“And do you agree? Should we truly be allowing those in trade into our higher circles?” Lord Jethrow asked, purely outraged that Anthony, along with his brother, had already been dipping into trade more than was acceptable for any noble.
“Yes, we cannot simply rely on our tenants forever,” Anthony replied. “Nor is it wise to simply drink away one’s life in hopes that the family coffers will replenish themselves.” He took a sip of his tea amidst several grumbling gentleman near him and scanned the room.
His eyes fell on a beautiful redhead — his redhead. Bridget turned in his direction a look of pure excitement on her face. Not that he was surprised. Any sort of political soiree where she might brush shoulders with the freshest minds seemed to be her exact cup of tea. What surprised him… nay, irked him, however, was the girl wasn’t at home pining away for him.
Her gaze appeared to take in the room as well, but she squinted in confusion when she noted his presence. Nothing like her obvious vote of confidence in his intelligence.
“Let us begin!” a voice announced from the front of the room. Anthony returned to his seat next to Wilde and smiled when he noticed Bridget taking a seat behind him.
“Thank you to all of our supporters and patrons, and many thanks to one of our biggest sponsors, Viscount Maddox!”
The room erupted into applause as he briefly stood and took a quick bow around the room, pleased that Bridget’s mouth had dropped open and then snapped shut.
Trying not to gloat, he took his seat and smiled to himself. He hadn’t planned for her to be there, didn’t even know she would be attending. But it had worked in his favor. Served her right for making snap judgments about his character. She had presumed he was a rake, but there was so much more to him than what could be seen at first glance.
He was surprised he hadn’t thought of this strategy before. Let her see him for whom he was outside of the balls and the parties. It certainly couldn’t make matters worse.
The lecture and reading droned on. At its completion, a standing ovation was given to that dandy, Byron, and everyone was dismissed.
“How did you know?” Bridget’s voice interrupted the clapping and scraping of chairs as people began milling about.
“Know what, precisely?” Anthony turned to face her.
She glared at him with her hands on her hips. “That I was going to be here! You would have had to have been planning this for months!”
“Sweeting, even I, infamous seducer that I am, do not plan such things so far in advance. I’m on several committees, including this one. I financially back several of the political figures you read about in the books you apparently steal or beat out of the bookseller, and to be honest, I’m a little put off that you would believe I would do all this for your sake alone.”
He hadn’t meant for it to come out as the scolding that it did and inwardly winced for the set down he knew he was to receive.
Instead Bridget opened her mouth to respond but shook her head, an embarrassed shade of red graced her cheeks. “Apologies, I truly had no idea. I didn’t mean — well, of course I didn’t mean to suggest you would go to such lengths to secure my favor, but—”
“Sweeting.” Anthony leaned in so he could better smell the lavender. “You are right to assume I would go to the ends of the earth for you. Make no mistake about that. You just happen to be wrong as it pertains to this specific instance. Now…” He pulled back to put the space propriety demanded between them. “May I call upon you tomorrow for an afternoon stroll?”
“Um,” Bridget hesitated. A more stubborn woman he had never come across! “I’m sorry, my lord. I have a previous engagement tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, of course. Perhaps another afternoon.” Anthony bit his lip in confusion.
“I will be attending the Hawking ball tomorrow evening. I’ll save you a dance if you wish it.”
“I do. Thank you. Until tomorrow evening then.” He kissed her hand and walked away scratching his head. So this is what true rejection felt like? Not the cat and mouse type of rejection he was used to where women played games in order for him to chase them. But true rejection in which the woman lied in earnest to keep him away.
Somewhat depressed, he walked over to the nearest sideboard and poured himself a brandy.
Bridget’s unmistakable laughter glittered on the air, causing him to nearly choke on his drink. Blast! Who could possibly be making her laugh?
Frantically, his eyes searched the room until they fell upon Bridget and Wilde sitting near the alcove huddled in secret conversation.
Wilde wore the most ridiculous and besotted grin on his face. And Bridget, well, Bridget seemed to be playing right into it! Her hand reached out and patted Wilde’s thigh. His thigh!
Outraged, Anthony set the glass down and started toward the two, but Byron stopped him. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cut the man. Instead he bit off his rage and fell into civil conversation, all the while keeping an eye trained on the corner.
By the time the conversation with the infamous poet was finished, Anthony was fit for Bedlam. He made a beeline for the corner only to find Bridget was nowhere to be seen.
Wilde however, still stood in the corner, a lovesick grin painted wide across his face.
“Wilde? Where is Br — Lady Bridget?”
“Hmm?” Wilde’s smile broadened. “Oh, Lady Bridget? She has taken her leave.”
“Right.” Anthony stared at his friend for a few more minutes, noting that Wilde looked everywhere but Anthony’s gaze. “Say, are you unwell?”
“Not at all!” Wilde laughed nervously. “Everything is perfect.” He patted Anthony absently on the shoulder and moved past him. Something was amiss with Wilde. He didn’t know what, nor did he have time to figure it out.
Bridget seemed to be avoiding him. But why? He hadn’t crossed any lines and to be perfectly honest, she should be rewarding him for not taking advantage of her earlier when she tried to kiss him.
Blast! Maybe that was why she was being so skittish! Could she possibly be angry with him?
Anthony swore under his breath as another man approached to engage him in conversation.
Chapter Eleven
Foiled
The following afternoon, Anthony decided a visit to White’s would help to clear his head. He glanced at his curricle parked outside Ambrose’s townhouse. The thought of sitting for the jolting ride made him cringe, perhaps it was because after a long night without any word from Bridget, he had sought company with a bottle of whiskey. His head still pounded.