Anastasia thought it best to take a stroll. She went to the side gardens, skipping a little and humming a random tune. She neared the entrance when she stopped dead at what she saw.
“Miss Dawson, pleasant morning,” Cassian greeted.
Why was the Duke of Stonevale there? He was also not alone. Two ladies accompanied him, still emerging from a magnificent traveling carriage behind him. Was that luggage being unloaded after them?
What is happening?
As for Cassian, the man looked irritatingly smug.
“What a surprise, Your Grace! I did not realize you were expected this morning,” she said, smiling at him.
He kissed her hand.
“An unexpected pleasure for me, Miss Dawson. As you can see, I have just arrived. I am here on official Frostmore business,” he said, lowering his voice as if they were sharing a secret.
The first woman behind him was in her early forties, her dress made of a stiff, dark silk. The second was much younger, close to Anastasia’s age, and at a closer look, even younger. She hadbrown hair and an almost shy demeanor. She was pretty and decent in the way thetonliked.
“Oh, allow me to make the formal introductions. Miss Dawson, this is my cousin, Mrs. Alistair, and my niece, Miss Penelope,” Cassian announced with a beaming smile. “They have traveled a long way at the specific request of the Duke of Frostmore.”
“Oh, how lovely. Are they friends of his?”
“Not exactly. He had requested me to find a young lady for him to court, and I thought of my lovely niece.”
The ground seemed to tilt as Anastasia felt the blood rush from her head. She smiled stiffly. Oh, she was trying, trying so hard.
“Oh, did he? How delightful,” she said, even as her throat went parched.
“Ah, absolutely, Miss Dawson. The Duke, bless his heart, finally realized that he must secure his succession as soon as possible,” Cassian said in a conspiratorial tone. “I am happy to have found someone who meets his requirements after he made the request weeks ago. Penny is certainly suitable.”
Each word felt like a blow, each one heavier and colder than the last and more brutal than the chill of the pond water. Benedict had written the letter weeks ago. Long before the kisses started meaning something, and certainly long before last night.And yet, he never sent a letter to undo it.
Anastasia was sorely mistaken in thinking that their intimacy and passion meant anything. It was not love. Instead, it was a final and desperate act of indiscipline before he became the starched, brooding duke once more. He took his reward from a woman who had been besmirched by a scandal.
What an absolute fool I have been. I guess what they say is true, though. Third time’s the charm.
She fell for him like a naïve debutante, but wasn’t that what noblemen did? Before they married respectable women, they took mistresses. These mistresses were nothing more than diversions, and to avoid being marked as scoundrels, the men chose those who had already been compromised before.
Secure a suitable marriage to a woman of rank and reason.
Penelope Alistair looked the part. However, she was the opposite. She was a walking scandal, too scandalous to show her face in London. Her own parents refused to acknowledge her existence, fearing they would be tainted by scandal. What duke would want her as his wife? The realization felt like a heavy weight crashing down on her. Benedict Straton did not need to give her a set of rules. She thought she had become the rule and the rule breaker all in one. His entire list of requirements for a wife was merely there to exclude everything she represented. Therefore, she had become the singular diversion he was too weak to resist. Or so she thought.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Dawson,” Mrs. Alistair said, possibly finding her behavior a little strange.
“Likewise, Mrs. Alistair,” she replied as politely as possible.
Then, she turned to Cassian, keeping the light and social tone that was making her jaw hurt.
“You have made an excellent choice with Miss Penelope,” she said honestly, even though her heart was shattering. “Would you like me to inform His Grace of the successful arrival of his prospective bride?”
“Certainly,” he said, raising an eyebrow questioningly.Oh, how their interactions had significantly changed in a matter of days.
All that teasing was to provoke Benedict, and for what? He did not even care for her, not in the way she wanted him to.
Anastasia knew that the best thing to do at that very moment was to walk away before she embarrassed herself in front of the guests. So, she did. She walked away, feeling the ground under her feet. The gravity of it. She was no longer bouncing away; instead, she was carrying the weight of her foolish heart.
She hurried toward the entrance, hoping to find a corner for herself. However, as she turned the corner into the main hall, she found herself colliding with a warm, thick wall of muscle.
Benedict caught her immediately, his hands closing around her elbows to steady her.
