Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(68)
Except that he had granted her a few glimpses beyond the mask. And he had waltzed with her—twice—and each time danced her into a brighter, happier world. He had kissed her once and aroused all the physical yearnings she had suppressed for so long that she had come almost to believe she would never be troubled by them again.
They were to be wed? He had asked and she had said yes? For a moment she doubted the reality of it, but only for a moment, for they were not alone in the room. And there was noise, first a murmur and then a great eruption of sound. Everyone spoke at once again.
“Avery! My dear boy!” his mother exclaimed.
“Anastasia! This is beyond my fondest hopes.” The dowager countess, her grandmother, clasped her hands to her bosom.
“Mama, allow me to hold the vinaigrette to your nose,” Aunt Matilda said.
“I was never more surprised in my life. Or so delighted.” The duchess, Cousin Louise, beamed from one to the other of them.
“How absolutely splendid! Cousin Avery and Anastasia,” Aunt Mildred said, casting a smile at Uncle Thomas.
“Allow me to congratulate you, Anastasia, Netherby. I wish you great happiness.” Cousin Alexander actually looked hugely relieved.
“Anna, Avery. Oh, I ought to have suspected. How blind I have been.” Elizabeth was laughing.
“You are fortunate indeed, Anastasia,” Aunt Matilda said, “considering the fact that you have resisted more than half the advice we have offered in the past few weeks. You are to be the Duchess of Netherby! Allow me to fan your face, Mama.”
“Well, this will be a disappointment for a few dozen gentlemen and a few dozen ladies,” Uncle Thomas, Lord Molenor commented drily.
“We must gather here again tomorrow afternoon. We have a wedding to plan.” That was Aunt Louise, of course.
“Why Wensbury? Where on earth is it?” Aunt Mildred asked.
The Duke of Netherby had not looked away from Anna or she from him.
“I shall call here tomorrow morning, Anna,” he said, “if you can fit me in between the reception of bouquets of flowers and marriage offers.”
Alexander cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning, Netherby?” he said.
“Ah, that appointment.” The duke fingered the handle of his quizzing glass. “But it is early, Riverdale, far earlier than Anna would enjoy being called upon. I shall come after breakfast, Anna.”
“Perhaps you will be . . . unable,” Alexander said.
“But nothing will keep me from my affianced bride,” the duke said with a soulful sigh, and turned away from Anna at last. “Every hour between now and then will be an endless eternity. I shall take my leave. I have business to attend to. I believe I must have. Edwin Goddard will know.”
And without even glancing at her again, he sauntered from the room, leaving Anna with the urge to laugh—or to weep. Or both.
The room erupted into sound again. Anna heard only Aunt Mildred.
“Where is Wensbury?” she asked. “I have never heard of it.”
*
She deserves to be married because she is everything in the world to one particular gentleman.
Cousin Elizabeth’s words rang in Avery’s head as he walked down the street. Was it those words that had impelled him to make his offer? If so, what the devil did that say about him?
. . . because she is everything in the world to one particular gentleman.
Good God, he was a betrothed man.
It was unlike him to act impulsively. And what a time to break a long habit. He had been half expecting that she would take pity upon Riverdale and offer her fortune and her hand to serve his need, though to do him justice, Riverdale had made quite clear his reluctance to take advantage of her. But the family might at any moment have persuaded them that marriage to each other was the best option for both. And Avery had felt—what? Annoyance? Anxiety? Panic?
Panic?
And he had found himself listening to Elizabeth’s plea against the marriage of Anna and her brother and then getting to his feet to reinforce it—by proposing to Anna himself.
What the devil? Could he not simply have invited her out for a walk, as he had done on a previous occasion?
She had said yes.
At least, she had not used that exact word. She had expressed the preference for being wed rather than unwed when she traveled to Wensbury to find her maternal grandparents. She had not actually said she wished to be wed to him, though, had she? But no, there was no hope to be grasped at there without being ridiculous about it. She had meant him.
He ought to have known he was in danger when he set Edwin Goddard the task of finding the Reverend Snow and his wife. He ought to have known it when Edwin greeted him on his return home soon after noon today with the letter that had been delivered earlier and he, Avery, had taken only the time to change his clothes before heading off to South Audley Street so that she would not be kept ignorant for one minute longer than necessary. He ought to have known it when, after escorting Uxbury off the premises a couple of evenings ago following the magnificent setdown she had dealt him, he had given in to the overwhelming and quite unmannerly urge to cut in on Washburn and waltz with her himself. He ought to have known it when she wept over Harry. He ought to have . . .
God damn it all to hell, he thought, coming to an abrupt halt on the pavement, he was in love with her.
He acknowledged with a curt nod a couple of acquaintances who seemed to think he had stopped to chat with them and showed signs of slowing down to oblige him. He continued on his way, and they presumably continued on theirs.