Alexander came to the house later as he had promised Elizabeth he would to whisper privately to her—he did not realize that I knew about the duel and he certainly did not suspect that we were there—that Avery had won the fight and Lord Uxbury had been carried home, dazed and unable to stand on his own feet.
The Duke of Netherby is a terribly dangerous man, Joel. I have always suspected it but have been a bit puzzled about it. For he is on the small side, and he is indolent, and he dresses more flamboyantly than anyone else and has affectations, most notably his snuffboxes and his quizzing glasses, which change with every outfit. But he is dangerous. And I am betrothed to him. I believe the banns are to be read this coming Sunday and the wedding is to be one month hence. I think I am a little frightened, which is absurd of me, I know. He would not hurt me. Indeed, he would not hurt anyone, I sense, unless severely provoked, as he was this morning. But when he is provoked . . .
Oh, I must finish. My letters are getting longer and longer. I often look back to that day when you and I were talking in the schoolroom and Bertha brought me the letter from Mr. Brumford. If I had known then what I know now, would I have set fire to the letter and watched it burn? But he would have sent another, I daresay.
Thank you for all the other news in your letter. I do read everything you write over and over, you know. Every word is precious to me. If you cannot find a way to meet my sisters to find out how they are for me, do not worry about it. It is not your responsibility. But I do appreciate the fact that you are trying. I shall seal this and hand it to the butler without further delay, for he is supposed to come this morning—my betrothed, that is—and I do not know when that will be or how I shall look at him and not be afraid of the strangeness of him.
Is he from another world? And yet I am not really afraid. He is interesting—and what an inadequate word that is. I believe my life would seem dull if I were never to see him again.
Just as life seems a little dull without you. Know that I think about you daily and remain, as I always will,
Your dearest friend,
Anna Snow
Otherwise known as Lady Anastasia Westcott
Soon to be (oh goodness!) the Duchess of Netherby
The letter was almost too fat to fold. But Anna did it somehow and sealed it, noted that Elizabeth’s head was still bent over the letter she was writing at the table by the drawing room window, and pulled on the bell rope. John came in answer to the summons and Anna handed him the letter, asking that it be given to the butler to send out today.
“Oh, it’s to Mr. Cunningham, is it?” John said, looking at it. “If you had not already sealed it, Miss Snow, I would have had you give him my regards. I always liked him as an art teacher. He knew just what help and encouragement to offer without ever telling us what to paint or how to do it. And he never said anything was rubbish. Neither did you. I was lucky in my teachers.”
“Thank you, John,” Anna said, noting that Elizabeth had lifted her head and was smiling with genuine amusement. “I shall pass on your regards to Joel next time.”
“I do like your Bertha and your John,” Elizabeth said after he had left. “They are quite refreshing.”
“I believe John is the despair of Mr. Lifford,” Anna said.
“But he is such a very handsome lad,” Elizabeth said, a twinkle in her eye.
Anna seated herself in the armchair beside the fireplace. She did not pick up her book. What was the point? She knew she would not be able to read a word. How long would he be? Would he come at all?
How had he done that? He must have been six or seven feet in the air, and he had remained there while he kicked out with both feet, just as though the laws of nature did not apply to him. She would never have believed it if she had not seen it with her own eyes. And how had he been able to anticipate every blow that had rained down upon him and been able to defend himself against each one? Nobody could be that fast of either eye or arm—yet he was.
He did not have either a broad chest or bulging muscles. Yet everything about him, she had seen after he had stripped down, had been taut and perfect. Everything about him was in proportion to everything else. She had always thought him beautiful. This morning she had seen the full extent of that beauty and it had awed her even as she had been terrified for his safety.
She remembered suddenly his foolish claim to have felled Viscount Uxbury with three fingertips. He had not been speaking foolishly after all, she supposed. It had really happened.
He was a dangerous man indeed.
There was the sound of a carriage and horses from the street, and Elizabeth looked up from her letter.
“It is Avery,” she said, “in a barouche. That is unusual for him. He goes almost everywhere on foot. Oh goodness, I feel almost afraid of him. Anna, are you quite sure you wish to marry him?”
“Yes,” Anna said, suddenly breathless. “I am sure, Lizzie.”
The sound of the door knocker came from below.
Eighteen