"I married you because we had an agreement," Gregory said. "Not because I needed a nursemaid to manage my every interaction."
The words hung in the air between them, sharp and cutting.
Anthea felt something crack in her chest. "I see. Then perhaps we should simply keep out of each other's way. You handleyour affairs, I will handle mine, and we can avoid any further... misunderstandings."
"Perhaps we should," Gregory agreed.
Anthea turned and walked toward the door, her back straight despite the hurt flooding through her.
"Anthea—" Gregory started.
She did not stop. Did not look back. Simply walked out of the study and climbed the stairs to her chambers, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Behind her, she heard the study door close with a decisive click.
The next morning, Anthea threw herself into her new responsibilities with determined focus.
She would prove she did not need Gregory's help any more than he apparently needed hers.
"Higher. No—left. Your other left, Thomas." Anthea directed the footman arranging flowers in the drawing room, while simultaneously reviewing the seating chart spread across the escritoire.
"You know," Cassandra's voice came from behind her, "most newly married women spend their first weeks in marital bliss, not orchestrating tea parties."
Anthea glanced over her shoulder to find her friend examining the dessert trays with suspicious interest. "And most friends offer to help rather than—Cassandra, are you eating the lemon tarts?"
"Merely quality control." Cassandra popped another into her mouth, utterly unrepentant. "Someone must ensure they meet ducal standards."
"There will be none left for the actual guests at this rate."
"Then it's fortunate I'm not an actual guest, isn't it?" Cassandra moved to the next tray, eyeing the petit fours. "Now, explain to me again why you're doing this? I thought the Duke was meant to help secure matches for your sisters."
"He is busy with his estates," Anthea said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "And I am perfectly capable of managing this myself. I've secured invitations to Lady Pemberton's musicale next week, the Ashford ball, and?—"
A tremendous thump from the hallway interrupted her, followed by breathless laughter.
Both women turned to see Poppy sliding past the open doorway on the banister, her skirts flying, face alight with glee as she landed at the bottom with practiced grace.
"Poppy!" Anthea called, exasperated.
Her sister appeared in the doorway, not the least bit contrite. "I'm here, aren't I? And with ten minutes to spare." She straightened her dress and patted her hair. "Do I look respectable?"
"You look lovely," Anthea said, though she couldn't quite suppress a smile. "But perhaps in future, try using the stairs like a civilized person?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Poppy grinned, then noticed Cassandra. "Oh! I didn't know you were helping today."
"Helping is a generous term for what I'm doing," Cassandra said, reaching for another tart. "Mostly I'm eating your refreshments and providing moral support."
"Perfect. I need both." Poppy moved to the mirror to check her reflection. "I'm terribly nervous. What if they find me dull? What if I say something foolish?"
"You're not dull," Anthea assured her. "You're witty and charming and—Cassandra, stop eating the tarts!"
"You've plenty more in the kitchen." Cassandra licked her fingers delicately. "Though if you're truly concerned about running short, you could always invite fewer eligible bachelors to your little gathering."
"There are only four."
"Four eligible bachelors in one room?" Cassandra's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Why, Lady Anthea, at this rate you'll have your sisters married off before I've even begun looking."
"Perhaps you should begin looking, then," Anthea said pointedly, arranging teacups with perhaps more force than necessary. "Given the number of gentlemen who will be here today, you might find one to your liking."
