“I’ll order a warm brick.” He reassured her.
After all was settled, this coming spring he would take Daphne into London for her own coming out. His wife could sponsor her. Her dowry could pay for it.
Their mother had already confined herself to her chamber when Daphne became of age. As her older brother, he experienced reluctance at setting her loose amongst London’s elite. He’d told her more than once that he’d be content to keep her home and she’d not argued with him. But it wouldn’t be fair to her. She deserved the opportunity to find her own place in life.
Daphne was something of a beauty. Anthony, being one of the male species himself, knew better than to trust half the gentlemen of the ton. He would vet his sister’s prospective suitors carefully. He’d be damned if anyone would take advantage of her under his watch.
She would have all of his protection.
But that Charlotte Drake had the same. He’d never considered himself someone who would pray upon an innocent servant. The bite of eggs he’d swallowed practically curdled in his stomach.
“Mama seemed better this morning.” Daphne interrupted his thoughts. “She ate most of her breakfast and then refused to move from the window. I think she remembers the snow. Do you think she knows it’s almost Christmas?”
He’d wondered the same last year. And the one before that.
“She loved Christmas.” An image flitted through his memory of a younger version of their mother and father celebrating the winter holidays long ago. He’d hoped to recreate similar events for his own family one day. “I purchased her gift yesterday.” And in a million years he couldn’t have found a more perfect one.
He vaguely wondered if Charlotte liked being outdoors when it snowed. Had her parents played with her as a child? Did she have any siblings?
He’d dreamt of her last night. She’d been his wife and they had two children. A boy and a girl. And then she’d been in his bed, beneath him.
With a screech of his chair, he erupted from the table. “No reason to delay any longer.”
Daphne rose more slowly. “Be careful. If the weather worsens, don’t attempt to return today.”
But today was Christmas Eve. He’d not abandon his family on Christmas. Betrothal or not.
He kissed his sister on the cheek lightly, appreciating her steady support.
Rather than order the carriage he strolled outside to the stable himself. He’d find it too difficult to sit still for the twenty minutes the stable hands required to complete the task. The job would be over quicker with his assistance and he’d not be given so much time to think.
The decision was out of his hands now.
The matter was settled.
He need only officially ask the viscount and sign the contracts.
Impatience to have it over with, along with an intense desire to delay the entire business, plagued him.
Despite the blowing snow and brisk wind, the drive to his neighbor’s estate was over far too quickly. Knowing a sense of impending doom, Anthony gathered his hat and cane. Almost before the carriage drew to a halt, he threw open the door himself. He could not change his mind. He would not. It was impossible. In a resolute burst, he jumped to the ground and followed a footman inside the increasingly familiar foyer.
When the large maple doors closed shut behind him, beads of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. It would soon be over. It would be done.
“If you’ll follow me, my lord,” Mr. Tresham, the well-dressed butler smiled tightly. “I’ll see if Lord Denton can meet with you.”
So, Anthony was the one to be kept waiting now. He glanced around the elegantly furnished drawing room where most of the entertaining had taken place last night and tugged at his cravat. A fire burned in the hearth and was emitting an uncomfortable amount of heat. He paced across the room a few times before taking a seat in one of the hardback chairs.
What was Miss Drake doing this morning? He swallowed hard, disgusted with himself for failing to keep in mind their vastly different stations.
She’d have risen hours ago. Were her tasks limited to taking care of Miss Fairchild? Or did the housekeeper demand more of her?
Anthony clenched his jaw. He hated the thought of her toiling on hands and knees, or trudging up and down the stairs with buckets of water. Was she required to assist with the laundry? He remembered how dried and irritated the laundry woman’s hands had been the last time he’d paid any attention.
Which had been years ago.
He hadn’t taken much notice of most servants. But for the cook, the housekeeper and his valet.
He erupted out of the seat, unable to remain still, and crossed to the window. What had been tiny flurries of snow had turned to giant flakes swirling angrily. Hell and damnation, he needed to get this over with and be on his way.
