“M’lord, I certainly appreciate the fabulous dinner, and your overflowing hospitality,” Lawrence commented with tension in his tone, “but I had hoped to discuss with you the terms of this... situation, with your daughter, and myself.”
“Lord Strauss, come, let’s enjoy first,” the viscount insisted.
“I’m afraid my appetite is rather muted at the moment, for the situation with your daughter and yourself has weighed heavily on my mind,” Lawrence responded.
“It won’t be quite so muted should you take a taste of this soup!” the viscount exclaimed weakly, taking a spoonful of it himself.
“I apologize deeply for distracting from the festivities, m’lord, but I wished to ask you - have you spoken to the lady about your intentions? About me? Our past exchange was... well, it was perhaps not the best manner in which to part ways,” Lawrence admitted, feeling foolish. “I think it would be best to involve her.”
“She shall learn soon enough who I’ve chosen - and I’m certain, of the men eligible and available here, she’d choose you more readily than any other, given the thoughts you spoke of in our last meeting,” the viscount explained.
“Do you think it wise not to involve her, or ask her feelings on the matter?” Lawrence retorted, guarded. This finally convinced the viscount to break from his forced excitement, and he exchanged a deep and emotional glance with the duke.
“Lord Strauss, my daughter is a wonderful woman, but she would sooner abandon title and wealth and live a pauper than she would submit to the judgment or accept in marriage the hand of a man,” the old man lamented, coughs rattling his chest. “I do not blame her - I blame myself, but such is her nature, and I would not love her more should she be any other way. But circumstance demands—” the doors creaked open as the viscount concluded his sentence and his expression shifted from one of lamentation to a weak and wobbly smile. “Ah, ladybug,” he announced with a pained sweetness. A weight dropped heavy in La
wrence’s stomach and he turned slowly to see her standing in the doorway, her pretty face vexed in that same righteous indignation he had seen upon her face weeks before, as they stood across from one another amid a sea of quieted carriages.
“What was that you were just discussing, father? And... with him?” her gaze fell upon Lawrence, whose piercing gray eyes remained focused; he couldn’t stop looking at her, even as his heart pounded a hard rhythm inside of his chest. He swallowed hard, watching her with the same examining gaze. Realizing all too late he had abrogated social expectations he rose to his feet, standing awkwardly between Anne and her father; she regarded him with skepticism. “We’ve met before, haven’t we? Lord Strauss, of Amhurst?” she recalled; he could feel conflict in her voice, just as the conflict burned inside of him.
“Yes, m’lady, Anne of Roxborough, if I recall correctly,” he said with a nod of his head. Of course, he recalled correctly. He had not been able to chase that name from the tip of his tongue, the top of his head or the damnable edge of his dreams since they had shared that moment of warmth, and the cold that followed.
“You do recall,” Anne said haughtily, remembering quite well the exchange they’d had - and the circumstances of his life, and his inheritance. “Father, might I ask why you’ve invited him, of all people, to have dinner with you?”
“Of all people? Come, Anne, a guest is certainly deserving of more kindness than that,” the viscount insisted in his rattle of a voice. “I taught you better than to be so rudely bold.”
“M’lady,” Lawrence tried to interject. “If—”
“I’ve seen carriages come, and go - and I know of your thoughts, father,” Anne interrupted. “You fear me unmarriageable, certainly. I have told you—”
“Ladybug, please - I wish only the best for you and for the future of our family,” the elder lord insisted in anguish. “This man, he’s a lovely man, and he understands you.”
“He understands me?” Anne spat back angrily. “Is that what you’ve told him, Lawrence Strauss, Duke of Amhurst?” she bit with venom at the title he carried; Lawrence stammered back in his own defense.
“M’lady, I simply shared with your father that we had met before, and—”
“Have you heard how he speaks of you, Anne? Have you?” The viscount insisted. “He is a man of prolific title, a man deserving of you. And you need marriage, Anne. You need—”
“And so, two men, men of wealth and stature, conspire beyond the reach of my ears, on who shall marry me, and who shall take my dignity, and who shall take my happiness and my soul,” Anne said, burning with irritated passion. “And you never thought to question me on the matter, father?”
“Anne, I have spoken with you at length, and I understand your feelings, but this man - he’s different, he understands—”
“He doesn’t understand anything, and neither do you father! Privilege in this world has warped you both,” she erupted, her skewering glare piercing through Lawrence. “Your sister knows that world quite well, doesn’t she?”
“My sister,” Lawrence said, his own ire building. “My sister—”
“I should have expected this from father,” she bristled. “I suppose I should’ve expected it from you, too, Duke of Amhurst,” she followed up harshly, before turning to storm away. A sigh fell from Lawrence’s lips; he had known himself unworthy of the hand of a beautiful woman, especially one as free and fiery as Anne, but he had hoped perhaps he could pull from the fire those few embers which he knew burned for him. Instead he had managed only to extinguish whatever small pleasure had risen between them both. The doors to the grand estate swung open, light creeping through the foyer, before they slammed shut with a resounding thud.
“She is something,” the viscount commented after a long moment of silence, his voice laced with mild disappointment.
“I didn’t mean to offend, m’lord,” Lawrence said.
“She is something,” the viscount repeated, “but she’s something I wouldn’t give up. And, I don’t think you would, either,” the old man added slyly. “Would you?”
“I...” Lawrence breathed out heavily.
“There’s a cottage in the woods past the glare of the estate walls,” the old man said. “Once belonged to the hunters I employed to bring game back to the manor. Stuffed with bookshelves full of old stories, ones she would spirit away to read by cover of the night,” he mused. “She still likes to abscond to that place, in trying times. She often enjoyed riding out to that place, upon her horse, Midnight,” he added. “Perhaps you might catch her in the stables.”
Resolve had not left Lawrence. Though his worst anxieties had come to bear, he still felt it - that yearning, that elemental need to right what had gone so wrong between himself and this beautiful woman. She deserved it - and she deserved the freedom he knew she craved. And though he had fallen flat in trying to explain himself, he would give it one more chance - for the sake of that dying man. For the sake of his sister. For her own sake.