Page 101 of The Duke Undone

“Let me guess.” He leaned forward. “To build the best possible future, Southgate shall determine that I should marry Lavinia.”

Yardley didn’t have the decency to look chagrined. Instead, he smiled.

“The two of you are well suited,” he said, nodding. Anthony smiled back. Then he turned and punched the back of his chair. This explosion of violence relieved nothing.

His chest heaved. Over the past months, he’d become increasingly disillusioned, but he realized his trust in Yardley hadn’t died, not completely. He realized because it was dying now, and he was inflicted with the death throes.

Once upon a time, this man’s good opinion had meant the world to him. It was the spar to which he’d clung as a boy in hostile seas.

The spar had snapped.

“I will never marry Lavinia,” he said. For the first time, Yardley’s mild expression hardened.

“Stop yourself before you say something about my daughter she doesn’t deserve. You’re angry at me. Don’t take it out on her. She adores you.”

“I take nothing out on her.” Anthony drilled a knuckle into his temple. Christ, the waves of rage beating against the inside of his skull were going to crack it open. “It’s none of our fault, who we’re born to.”

Once upon a time, he’d wished he was born to Robert Yardley.

“You will marry Lavinia,” said Yardley softly. “Your brother threw away his life. Your sister threw away her life. Your father and I have constructed a life for you and bound you to it. As lives go, it’s a good one. You should be grateful.”

He felt no gratitude. He stood, put his hands in his pockets.

“I will not marry Lavinia,” he said. “I will marry Lucy Coover.”

“You’re baiting me. Don’t,” Yardley warned. “Let’s start well today. Miss Coover is a laughable match. I can tell you now that Southgate will agree. George had several passing infatuations with women of her ilk, all of them angling for annuities. Miss Coover has proven herself a practical, rather self-interested young woman. As soon as she sees the benefit, she agrees to the terms. Remember the Albion. You don’t marry a Miss Coover, Anthony. The answer is absolutely no, and someday you will understand, and thank me.”

The disingenuousness of it took his breath away. Yardley accused Lucy for falling prey to his own persuasion, based on lies and appealing to her deepest fears. But—he hated himself for it—an ugly ripple passed over him, sullying the wonderment he’d felt upon awaking. This was the real world, and there wasn’t a place for them, for him and Lucy, to be together without reality flooding in.

Anthony couldn’t bear to look at Yardley a moment longer. He looked out the window at the tree-lined street. He’d been schooled, many times, in defeat. Was learning to excel at it.

He cleared his throat. “The committee investigating the Charlotte Road properties.” A squirrel was dancing from branch to branch, fearless. “Have they returned with any findings?”

He heard Yardley shift in his chair. After a pause, he responded.

“In fact, the committee met the other night. The evictions will proceed.”

“Also for the best, I’m sure,” said Anthony. His chest was tight, muscles like springs in his arms and legs.

“As a matter of fact . . .” began Yardley, but the tempest in Anthony’s skull lashed, drowning out his words. He was exiting the lobby before he heard the clerk calling his name. More business needed attending to. Anthony scarcely slowed.

“Talk to Mr. Yardley,” he said. “He handles my affairs.”

• • •

His feet propelled him through the mews and into the back garden, down the camellia walk to the glasshouse. Habit, habit could be relied on. Lucy would have left his room by now, gone to the Royal Academy, where her own habits positioned her behind her easel.

They were led in different directions, to different ends.

He beelined for the tank, dug deep inside, searching for a full bottle. His fingers brushed a smaller, more flexible cylinder, wrapped in linen. He blew air through his nose. Lucy’s painting. Not what he needed. His fingers closed around a bottle, heavy with dark rum. Good.

He was done with everyone and everything. He took a hard swallow and then another.

• • •

She hulloed softly on the threshold.

“I thought I might find you here,” she said. She could see him sitting on the sill, feet propped on the tank, head tilted back against the glass.