, Roderick appeared from the back room, looking far less grim than she remembered him.

"I'll take that," he said with a small grin, relieving her of the basket she had nearly dropped.

Anna's mouth opened, then closed, as she looked once more at Lydia, who managed a faint, knowing smile from her seat.

"It's all thanks to the Duke," Jane said.

"The Duke?" Anna echoed.

"Copperton," Roderick clarified. "He came by with a doctor. A proper one, too. I was out, but Jane received them. The physician examined Lydia, changed her medicines, and…" He gestured helplessly, as if the results spoke louder than any words could.

"She's been responding well ever since. Thank God," he finished.

Anna could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Colin had come here? With a physician? He had done this?

"He should not have," Jane said quietly, catching Anna's expression. "But he did. Because he has a true heart, that man. And I was no kind soul to him that day. I judged him, spoke harshly even. He bore it all with grace I did not deserve." Her voice faltered, and she glanced at Lydia.

Anna's heart swelled with a rush of emotion so fierce, it nearly stole her breath.

Colin had done this without fanfare, without seeking acknowledgment. She had always known him to be kind, but this… this was something far more profound.

As if moved by invisible threads, she made her way to Lydia's side, her steps slow, her limbs suddenly too heavy. The older woman sat bundled in a thick shawl, her posture frail yet upright, her eyes distant but aware.

"She still says very little," Jane explained gently, following Anna's gaze. "But she can sit up on her own now. She's even managed a few steps—with help, of course. She told us the other day how dreadfully tired she is of that back room. Said she was beginning to feel like a ghost in a box."

Roderick chuckled softly, his voice rough with restrained emotion. "We haven't seen her like this in over a year, Anna."

Anna lowered herself beside Lydia, gently slipping her hand beneath the blankets to find Lydia's own. It was thin, cool, and trembled faintly in hers.

"Oh, Lydia," Anna murmured, brushing her thumb in a slow circle across the back of her hand. "I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am to see you improving."

And Lydia smiled.

It was faint, just a slow twitch of her lips, but it changed her whole face. Anna blinked hard, swallowing the knot in her throat.

"Grandmama is going to be quite well again!" Martha declared with unrestrained glee, spinning through the room as Abraham made an enthusiastic attempt at a jig beside her. John sat nearby, grinning as he watched his siblings carry on.

"As a matter of fact," Jane said, ushering Anna toward the table as they prepared to dine, "the doctor returns every other day. And Lydia's even taken to eating full bowls of soup now."

"I daresay it's a miracle," Roderick added as he pulled the cloth from the basket Anna had brought.

He inhaled deeply, then broke into a grin. "Your cook truly performs alchemy with flour. This smells divine."

With great ceremony, he tore off a hunk of bread, dunked it into his soup, and sighed like a man at peace with the world.

Anna and Jane laughed.

Martha scampered to her side again, cradling something in her arms. "Pray look, Miss Anna—he brought me a castle!" she cried, holding the small wooden toy aloft as though it were a crown jewel.

Anna's breath caught as she reached for it. She recognized the craftsmanship at once.

Jane, reading her expression, nodded. "He brought them gifts, too. The boys have not stopped playing since. They're around here somewhere?—"

"Here! Look at mine!" John called, appearing with a wooden knight mounted on a painted steed.

"And I received a ship!" Abraham added proudly, lifting his miniature vessel with sails and a flag as though he had conquered the high seas himself.

Anna stared at them all, the children's joy blurring before her eyes.

She remembered Colin at the hospital. The way he had knelt to the children's level, the care with which he had handed out the gifts, the unguarded tenderness in his expression.

That same constriction returned—tight in her chest, seizing her throat.

"Are you quite well, Anna?" Jane inquired gently, her brow furrowed with concern as she leaned ever so slightly forward, her voice touched with genuine worry.

"I am simply glad to see he is already proving himself the most attentive of uncles—and a brother too," Anna said softly, her smile tinged with a trace of wistfulness.

To her surprise, both Jane and Roderick paused, their expressions touched with identical notes of astonishment.

"I know," Anna said, meeting Roderick's gaze with quiet steadiness. "He told me. About your relation."

A beat passed, and then Roderick set down his spoon and leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Well then," he said, a grin beginning to form, "are we to expect the sound of wedding bells in the near future?"

"I beg your pardon?" Anna blinked, completely nonplussed.

"Oh come now," Roderick said with a knowing tilt of his head. "I've watched the pair of you, and I daresay one need not be particularly clever to see it—there is something between you. And besides, any gentleman who would entrust a lady with what may well be his family's greatest secret must hold her in extraordinary regard."

Anna swallowed, the motion tighter than it ought to have been.

"It does not signify," she said quietly, lowering her gaze to her soup. "It changes nothing."

Jane reached across the table then, her hand warm as it settled over Anna's. "I may not understand all that has passed, my dear, but do not surrender to despair. Hope is a stubborn thing—it lingers when we least expect it."

Anna managed a smile in return. From the quick glance Jane and Roderick exchanged, Anna suspected they understood her desire to change the subject—and kindly chose not to press further.

Clearing her throat, she turned abruptly to the children, who were still absorbed with their toys.

"Would you care to play princesses and pirates after luncheon?" she asked brightly.

Three heads snapped up with enthusiastic cries.

"Well," she continued, a playful lilt entering her voice, "we have a grand castle, a brave knight, a fine ship, and the most beautiful of princesses. I should say we are quite ready for adventure."

Their squeals of delight filled the room, lifting the heaviness that had lingered only moments before

"But wait…" Martha's voice rang out, halting the chorus of giggles with sudden seriousness. "The Duke did not bring us a princess. So who is the princess?"

Anna stilled for only a second, her lips curling into a mischievous smile before she leaned slightly over the table.

"Why, you , of course," she declared. "You are our little princess, Martha."

She reached across the table and began to tickle the child's side, prompting an eruption of delighted squeals.

Martha writhed in a fit of laughter, her curls bouncing as she cried, "No! No, I am a pirate!"

The boys roared their approval, but Anna only tickled her once more.

"Oh, you always have been our little princess," Anna teased. "And you always shall be."

"Indeed," Roderick chimed in with mock solemnity, lifting his spoon like a sword. "Now let us finish our repast quickly, lest the pirates grow bold and we miss our chance to be knighted by Her Highness before battle."

The children resumed their meal with renewed purpose, chattering excitedly about their forthcoming adventures. Anna allowed herself to relax.

There, in that humble room filled with warmth and laughter, surrounded by mismatched dishes and the scent of fresh bread, she had the most pleasant day she had known since returning to Town.

"You do not mean to take dinner this evening either, Your Grace?"

Colin did not so much as glance up from the papers he had been pretending to read.

"I am engaged at present. You may leave, Fisher."

The valet, ever composed, inclined his head and turned toward the door—but paused midway across the room.

"I daresay you are starving yourself now, Your Grace."

His tone was tight, bordering on insubordinate, but the concern threaded through it was unmistakable.

Colin set his pen down, lifting his gaze slowly.

"I should advise you," he said, voice low and clipped, "not to presume knowledge of my thoughts, nor of what governs my decisions."

Fisher did not move.

"I do not presume to know," he replied after a beat. "But I do know that sitting in shadows and turning your back on nourishment is no strategy for triumph. It is surrender, and it does not suit you."

Colin's jaw worked silently.

"You are a man who knows precisely what he wants," Fisher continued, more gently now. "And I have never seen you retreat from the pursuit of that which you desired—be it position, principle, or person."

The words hung in the air.

Colin looked away.

If only he held a fraction of that same confidence in himself.

If only he believed he could have her.

Anna.

But what was hope to a man already defeated?

Fisher gave a small bow. "I shall prepare your wardrobe for the Charity Ball, Your Grace."

Colin blinked. The ball. Of course. The final event of the Season—the same one Anna had been planning with her friends. The closing flourish to a whirlwind of weeks and days that had brought him to his knees.

He had all but forgotten. Or perhaps he had tried to.

As the door shut quietly behind his valet, Colin leaned back in his chair, and sighed. This is not over. No, far from it.