a servant of duty, chapter 4
Four:
Emilyanne has never been accused of doing things by half measure. To say she was upset by the accursed letter she'd received from Winton and Stocks was putting it lightly. Never before had she been so stripped of alternatives and only good breeding and the proper governesses kept her from letting Anton Crosarme know precisely what she thought of his father's scheme. As it was, the night before had only been pleasant until after her guests had retired and she read the damning note.
In light of it, however, she contrived to call upon Anton to get her released from the contract. As soon as is seemly, she arrives at Anton's home, intent on making her plight heard. Leigh seems to expect her arrival and ushers her into the study, where she finds Anton poring over important looking papers.
"My lord, you have a visitor," Leigh says on a quick exit from the room, leaving Emilyanne standing awkwardly in the room.
Anton turns to her, hands filled with papers and letters, hair askew. One half of a smile crooks his lips, thin on the substance of mirth but filled with self-deprecation. "Ah, Emilyanne. It’s good to see you."
"Anton, this is quite irregular," she begins, ignoring his greeting in favor of pulling the solicitors' letter from her reticule.
"Highly irregular, I agree. It was not my desire for you to find out in such a way, nor was I prepared for the news. Clearly, my father will not accept anything less than his will, even beyond the veil." He looks mildly sheepish, and shuffles his desk a little more before standing and gesturing her to a seat on the settee.
She takes the proffered seat graciously, puzzlement slipping across her features, even as she pours them both a cup of tea from the service on the nearby table. "Your father? I thought perhaps you had come up with this… arrangement, somehow. Perhaps spoken to your father..."
Anton accepts the cup that is exactly as he's always had his tea with his mouth unflatteringly agape. "Dash it all, Emily! Do you really think so little of me as to think I would deal this way behind your back? I rather thought we were friends before. Surely you realize that I was in the dark about this matter too."
She has the good grace to blush. "It's so sudden, though, Anton. I had no idea our fathers were capable of concocting such a hare-brained scheme." She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea. "Is there no way out of it?"
Anton grimaces and tries not to take her readiness to sever the contracted marriage personally. He wasn't an antidote to the softer sex, but the circumstance of his engagement would place a damper on most any affections that were in action. He clears his throat and turns his thoughts to her question, already knowing it futile.
"I am afraid there's no alternative for us. I wouldn't wish you forced into anything, so I had my lawyers see if there was any recourse." He stepped away a moment and returned with some correspondence. "The only action they could suggest is posting banns. To go against our fathers' wishes would mean disownment, if not worse."
She stands and begins to pace the room. "I can't ask you to give me my freedom if it means the loss of everything that you hold dear."
He watches her circuit of the room with some interest, smiling to himself a little at the rightness of her against the backdrop of this room.
"There's nothing for it," she concludes finally, sorrow and disgust so evidently lacing her tone that Anton feels the bitter ache and tastes it like ashes in his mouth. "What must we do?"
"I cannot ask you to marry me like this, Emily." He gives a half smile. "We have a year to meet the conditions of the agreement. Allow me to court you this Season, to get to know you as you get to know me. If we are still ill-suited, I will make arrangements with your father for your comfort and break the contract." It seems the most appropriate course of action, in his mind, to get to know her a little, to get used to the idea of marriage himself before they actually get married. He knows there’s no recourse, no action he can take to make this situation go away. But the more he thinks about it, the more he sees in her the potential to be the wife he needs at his side.
And if her brothers approve, if Simon Doyle, the heir to the Darlington earldom, could approve of such a mach, perhaps he could win her over.
She nods briskly and stands, evidently finished with their discussion. He follows suit, escorting her to the door. She turns as they reach the foyer, waiting for Leigh to return her gloves and pelisse.
“Anton, do you really mean to release me if it’s decided we would not suit?” Her eyes are bright, as though marriage is that foul of a concept to her.
He nods briefly, and steps away from her. “Miss Doyle, you have my word as a gentleman that I will not force you into a marriage that would be odious to you.” He bows and turns back to his study, aching when he hears the whispered thank you that reverberates in his soul until he buries himself in the estate paperwork that covers his desk.
Leigh interrupts his distracted settling of accounts not long after one Miss Emilyanne Doyle has returned to her home. He doesn’t say anything about Anton’s state, knowing his master better than even the man knew himself. “Will you be needing the London accommodations aired for your arrival, my lord?”
“Leigh, you are a godsend. Please see to those arrangements. And make Cook aware that both Major Crosarme and I will be arriving within a fortnight.”
Leigh retreats with a bow. “Very well, my lord. Shall I inform the Major of your journey as well?”
Anton’s lips quirk into a smile. “No, Leigh. That will be entirely my pleasure.”
Emilyanne has never been accused of doing things by half measure. To say she was upset by the accursed letter she'd received from Winton and Stocks was putting it lightly. Never before had she been so stripped of alternatives and only good breeding and the proper governesses kept her from letting Anton Crosarme know precisely what she thought of his father's scheme. As it was, the night before had only been pleasant until after her guests had retired and she read the damning note.
In light of it, however, she contrived to call upon Anton to get her released from the contract. As soon as is seemly, she arrives at Anton's home, intent on making her plight heard. Leigh seems to expect her arrival and ushers her into the study, where she finds Anton poring over important looking papers.
"My lord, you have a visitor," Leigh says on a quick exit from the room, leaving Emilyanne standing awkwardly in the room.
Anton turns to her, hands filled with papers and letters, hair askew. One half of a smile crooks his lips, thin on the substance of mirth but filled with self-deprecation. "Ah, Emilyanne. It’s good to see you."
"Anton, this is quite irregular," she begins, ignoring his greeting in favor of pulling the solicitors' letter from her reticule.
"Highly irregular, I agree. It was not my desire for you to find out in such a way, nor was I prepared for the news. Clearly, my father will not accept anything less than his will, even beyond the veil." He looks mildly sheepish, and shuffles his desk a little more before standing and gesturing her to a seat on the settee.
She takes the proffered seat graciously, puzzlement slipping across her features, even as she pours them both a cup of tea from the service on the nearby table. "Your father? I thought perhaps you had come up with this… arrangement, somehow. Perhaps spoken to your father..."
Anton accepts the cup that is exactly as he's always had his tea with his mouth unflatteringly agape. "Dash it all, Emily! Do you really think so little of me as to think I would deal this way behind your back? I rather thought we were friends before. Surely you realize that I was in the dark about this matter too."
She has the good grace to blush. "It's so sudden, though, Anton. I had no idea our fathers were capable of concocting such a hare-brained scheme." She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea. "Is there no way out of it?"
Anton grimaces and tries not to take her readiness to sever the contracted marriage personally. He wasn't an antidote to the softer sex, but the circumstance of his engagement would place a damper on most any affections that were in action. He clears his throat and turns his thoughts to her question, already knowing it futile.
"I am afraid there's no alternative for us. I wouldn't wish you forced into anything, so I had my lawyers see if there was any recourse." He stepped away a moment and returned with some correspondence. "The only action they could suggest is posting banns. To go against our fathers' wishes would mean disownment, if not worse."
She stands and begins to pace the room. "I can't ask you to give me my freedom if it means the loss of everything that you hold dear."
He watches her circuit of the room with some interest, smiling to himself a little at the rightness of her against the backdrop of this room.
"There's nothing for it," she concludes finally, sorrow and disgust so evidently lacing her tone that Anton feels the bitter ache and tastes it like ashes in his mouth. "What must we do?"
"I cannot ask you to marry me like this, Emily." He gives a half smile. "We have a year to meet the conditions of the agreement. Allow me to court you this Season, to get to know you as you get to know me. If we are still ill-suited, I will make arrangements with your father for your comfort and break the contract." It seems the most appropriate course of action, in his mind, to get to know her a little, to get used to the idea of marriage himself before they actually get married. He knows there’s no recourse, no action he can take to make this situation go away. But the more he thinks about it, the more he sees in her the potential to be the wife he needs at his side.
And if her brothers approve, if Simon Doyle, the heir to the Darlington earldom, could approve of such a mach, perhaps he could win her over.
She nods briskly and stands, evidently finished with their discussion. He follows suit, escorting her to the door. She turns as they reach the foyer, waiting for Leigh to return her gloves and pelisse.
“Anton, do you really mean to release me if it’s decided we would not suit?” Her eyes are bright, as though marriage is that foul of a concept to her.
He nods briefly, and steps away from her. “Miss Doyle, you have my word as a gentleman that I will not force you into a marriage that would be odious to you.” He bows and turns back to his study, aching when he hears the whispered thank you that reverberates in his soul until he buries himself in the estate paperwork that covers his desk.
Leigh interrupts his distracted settling of accounts not long after one Miss Emilyanne Doyle has returned to her home. He doesn’t say anything about Anton’s state, knowing his master better than even the man knew himself. “Will you be needing the London accommodations aired for your arrival, my lord?”
“Leigh, you are a godsend. Please see to those arrangements. And make Cook aware that both Major Crosarme and I will be arriving within a fortnight.”
Leigh retreats with a bow. “Very well, my lord. Shall I inform the Major of your journey as well?”
Anton’s lips quirk into a smile. “No, Leigh. That will be entirely my pleasure.”