Page 9 of The Dark Duke’s Cinderella (The Untamed Ladies #1)

CHAPTER 9

P hilip led Anna through the rose garden as Elinor occupied George with tea closer to the house. Despite the landscaping, the garden behind Charleton Manor was mostly a flat, open field, allowing George to chaperone his cousin from a safe distance.

All the better for me to speak frankly with her.

Anna had walked ahead of him, leaning over to inspect a dormant Damask rose by a trellis. He could tell from her troubled expression that she was feigning interest to avoid having to speak with him. Elinor’s comments had obviously unsettled her.

No woman wanted to be on the receiving end of compliments meant for someone else. Even if, in Philip’s eyes, she was more agreeable than Alicia in every way.

“It has been many years since I have walked through these gardens with a lady,” Philip said to get her attention. His hands were clasped behind his back, where she couldn’t see him picking away at the scar beside his thumb. “But to the best of my recollection, the woman should not storm off in anger ahead of her companion.”

He had hoped he sounded unbothered, maybe playful. Anna didn’t react with a smile.

“I did not storm off,” she rebutted, continuing her perusal of the garden, leaning down to look at the metal plaques interspersed between the plants. “Why would I storm off? There was no reason for me to abandon you. You walked slowly, and I did not notice until we reached the roses.”

“Lady Anna, I walked at a perfectly normal pace behind you. I would have had to sprint to keep up. Meanwhile, you took off like a mare at the races.”

He winced at his inelegant comparison. It was easy to forget his manners around Anna. The secret they shared had already blurred the lines of propriety between them.

“Not a mare?—”

“No? Not a mare, but some other impetuous animal? A monkey, perhaps?” She straightened then, looking over the cold grounds. “You were kind to invite me on this walk, Your Grace. But we needn’t talk for your sister’s benefit. I can tell you are worried that she will be upset with you. You may at least take comfort in the knowledge that you have not upset me.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

“Whatever bad feelings exist between my sister and I will quickly pass. She is not my concern at this moment.” He paused, feeling a cold breeze wrap around him. It blew a few strands of chestnut-brown hair from Anna’s bonnet, and he watched them lap at the side of her angry, delicate face.

“Elinor has been away from society for too long. She was overcome that a woman had visited us and allowed her joy at seeing you to compromise her judgment. There is little more to it than that.”

“But there is. For she was not excited at seeing me… but seeing whom she thought was Alicia.” A devious smile played on Anna’s lips. “The object of a recent, most passionate conversation, by the sound of things.”

“And if she were the subject of such a conversation?” Philip challenged. “A passionate conversation does not imply a positive outcome. Quite honestly, I have heard enough about your cousin to last me a lifetime.”

“If you say so, Your Grace.”

Philip bristled at her tone. “Do you purposefully incense all the gentlemen in your life?”

“Only you,” she replied.

He believed her. He started to smile and stopped himself before she could see how she amused him and take it as encouragement.

“That was beneath me. I apologize,” she relented. “No, I do not purposefully try to enrage you, and neither have I purposefully caused our paths to cross if that is what you are thinking. The other night, and then at George’s party, and now today… You must be growing weary of me.”

“Not yet. Though you might have had George return my snuffbox alone, that much I must admit. That would have been the wiser thing to do, considering our previous entanglement,” he countered, wanting to see whether she was lying. “Why didn’t you?”

“Believe me, Your Grace, I agree with you, and I tried.” She groaned and sat down on a nearby bench, smoothing out her skirts. The cold air had nipped her cheeks pink like the nearby roses in summer. “I even suggested that he call upon you with Alicia and return it. But George is funny sometimes. He insisted that I come with him, that we did not play a trick on you and lie.”

Philip studied her. Was Anna like George, honorable to a fault? Or was she more like Alicia, only doing things if they benefited her?

The more he learned about Anna, the less he understood. From what George had said, she was a shy, scholarly young woman who avoided confrontation at every turn. With him, she had been completely different, like he brought out the worst in her.

That did not bode well for either of them.

“Well,” Philip continued, “I for one am glad that it was you.”

Anna jerked her head up, her small, rosebud lips parting in surprise. She shook her head softly, as if she didn’t trust him.

“Had it been Alicia, my sister would have jumped to all the wrong conclusions and forced us into an even worse situation. Between the three of them, I would have been outnumbered.” He paused, not sure whether that made her feel better. “Forced to select between Walfords, you are the lesser of two evils. Even when you go galloping off ahead of me, making me feel like an old man. You are tolerable, at least.”

“And incensing,” she reminded him.

“Precisely. I assure you that is high praise coming from me.”

He settled against the trellis, looking out over the gardens further afield. They were close to the center of London, but the woods at the bottom of the estate enveloped the manor in silence.

Alone with Anna, Philip let himself relax. It was far from the worst way to spend an afternoon, walking the grounds, avoiding estate matters—he had been a duke for all of a month, and he wasn’t exactly excelling at the post outside of parliament.

Better yet, George would be pleased. When the ton caught wind of his promenade with Anna, gentlemen would be lining up outside her house for a chance to walk with her too. There would be no more time for chance meetings between them once that happened.

“Why the snuffbox?” Anna asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I am not questioning your habit. You may have any vices you desire. I was just thinking aloud… The way you looked at it when I handed it back to you, the way you held onto it made me curious. Did it cost a lot of money?”

“Its price is insignificant.” A familiar face flashed through his mind. “It was a gift from my brother-in-law, the late Lord Kirkby. George may have mentioned Graham in the past, or maybe not. We had been friends for many years… I could not bear to lose it.”

Some men took miniatures of their lovers to war. Philip had taken gifts from his friends. A snuffbox from Graham, a canteen from George, a knife from Simon. Things to keep him happy, and safe.

“Then I am glad that I happened upon it that night in the library. Because it does look like it cost a lot of money. Someone else might have tried to steal it.”

“But not you?” Philip smiled, warmed by the memory of Graham and her willingness to engage with him about it. “You draw the line at theft?”

“I did consider pawning it,” she joked, looking at him from beneath the rim of her bonnet. “Who knows what sort of price it would have fetched? I could have added it to my pin money, and used it to get as far away from London as possible.”

She wasn’t joking. She was trying to make him think she wasn’t being serious with the way she rolled her eyes. But he saw through her act.

“And where would you have gone?”

“Sadly, I did not get that far in my planning. The continent, certainly. France might still be unsafe for an Englishwoman. Perhaps Italy or Austria?”

“Where the opera singers flock,” he noted. Anna dropped her gaze, knowing she had been caught. “I have heard a few things from George. Is that your great passion? Music and singing?”

“I have many passions.” She turned to look out over the grounds. “Of all of them, I… I suppose singing is my greatest love.”

“It can’t be so great as that. You did not sing at George’s birthday dinner when the music started. Most singers I know don’t miss a chance to share their talent.”

She laughed under her breath. “Then I am not like most singers. I do not sing for others. My father…” She paused for a moment, debating how much to say. “He does not believe that music is a worthy pursuit for a woman. I have performed at the pianoforte a handful of times for guests and such, but never sung.” Anna fixed him with a fiery look. “Please, don’t ask me to sing now.”

“Perish the thought.” It hadn’t crossed his mind to ask her. Now, he wanted to hear her sing quite badly. “It surprises me that so many in your family can hold a tune. When we were at Oxford, George often displayed his abilities to us?—”

“He has no singing abilities. No rhythm either.”

“I said nothing to the contrary. He cleared out a good number of college halls with that voice of his.”

Anna laughed. “You judge him very harshly,” she said sardonically. “Am I to understand that you are a songbird yourself, Your Grace?”

Philip shook his head, smiling. He left the trellis, walking around the central flowerbed, her gaze boring into his back. “That could not be further from the truth. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body. Unlike George, I know better than to expose my failings to others.”

“What are you good at, then?”

“Another incensing question. A gentler woman might have asked, Have you any hobbies ? Or, How do you spend your time ?” His remark drew another laugh from her, and it pleased him. “I am not a musician like you. I am not cerebral either. That is not to say that I have no intelligence, merely that I am not a scholar and do not aspire to be one.”

She looked skeptical. “A Corinthian, then? An athlete?”

“If people are to be categorized as such, then yes.” He thought back to his childhood, bargaining with his ciphering and language tutors to let him outside early so he could play. “I have a great love of riding and traveling. I feel most alive when I am moving, doing, and not lingering in one place for too long.”

“And that’s why you joined the army,” she guessed, her voice lilting with curiosity. “To move and do things? What sort of things were they?”

Philip, who had up until that point been honest with her, felt his eagerness to connect with her ebb. He had thrived as a colonel because of his competitive, restless nature. But that hadn’t been why he had purchased his commission in the first place. Not by a long shot.

“A spirited young woman like yourself cannot possibly wish to hear an old colonel’s war stories,” he said, attempting to change the topic.

“What do you suppose would be the cause of such disinterest? My spirit, my youth, or my womanhood?” She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “You underestimate me, Your Grace. I would be very interested in hearing about your time at war. I have never traveled farther than Scotland. I have barely seen the sea. Do you honestly think I would not hang on to every word you spoke?”

He wasn’t sure whether the question was rhetorical. He didn’t want to find out. Anna should not hang on to any part of him. She would only hurt herself in the process. Even if she was lovely. Any gentleman would have been flattered to be on the receiving end of her questions.

“Another time, perhaps,” he replied. “Your cousin and my sister will be wondering what has occupied us for so long. I will not keep you a moment more, so long as you are satisfied.”

The young woman nodded, rising from the bench. Her boots clicked against the pave stones underfoot as she walked past him, headed toward the house.

Philip tensed as he caught her familiar perfume in the air. Lavender. The one sign of life in the otherwise sleeping garden. His heart rate quickened as he watched her go, surprised to find himself regretting sending her away so soon.

There would be dire consequences if I indulged her interest in me. And there would be worse consequences if I developed an interest in her…

“I am not satisfied,” she murmured, turning back to face him.

Surprise washed over him before he caught himself and scowled.

“That is to say?”

“A question lingers in my mind. Earlier, you said that I drew the line at theft. What did you mean by that? What do you believe lies before that line?”

It had been an errant remark, nothing he had expected her to question. He hadn’t even realized at the time what he had implied.

Now that she had brought it to his attention, he could not ignore his underlying suspicions about her—that she had done something worthy of criticism that night at the opera. That maybe it was the reason he felt so comfortable around her, because she was as imperfect as he was, and had things to hide too.

“It was a figure of speech,” he offered by way of excuse.

“A curious one, to be certain,” she shot back, visibly unconvinced. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Not at that moment, certainly. But even the most insignificant detail could have detrimental consequences.

* * *

“We’ve done our good deed for the week,” George said in the carriage as they were driven back to Mayfair. “It was nice to see Elinor after so long. Though, of course, I wish we had met under better circumstances.”

Anna opened her eyes, having kept them closed since they left Charleton Manor. The events of the afternoon had worn her out. Not least of all her confusing conversation with the duke. She was still trying to decipher what he had meant about the limits of her morality, whether any of it even mattered.

“His Grace suggested that you had been good friends with her late husband,” she said, straightening against the back of the bench. “I don’t remember you mentioning him much before.”

“Graham and I were decently close, but he was always much fonder of Philip than me.” There was no jealousy in his tone, only nostalgia for a time that had come and gone. “They had known one another for years before Philip and I met. It was a shock to us all when Graham passed last year, but I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for Phil.”

“He must have been on duty at the time,” Anna murmured. Her heart ached for the duke. She didn’t want to think about how heartbroken she would be if one of her friends passed away so suddenly. “What happened to him?”

“To Graham?” George’s brow creased, his voice thickening with emotion. “A riding accident. He was racing through the forest on a fox-hunting trip in early spring. Simon was there, but I refrained from attending. It’s unclear what exactly transpired. Whether he rode into a low-hanging branch and it knocked him off, or something else. We can’t be sure. One moment he was chasing his dogs, and the next…” He shrugged. “A stupid way for such a good man to die.”

“That’s awful.” Anna placed a hand over her mouth. “His poor wife… Did they have any children? I saw none at the manor.”

“Not one. It was always their desire to have a large family. But one simply did not manifest.” George clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. “I suppose Elinor will stay with Philip for the time being. She gave no sign of being interested in searching for another husband once her mourning period was over. It’s a tragedy, all of it. She is a very lovely woman.”

Anna studied her cousin. “You could marry her,” she suggested.

“Egad, what a thing to say. It would be like putting on Graham’s old clothes and walking around in them. I would feel like…” George puffed out his cheeks. “No, I wish for something entirely different for myself.”

Anna supposed she understood. She, too, wanted to marry someone who genuinely piqued her interest, challenged her for the better, and made her heart ache—in a good way.

Surprisingly, she thought back to her walk with the Duke of Wells, and her face grew hot with embarrassment… and more.

“Perhaps it will be for the best, her staying with Philip,” George continued. “Elinor isn’t like her brother. She needs good company to thrive. Philip is perfectly content to spend all his time alone. But I think a change is in order. This arrangement will benefit both of them.”

“I had gotten that impression from His Grace. He was a perfect gentleman during our walk, but he does not strike me as the sort of man to suffer people he does not like.”

“To some degree, yes. But—” George broke off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, nothing. Never mind me. I’m overthinking things as always. It was just something his sister said.”

“You cannot possibly expect me not to ask questions now.” Anna laughed. It was just like George to start a new conversation as their ride came to an end. “What did Lady Kirkby say that has made you so worried?”

“It was a passing comment. Insignificant, really. I just had this feeling…” Her cousin’s expression twisted. He was deep in thought, testing her patience. “She said she was surprised that Philip had come back to England at all. And the way she said it… Not as though she had expected him to stay at some outpost somewhere because he had fallen in love with his career. But as though…” He sighed. “As though she thought he would not come back to England, ever .”

The carriage came to a halt, rocking Anna forward. She held her breath, wondering whether she had heard George right.

“You mean to say that she expected him to die?” She gulped, surprised by the intensity of her feelings at that prospect. “That can’t be so surprising, can it? Her husband has just passed. She would be expecting the worst.”

“Perhaps.”

“Not perhaps . What are you thinking?”

“I haven’t a clue, Anna. From the way she phrased things, it sounded like she expected him to ensure he did not return. Or that he was hoping not to. That going away would mean his death, and he would not be satisfied with any other outcome.”

Anna leaned back, making sure she understood what George was implying.

The Duke of Wells was a powerful albeit quiet man. He hadn’t struck her as being so grimly fatalistic. Had he wanted to become a war hero? A martyr?

That didn’t seem right either.

“I can’t be certain of anything,” George added, lowering his voice as they heard the footman hop off his step somewhere behind them. “And I’m certainly not about to ask Philip whether he has—had—a death wish. Elinor knows him so well. She wouldn’t say something like that if her suspicions weren’t justified. Only… What does one do with that sort of information?”

The footman came around to open George’s door. He held it shut when the footman pulled on the other side, giving them a few moments more to talk.

“Well…” Anna began, her mind racing. “If you want to help, you might start by giving him some room to breathe this Season.” George started to protest, and she raised her hand to stop him. “I know you mean well and only want the best for everyone. But if what Lady Kirkby said is true, pressuring the duke into a courtship he evidently does not want will not help matters.”

George sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Sometimes people don’t know what is good for them. And sometimes they don’t know their own hearts. He says he has no interest in Alicia, but as we were leaving, he told me that he intends to attend the soirée she is hosting tonight. I shall consider your advice, cousin. But I will remain hopeful that Philip can be saved from himself. Alicia, too.”

Anna wanted to say something more, driven by a sudden wave of concern for the duke. By that point, however, George had lost the tug-of-war on the door with the footman. It opened, flooding the carriage with cold air, and forcing Anna to exit after her cousin.

“You don’t want to come inside?” she asked as George planted a goodbye kiss on her cheek.

“You just want to keep gossiping about Philip,” he riposted, laughing sadly. He straightened his coat and turned toward his carriage. “Everything will be fine, Anna. Pay my respects to your parents, and go in and enjoy your evening.”

Anna watched the carriage drive around the square, her heart heavy with sadness for the Duke of Wells and his sister. There was something else niggling at the back of her consciousness. A deep desire to see him again despite knowing it was foolish.

She walked up the front steps and pushed open the door, hoping that she wouldn’t alert her parents to her return. It was already late. The roads had been busy with people returning home to begin their preparations for the evening.

Her parents had been invited to a dinner with Lady Jane and some other acquaintances, and Anna planned to retire to the music room to study. It was the best way to spend an evening alone, languishing over old sheet music.

Slipping out of her pelisse, she crept toward the central staircase. The low rumblings of male voices sounded from one of the downstairs rooms. Her father occupied one of them, most likely hosting a friend. She did not want to interrupt them if she could avoid it.

“You were gone for hours,” came a voice from behind her. “You didn’t think to come in and announce your return? Surely, I taught you better manners than that.”

Her mother stood with her hands on her hips by the door to the drawing room. Her emerald green gown was the same shade as the wallpaper, and Anna had to squint to make her out in the dimly lit hallway.

“Forgive me,” Anna said, immediately descending the steps. “I thought you would be upstairs, preparing for the evening ahead. I meant no offense. As you know, George and I called on the Duke of Wells. We stayed awhile and talked.”

She didn’t need to mention how much she had enjoyed her afternoon, how much she yearned to tell someone everything that had happened between her and the duke, how courageous and confident he made her feel in her own skin.

Anna had never been a proficient liar. Her mother would be able to tell just how much he had affected her.

“Hmm,” was all her mother said.

Rosamund looked at her from head to toe, less pleased than she had anticipated upon hearing of Anna’s successful effort to socialize. Instead, she beckoned her over.

“Be that as it may, we have a visitor—one you should meet. Do not mention your exertion this afternoon to your father.”

Anna groaned inwardly, struggling to hide the displeasure on her face. Her mother scowled at her, all but ripping her pelisse and bonnet from her arms and leaving her to enter the drawing room alone.

She drew in a fortifying breath, hoping her father only wanted to show her off before sending her to her chambers. He wasn’t proud of her, not really. But he liked to pretend that he was in front of his friends.

Entering the drawing room, she found her father sitting in his usual armchair by the window. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows on the wall. Before the fire stood a man. He was tall and thin, with graying hair that had once been brown. Dressed in a fine maroon coat, he was closer to her mother’s age than her father’s—maybe twenty years older than her.

The doors of their home admitted only the most powerful men in London. Another peer, no doubt.

“My daughter,” her father said upon her arrival. He set down whatever he had been drinking on the table beside him and rose from his seat—an uncharacteristic display of good manners to impress their guest. “Lady Anna.”

“Charmed,” the other man replied, crossing the room to take her hand. “We have been waiting for you.”

He was proper to a fault, holding her hand lightly for only a second before releasing her and stepping back.

He might have been handsome in his youth, but Anna didn’t look at him for long. There was a glint in his eyes that made her uneasy. He looked at her closely, with inexplicable interest. It was the same air her father took on when he was discussing important business.

“Anna, this is Lord Ashwicken,” her father announced, nodding. His salt-and-pepper hair had been combed back to perfection. She doubted it was only for the benefit of their hosts that evening. “He has been a friend of mine for some years. I am glad for the chance for the two of you to meet.”

If Ashwicken was a friend of her father’s, that meant only three things. One, he was absurdly wealthy. Two, he was with the Tories. And three, he had absolutely no business being presented to Anna in this way.

An ominous feeling bloomed in Anna’s chest. She pressed her lips together, not wanting to say anything that would extend their meeting longer than necessary.

“Your father said that you are in your third Season, Lady Anna,” Ashwicken said. “Does that stand true?”

Of course , she wanted to say. He would not have said so otherwise.

“That is the truth, my lord.”

“A polite child,” Ashwicken remarked over his shoulder, addressing her father. “And you are learned, I hear. Well-read and bright.”

She nodded, even if that risked pleasing him.

“Good. I am no great reader myself, but I believe a woman should cultivate herself if she is to be of any value. I am glad that your father saw fit to educate you in the proper manner.”

Anna wanted to say that her good education was the product of her own efforts, but the last thing she wanted was to anger her father in front of this stranger. She hoped he had only come for a drink, as unlikely as that seemed. She struggled to stand straight, pressing her lips together as panic rose within her.

Her eyes found her father’s, pleading with him to explain what was happening. His smile, so small that most people would never have seen it, told her everything she needed to know.

“She is as fair and well-spoken as you promised, Bristol. I should be glad to proceed,” Ashwicken said to the earl, cutting through the silence. “Assuming there is no reason we should not.”

“Proceed?” Anna murmured, her eyes stinging as she looked to her father for an explanation. “You mean…”

“Yes, Anna. It is a joyous day,” he announced. “Lord Ashwicken has come to ask for your hand.”