"A human one," Gregory said quietly. "Anthea, you cannot watch them every moment. You cannot prevent them from making their own decisions?—"
"I should have seen it," Anthea insisted. "The signs were there. Her behavior, her distraction, everything. And I ignored it. I told myself it was nothing. I was too busy—" She stopped, unable to finish.
Too busy falling in love. Too busy being happy. Too busy thinking about her own future to properly consider her sister's.
"This is exactly what Beatrice said would happen," Anthea continued, the words spilling out in a rush. "She said I would fail. That I would prove incompetent. That I could not handle the responsibility. And she was right."
"She was not right," Gregory said, his voice sharp enough to cut through her spiral. "Beatrice was cruel and vindictive and wrong about everything. This is not your failure."
"Then whose is it?" Anthea demanded. "Poppy is twenty years old. She should not have felt her only option was to run away. If I had been doing my job properly, if I had been paying attention, she would have come to me. Would have trusted me to help her."
"She trusted you enough to leave you a letter explaining her reasons," Gregory pointed out. "She loves you, Anthea. This was not about you failing her?—"
"Then what was it about?" Anthea's voice cracked. "Because from where I stand, it looks like I was so caught up in my own romance that I completely neglected my responsibilities. And now Poppy's reputation is ruined, Henry's sisters may suffer, and?—"
She stopped, a new and terrible thought occurring to her.
"What?" Gregory asked, clearly seeing something shift in her expression.
"If I could not even keep track of my sister—if I failed at this one basic responsibility—" Anthea wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warm morning. Her laugh was bitter. "I thought I could be someone. Thought becoming a duchess meant I finally mattered. But Beatrice was right all along—I am nothing. I am still just... small. I cannot even do this one thing properly. How can I possibly be a mother? How can I manage an entire household, an estate, future children, when I could not even?—"
"Stop," Gregory interrupted, his voice firm. "Anthea, stop. You are spiraling."
"I am being realistic," Anthea said. "Beatrice was right. I am not competent enough for this. I am not?—"
"Beatrice was wrong about everything," Gregory said fiercely. He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Listen to me. Poppy did not run away because you failed her. She ran away because she was trying to protect Henry and his sisters from your stepmother's manipulation. That is actually noble, if incredibly foolish."
"I should have prevented it," Anthea insisted.
"How?" Gregory demanded. "By watching her every moment? By interrogating her about her feelings and plans? She is not a child, Anthea. She is a grown woman who made her own decision."
"A decision she felt she had to make because I could not protect her from Beatrice," Anthea said. "Because even with all my new power and position, I still could not shield her from?—"
"From a woman who has spent decades perfecting the art of manipulation?" Gregory interrupted. "Anthea, Beatrice is the villain here. Not you."
But Anthea could barely hear him past the roaring in her ears. Past the certainty that she had failed, that Beatrice had been right all along, that she was fundamentally inadequate for the responsibilities she had taken on.
She pulled away from Gregory's grip and began dressing with mechanical efficiency. Chemise, stays, petticoat, gown. Each layer of clothing felt like armor she was putting on to face a battle she had already lost.
"Anthea," Gregory said quietly. "Please talk to me."
"There is nothing to say," Anthea replied, her voice hollow. "We need to go after them. Try to salvage what we can. That is all that matters now."
"That is not all that matters," Gregory said. "Anthea, please?—"
"The carriage should be ready," Anthea interrupted, not looking at him. She could not look at him. Could not bear to see the concern in his eyes, the love she no longer felt she deserved. "We should go."
She walked past him, down the stairs, out to where the carriage waited. Gregory followed, saying nothing, but she could feel his worry like a physical weight.
They climbed into the carriage in silence. As it pulled away from the townhouse, beginning the journey north toward Scotland, Anthea stared out the window at the passing streets.
Yesterday she had been so happy. So certain that everything was finally perfect. That she had built something good for her sisters, that she could protect them and guide them and help them find the futures they deserved.
But she had been deluding herself.
She was the same incompetent, inadequate person she had always been. Beatrice had seen it. Had known Anthea would fail. Had probably been waiting for exactly this moment to be proven right.
And now Poppy was ruined. Henry's reputation was damaged. His sisters might suffer. All because Anthea had been too distracted by her own happiness to do her job properly.
