“As though you know something I do not. I mean only that I like to vex him. That is all.”
“Mm,” her aunt murmured, but her smile lingered as she bent back over her neat violets.
Anastasia stabbed her needle through the cloth a touch too fiercely, as if punishing the thought of Benedict’s frown. Yet her aunt’s silence weighed more heavily than any lecture. At last, Aunt Hyacinth spoke, her voice calm but pointed.
“Diverting, is it? To imagine a man’s disapproval?”
Anastasia felt her cheeks warm. “Yes. Entirely diverting. Like teasing a cat. He bristles so beautifully, and I—” she broke off, realizing she had said too much. “It is harmless. He is insufferable, Aunt, and I simply enjoy opposing him when he insists on order.”
Her aunt only hummed, her sharp eyes watching far too closely.
“I said, do not look at me like that,” Anastasia said, defensive now. “You act as though I have confessed something scandalous. I cannot abide the man, and he cannot stand me either.”
“Cannot abide him?” Aunt Hyacinth’s lips twitched. “My dearest girl, a woman who cannot abide a man rarely speaks of him so often.”
Anastasia gasped, scandalized. “Aunt Hyacinth! How could you even suggest such a thing? I merely find him irritating, as any sensible woman should. I would sooner wed Lupita or Pepita than Benedict Straton.”
At the mention of the dowager’s beloved Pomeranians, Aunt Hyacinth chuckled, but her eyes softened.
“Perhaps. Yet I hear more than irritation in your voice, Anastasia. I hear… attention. And attention is a dangerous seed if left to grow.”
Indeed, she had missed his bright blue eyes and his face, which she was convinced belonged in a museum somewhere, even if she would never admit that out loud. He looked too handsome to be as uptight as he was.
He was unbearable. Absolutely unbearable.
Anastasia dropped her embroidery hoop into her lap with a sigh. “Attention or not, I will never marry. Not the Duke, not anyone. There is no man alive I can trust.”
Her aunt’s needle stilled. “Those are strong words, my dear.”
“They are the only words I have,” Anastasia said, her voice low. “I was foolish not once but twice. The first time I thought I was in love, and I eloped with that man. That ended in disaster, and I should be glad Evangeline and I are both safe and hale. The second…” She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “The second time, I trusted a gentleman’s attentions only to find myself ruined by them. How am I to believe in marriage after that? How am I to give myself to any man without fear that he will become another version of my father—controlling, belittling, cruel?”
The question hung heavy between them. For a moment, only the sound of birdsong filtered in through the open window.
Aunt Hyacinth reached across and laid her hand gently over Anastasia’s. “Your mother has learned to manage your father, heaven knows how. But you must not believe every man is like him or the ones you have met.”
“Perhaps not,” Anastasia murmured.
But how could I tell? How could I ever be certain until it was too late?
“I would sooner remain unmarried forever than risk binding myself to a man who would break me piece by piece.”
Her aunt’s eyes softened, but there was iron beneath the sympathy. “Then listen to me. I shall protect you. And if not I, then Lupita and Pepita will. Those two would chew the stockings off any man who dared harm you.” Her smile faded, her voice dropping. “Just as I once did with your uncle.”
The laughter faded into quiet, and for a long moment neither spoke. Aunt Hyacinth’s eyes had grown distant, shadowed with memory. Anastasia realized with a pang that her aunt’s words had not been spoken lightly. She had proven that before.
I remember the night too clearly… she had saved me. She had saved herself.
She forced a laugh, though her throat tightened around it.
“I daresay they would. Barking and nipping at his heels until he fled in terror.”
Aunt Hyacinth’s embroidery lay forgotten on her lap, her hands folded tightly together. For the first time that afternoon, her voice lost its usual arch composure and took on a quiet gravity.
“You jest about those dogs guarding you, Anastasia, but I mean what I say. I would not let any man harm you. Do you know why?”
Anastasia tilted her head, sensing something deeper behind the words. “Because you are my aunt?”
“Because I know what it is to be bound to a cruel man,” Aunt Hyacinth said, her tone stark. “To the world, your uncle was a duke, a gentleman, a patron of the arts. But behind closed doors…” She stopped, her lips pressing into a thin line. For amoment, Anastasia thought she would not continue. Then, with a slow, steady breath, her aunt went on.
