The tavern Anne had chosen for their eting was a slight improvent over the last one. It had private booths with high backs, offering a sliver of privacy from the prying eyes of the other patrons. It was still, however, a place no respectable noblewoman would ever be seen.
George sat opposite her, a half-empty mug of beer in his hand, his expression a mixture of worry and disapproval. "I told you to stop coming to places like this, Anne," he scolded her gently.
She poured herself a glass of deep red wine from the bottle she had already ordered, not even bothering to look at him. "I know," she said, her voice a bored monotone. "That is precisely why I sent for you to accompany . Because I know that you will always protect ." She finally looked up, a small, feigned smile on her face.
The simple, manipulative words worked perfectly. George’s worried expression imdiately softened, replaced by a look of happy, foolish devotion. He was glad that she was relying on him, that she needed him. He took a long gulp of his beer, feeling like a knight in shining armor.
Anne looked at him for a while, at his lovesick, eager-to-please face, and her own smile dropped the mont he looked away. " I might as well use you once more"she thought to herself, a cold, calculating look in her eyes. "Since you are so very eager to please ." As George looked back at her, her fake, sweet smile instantly reappeared.
"Have you heard anything new about Duke Eric’s dye company?" she asked, her tone light and casual, as if she were just making polite conversation.
"No, not that I’ve heard of," he replied.
"I heard a rumor," she continued, swirling the wine in her glass, "that his mother, the Duchess Lyra, will beco a major financial factor for his company now that he is married." She looked at him keenly over the rim of her glass. "Have you heard anything at all about that?"
George shook his head. "Not at all, Anne. Nothing."
"But you go to the gambling den almost every day," she pressed, a hint of impatience in her voice. "I am sure there must be whispers about it among the rchants and the lesser nobles."
"None," George insisted. "I have not heard a single thing about it."
"Oh," Anne replied, a thoughtful, disappointed look on her face.
George, seeing her disappointnt, tried to offer a logical explanation. "Perhaps it was just a lie to get him to marry quickly," he suggested. "You know how he has been for years, turning all the ladies down, refusing all the marriage set-ups his mother arranged. A man like that needs a strong reason to finally settle down."
"Or don’t you think there was perhaps another intention behind it all?" Anne asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she planted a new seed of doubt.
George, confused, asked, "What do you an?"
"It seems the Dowager Duchess really loves and favors Duke Eric, despite everything," Anne mused. "Perhaps she wants him to finally co back and take over the Carson Textile Establishnt?"
"Anne, you have been asking such absurd questions for a while now," George replied, a worried frown on his face. "Is everything okay?"
Anne’s expression imdiately changed. The calculating, probing look was gone, replaced by a soft, vulnerable, and scared face. "Actually, George," she said, her voice now a little shaky, "I’m just... I’m very nervous."
"Why?" he asked, his own concern deepening. "What’s wrong?"
"It’s Delia," Anne replied, a single, perfect tear welling up in her eye. "She thinks she is on top of the world now that she is a Duchess. She thinks she is above everyone else." Her voice trembled with a believable fear. "She even told my father, right in front of , that he should give her the part of the Ellington textile business that is supposed to be mine. I think... I think she wants to ruin for good, George."
"I’m sure she just said that out of spite," George replied, trying to be reasonable.
"Out of spite?" Anne repeated, her voice rising with a wounded displeasure.
"I just an," he stamred, "you and your mother... you have always looked down on her a little."
Anne’s face hardened. "That is not looking down on her," she snapped. "We just wanted her to know her proper place. That is all." She leaned forward, her eyes flashing with a righteous anger. "Did we not feed her all those years? Did she not have a roof over her head, or have clothes to cover her body?" She looked at him, her words were a perfect performance to gaslight him. "She is trying to make herself the victim by making out to be so horrible, evil person. And now you are taking her side against ?"
George, feeling a familiar wave of guilt, imdiately backtracked. "No, no, of course not," he said quickly. "I just ant... Should I try to talk to Delia about it? To make her see reason?"
Anne pulled back, her expression turning cold and suspicious. "George," she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Do you still think about Delia?"
"No!" George replied, his voice full of a desperate sincerity. "I think of you, Anne. Only you. I swear it."
"Then prove it," she said, her voice now full of a cold, hard disappointnt. "You can’t be doing this to , George. She is coming at from all sides, planning against , and yet, you can’t seem to help at all. You can’t even find a single, useful, scandalous thing that I can use against her. I am very disappointed in you. Truly, truly disappointed."
She stood up, took a few coins from her reticule, and dropped them on the counter for her wine. And then, she left the booth and walked out of the tavern.
"Anne!" George called out, scrambling to his feet. "Anne, wait! Anne!"
But she didn’t stop. She didn’t even look back. He was left standing there alone.
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