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It was late when Anthony arose the following morning. At first, finding himself in a large and opulently furnished chamber, he was at a loss to recall how he came to be there. The events of the previous night slowly drifted back to him, shrouded in the haze of their mystery. Rougemont’s cryptic assurances echoed in his mind, and he felt a strange, newfound calm settle over him.
After dressing, Anthony descended to the lower apartments where a sumptuous breakfast awaited him. As he ate, he took a comprehensive survey of the house. It was grander than he had imagined, every corner steeped in an eerie magnificence. Pocketing a tidy sum from the well-stocked pocketbook Rougemont had provided, he ventured out into the crisp morning air.
His first task was to acquire a splendid carriage and horses, followed by commissioning some new and richly detailed attire. He moved with an air of purpose, his mind set on the day’s tasks.
When he arrived at the large house at the upper end of Curzon Street, his heart pounded with a mix of hope and trepidation. Shown into an elegantly decorated drawing-room, his anxiety mounted until the servant returned with regretful news.
“Miss Talbot is not at home, sir,” the servant said. “Both she and Mr. Talbot left about half an hour ago.”
Anthony’s heart sank, but he masked his disappointment. Without a word, he departed, hurrying home to pen a letter to Mr. Talbot. He poured his excitement and newfound fortune into the letter, formally requesting Edith’s hand in marriage. As he was about to send the letter, a note arrived from Edith herself.
Reading her assurances of constant attachment, Anthony felt a surge of joy. He kissed the note fervently, then quickly dispatched his own letter to her father, adding a brief mention of his intention to call the next day for a response.
But Anthony didn’t have to wait long. Within the hour, Mr. Talbot arrived in person.
Mr. Talbot, a tall, thin man of about sixty, with grey hair and piercing black eyebrows, exuded an air of genteel authority. His bilious complexion contrasted sharply with his daughter’s beauty, suggesting she had inherited her looks from her mother.
A shrewd man of the world, Mr. Talbot had initially regarded Anthony’s courtship unfavorably, concerned about the young man’s financial prospects. However, the magnificence of Anthony’s new residence had swiftly changed his mind. With a glint of avarice in his eyes, he warmly embraced Anthony’s proposal.
“Of course, I would be delighted to have you as a son-in-law,” Mr. Talbot declared.
Buoyed by this reception, Anthony implored Mr. Talbot to arrange the wedding within three days.
Mr. Talbot sighed, regret shading his voice. “I must travel to Nottingham tomorrow and won’t return for three days. We cannot marry before I leave.”
“But we can marry before you go?” Anthony pressed, desperation creeping into his tone.
Mr. Talbot smiled blandly. “Scarcely, my dear friend. Control your impatience. We shall marry on the sixth day from this—Wednesday next week.”
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The coincidence with Rougemont’s ominous timeline struck Anthony like a blow. Struggling to maintain his composure, he agreed to dine with Mr. Talbot that evening.
At seven o’clock sharp, Anthony arrived, finding Edith alone in the drawing-room, surrounded by a fragrant garden of flowers. She greeted him with a joyful exclamation, her eyes sparkling.
Anthony took her delicate hand, pressing it to his lips. “Your father has consented to our union.”
Edith blushed deeply and murmured her assent. “He has fixed Wednesday next,” Anthony continued, a shadow passing over his face. “But I wish it could be sooner. I fear if our marriage is delayed, it may never happen.”
“You are full of misgivings, Anthony,” she replied gently.
“I am,” he confessed. “My fears are so intense, I urge you to consider a private marriage in your father’s absence.”
Edith recoiled slightly. “No, Anthony. Much as I love you, I cannot agree to that. I could never deceive my father. His trust in me is sacred, and I cannot betray it.”
Further conversation was interrupted by Mr. Talbot’s arrival, his entrance a whirlwind of energy that filled the room. He approached Anthony with outstretched hands, a broad smile stretching across his face.
“Anthony, my boy!” he exclaimed, clasping Anthony’s hand with genuine warmth. “It’s a delight to see you!”
The dinner passed pleasantly, the room filled with laughter and light conversation. Mr. Talbot’s infectious high spirits enveloped everyone, and soon Anthony found himself swept up in the old man’s mirth. When they moved upstairs for tea, they discovered Edith’s aunt, Mrs. Maitland, had arrived. She had always been fond of Anthony and had encouraged his courtship of Edith, so she was pleased with the turn of events.
It was near midnight before Anthony could tear himself away. Mr. Talbot, having yawned frequently but to no avail, finally said, “Well, Anthony, we’ll see you back on the evening of the third day. In the meantime, Mrs. Maitland and Edith will take good care of you.”
The next three days passed in a blur of happiness and anticipation. On the evening of the third day, just as the little party had gathered in the drawing-room after dinner, Mr. Talbot returned.
“Well, here I am!” he declared, embracing Edith. “No misadventures. Everything went smoothly.”
Edith beamed. “Oh, Papa, I’m so happy you’re back! Anthony, now you can stop worrying.”
“Apprehensions? What apprehensions?” Mr. Talbot asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Of something happening to you that might interfere with our happiness,” Anthony replied.
“Lovers and their fears,” Mr. Talbot chuckled. “They are unreasonable creatures. But here I am, safe and sound. Tomorrow we will finalize all the arrangements, and the day after, you shall be made happy—ha!”
“Anthony is planning a grand ball for our wedding day,” Edith chimed in. “He has invited everyone.”
Mr. Talbot’s expression turned serious. “I hope you haven’t invited Cyprian Rougemont.”
Anthony paled. “I haven’t, sir. But why do you mention him specifically?”
“I’ve heard unsavory things about him,” Mr. Talbot said, his gaze steady on Anthony.
“What have you heard?” Anthony pressed.
“One shouldn’t believe all the rumors, but I would prefer if you distanced yourself from him,” Mr. Talbot replied. “Now, let’s change the subject.”
Mr. Talbot seated himself beside Mrs. Maitland and recounted his journey, which had been both pleasant and swift. Despite the lively conversation, Anthony couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. He excused himself early, promising to meet Mr. Talbot at his lawyer’s in Lincoln’s Inn the next day.
At the appointed time, Anthony arrived and, to Mr. Talbot’s great delight and the lawyer’s surprise, transferred a hundred thousand pounds to be settled on Edith.
“You are a man of honor, Anthony,” Mr. Talbot said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I have no doubt Edith will make you an excellent wife.”
“Nor I—if I ever possess her,” Anthony thought grimly.
The morning passed in a flurry of preparations. That evening, the lovers met as usual, Edith brimming with excitement. She was certain the next day would bring their happiness. Since his pact with Rougemont, Anthony had neither seen nor heard from the man. He took every precaution to ensure Rougemont’s absence, but the shadow of their agreement loomed large over his thoughts.