If such a thing as a good man even exists anymore,she thought bitterly. Maxwell had taught her that handsome faces and charming words could hide the blackest of hearts. And tonight, the Duke with his paranoid accusations about perfume and his immediate assumption that she was trying to trap him had only reinforced that lesson.
Though she had to admit, grudgingly, that his suspicion had not been entirely unreasonable given the circumstances. He had been targeted repeatedly throughout the evening. And there had been that moment when they stood close together, arguing with barely contained hostility, when she had felt...
No. She would not think about that. Would not acknowledge the way her pulse had quickened at his proximity, or the way his scent had affected her, or the unwanted awareness that had hummed between them despite their mutual antagonism.
The Duke was arrogant, suspicious, and thoroughly infuriating. The fact that he was also frustratingly handsome and occasionally capable of honest conversation was entirely irrelevant.
Anthea waited until well past midnight before slipping from her bedchamber and making her way down the corridor to Veronica's room. Her stepsister was still awake, sitting by the window with a book in her lap that she clearly was not reading.
"Anthea," Veronica whispered as she entered. "I was hoping you would come."
"I need your help," Anthea said without preamble. "We must discover exactly what social obligations Beatrice has committed us to for the remainder of the season."
Understanding dawned in Veronica's eyes. "You intend to find us matches before Mama can interfere further."
"I intend to give you and Poppy choices," Anthea corrected. "Whether you choose to marry or not should be your decision, not hers. But first, I need to know what battlefield we are working with."
"Her correspondence desk," Veronica said immediately. "She keeps all her invitations and social calendars in the top drawer. She locks it, but I know where she hides the key."
Ten minutes later, they stood in Beatrice's private office, the drawer open before them and a truly alarming quantity of invitations spread across the desk.
"Good Lord," Anthea breathed, staring at the sheer volume of cards and letters. "How many events has she accepted?"
"All of them, by the look of it," Veronica said, equally shocked. She picked up a handful of invitations and began sorting through them. "Balls, soirées, garden parties, musical evenings, trips to the theater, visits to Vauxhall Gardens..." She looked up at Anthea with wide eyes. "There are events scheduled for nearly every day for the next six weeks."
Anthea felt her stomach sink. She had been avoiding Society for three years. Had attended only the most necessary functions, hosted by her closest friends. Had deliberately kept herself distant from the machinations and politics of the ton.
And now she would need to throw herself back into that world completely. Would need to attend every tedious ball and insipid soirée. Would need to navigate the very society that whispered about her, judged her, speculated about her past.
"I am so dreadfully out of touch," she admitted quietly, picking up an invitation to a ball hosted by Lady Pemberton. "I do not even know half these families anymore. Their allegiances, their scandals, their eligible sons..."
"Then we shall need to visit Cassandra," Veronica said practically. "She knows everything about everyone. If anyone can help us navigate this, it is she."
Anthea nodded slowly, her mind already racing ahead to the monumental task before them. She would need to understand the current landscape of the ton. Would need to identify suitable gentlemen for her sisters. Would need to somehow engineer introductions and encourage attachments while also managing whatever scandal might erupt from tonight's disaster with the Duke.
And she would need to do it all while potentially fending off an unwanted marriage proposal from a man who believed she had tried to seduce him with perfume.
How did my life become this complicated?she wondered despairingly.
But she knew the answer, of course. Beatrice. Maxwell. Her own determination to protect the people she loved, even at the cost of her own happiness.
"We shall visit Cassandra first thing tomorrow," Anthea said, carefully gathering the invitations back into organized stacks. "She will know which events are most crucial to attend. Which gentlemen are worth pursuing. Which families to cultivate and which to avoid."
"And the Duke?" Veronica asked quietly. "What will you do if he calls upon you?"
Anthea's hands stilled on the invitations. The Duke. Gregory Briarson, with his dark green eyes and military bearing and infuriating tendency to accuse her of things she had not done.
The Duke, who had stood close enough for her to count his heartbeats. Who had made her skin flush with nothing more than his proximity and his sharp, intelligent gaze.
The Duke, whom she absolutely, positively could not afford to think about in any capacity whatsoever.
"I will refuse him," Anthea said firmly. "Politely but definitively. I have no intention of marrying any man, least of all one who believes me capable of elaborate seduction schemes."
Even if some traitorous part of her wondered what it might have felt like if he had actually touched her hair, her necklace, her skin...
Stop that immediately,she commanded herself furiously.
"Come," she said aloud, tucking the last invitation back into its proper place. "We should return to our rooms before Beatrice discovers us here."
