Chapter 62: later

Chapter 62: Chapter 62: later

Monday mornings always began earlier than Anthony preferred.

By seven-thirty, he was already walking across the grounds of St. Albion University with a leather folder tucked neatly beneath one arm.

Student Council reports.

Budget approvals.

Committee schedules.

Three lectures.

A departmental meeting.

And somewhere in between...

A stack of readings he still hadn’t finished.

It was, in every sense, an ordinary Monday.

"You’re early again."

Anthony looked up.

Standing outside the Student Council office was Christopher Archibald.

As Vice President of the Student Council, Christopher carried himself with the same quiet confidence that had earned him the respect of both students and faculty alike.

Tall, with neatly combed platinum-blond hair and composed gray eyes, he possessed an understated elegance that matched his upbringing as the eldest son of one of the country’s most influential political families.

A leather portfolio rested casually beneath his arm.

Anthony smiled faintly.

"I could say the same."

Christopher chuckled.

"I’ve learned that if I arrive after you, you’ve already finished half the agenda."

Together, they entered the council room.

One by one, the remaining officers arrived.

The secretary.

The treasurer.

Committee heads.

Within minutes, the meeting began.

Club budgets.

Campus security.

Volunteer activities.

Academic forums.

The agenda moved steadily from one item to the next.

Anthony spoke only when necessary, occasionally offering suggestions or approving proposals after brief discussion.

Everything proceeded with practiced efficiency.

Finally...

Christopher turned another page.

"The Founders’ Ball."

Almost immediately, the atmosphere inside the room became noticeably lighter.

"The orchestra confirmed yesterday."

"The ballroom decorations are nearly finished."

"The guest invitations have all been sent."

"Security assignments are still pending."

Anthony quietly reviewed the report in front of him.

Everything appeared to be progressing according to schedule.

Christopher glanced toward him.

"Speaking of the Ball..."

Anthony looked up.

"I suppose you won’t be attending alone this year."

Several council members exchanged knowing smiles.

Anthony paused only briefly.

"...Probably not."

One of the committee heads laughed.

"Lady Beaumont is finally attending St. Albion."

"I don’t think anyone expects a different outcome."

Another nodded.

"I imagine the entire university already assumes the two of you will arrive together."

Anthony closed the folder before him.

"...That would be the proper arrangement."

Christopher leaned back slightly.

"So."

"When are you asking her?"

Anthony was quiet for a moment.

"...I haven’t."

"You haven’t?"

"It’s still two weeks away."

A few amused laughs circled the table.

Christopher smiled.

"Exactly."

"Which is why now is probably a good time."

Anthony gave a small nod.

"...I know."

He did know.

The Founders’ Ball wasn’t something he could simply ignore.

As her fiancé...

Escorting Lady Beaumont was only natural.

He had simply...

Not gotten around to speaking with her.

Or perhaps...

He had quietly placed the matter where he had always placed anything concerning Lady Beaumont.

Later.

The habit had followed him for years.

As children...

Whenever one of the household staff had cheerfully announced—

"Young Lady Beaumont is looking for you."

Anthony’s first instinct had never been to walk toward the gardens.

Quite the opposite.

He had usually wondered whether there was another way out.

Not because he disliked her.

Vivienne had never been malicious.

Nor impolite.

Nor difficult in any real sense.

She had simply possessed enough enthusiasm for three people.

"Anthony!"

"Come with me!"

"Anthony!"

"Look at this!"

Every family gathering...

Every garden party...

Every visit between the Ashford and Beaumont estates...

She somehow found him.

And once she did...

Escaping became nearly impossible.

Somewhere over the years...

Avoiding those encounters whenever he could had quietly become second nature.

Now...

Even after all this time...

His first instinct remained much the same.

Later.

Christopher’s voice drew him back.

"Anthony?"

He looked up.

The discussion had already moved on to the next agenda.

"...My apologies."

Christopher smiled knowingly.

"No harm done."

The meeting continued.

By the time it concluded...

Nearly an hour had already passed.

Anthony spent the remainder of the morning exactly as he always did.

One lecture became another.

Questions from junior students turned into discussions with professors.

Committee matters led directly into departmental responsibilities.

By lunchtime...

He had scarcely noticed the hours slipping away.

If someone had asked where Anthony Ashford had been all day...

The truthful answer would have been simple.

Everywhere.

And nowhere for very long.

--

The afternoon passed much as the morning had.

Another lecture.

Another committee discussion.

Questions from junior students.

A brief meeting with one of the faculty advisers.

By the time Anthony finished organizing the final documents for the Student Council...

The evening sky had already begun turning shades of amber and violet.

Only then did he finally make his way back to the men’s dormitory.

The corridor was noticeably quieter than the rest of the campus.

Most students had either gone out for dinner or buried themselves in their assignments.

Anthony unlocked the door to his room.

Inside...

Nathaniel Reeves was already seated at his desk.

Several thick law books were stacked neatly beside him, each covered with handwritten notes.

Nathaniel looked up briefly.

Unlike Anthony’s composed nobility, Nathaniel possessed a quieter sort of presence.

His neatly kept dark brown hair and thoughtful hazel eyes reflected the calm discipline expected of someone raised in a household of jurists.

As the only son of one of the country’s most respected High Court judges, he had inherited his father’s analytical mind—and, fortunately, a rather dry sense of humor.

Anthony had shared a room with him since their first year.

Three years later...

Few people understood Anthony’s habits better than Nathaniel.

Without looking away from the page for long, Nathaniel asked,

"Long day?"

"As usual."

Anthony placed his books carefully onto his desk before loosening his necktie.

Nathaniel nodded knowingly.

"I thought so."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

It lasted only a minute.

Nathaniel closed the casebook with a soft thump.

"Oh."

"I almost forgot."

Anthony glanced over.

"Hm?"

"The Founders’ Ball."

Anthony let out the faintest sigh.

Nathaniel noticed immediately.

"...You’re going to ask about it too?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth.

"I was."

Anthony leaned back slightly in his chair.

"...You’re the third person today."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

"Only the third?"

Anthony almost smiled.

"Christopher."

"The secretary."

"And now you."

Nathaniel chuckled.

"I suppose everyone is curious."

"It’s not every year your fiancée attends the same university."

He paused for a moment before adding,

"And from what I’ve heard..."

"Lady Beaumont has made quite an impression."

Anthony looked up.

Nathaniel shrugged.

"The Foundation."

"The Volunteer Society."

"People seem to speak well of her."

"And..."

"I’d say quite a few students have already noticed that the lady Beaumont is every bit as beautiful as everyone always said."

Anthony remained quiet.

Nathaniel smiled faintly.

"So..."

"When are you asking Lady Beaumont?"

Anthony was quiet.

"...Soon."

Nathaniel laughed softly.

"You’ve been saying ’soon’ ever since the semester started."

Anthony didn’t deny it.

Instead...

He quietly organized the papers on his desk.

Nathaniel smiled knowingly.

"You’re putting it off."

"...A little."

"A little?"

Nathaniel laughed.

"I’ve known you for three years."

"When you say ’a little,’ it usually means you’ve already decided to think about it tomorrow."

Anthony finally allowed himself a small smile.

"...Perhaps."

Nathaniel shook his head with amusement before reopening his book.

"I almost feel sorry for Lady Beaumont."

Anthony looked up.

"Why?"

"Because she’s probably wondering when you’re finally going to ask."

Anthony considered that for a brief moment.

"...Perhaps."

The room gradually fell quiet again.

For what felt like the first time all day...

Anthony finally allowed himself to sit down properly.

He reached into his satchel.

Two mobile phones.

The first belonged to the Student Council.

Its battery had long since been exhausted after a full day of calls.

He placed it onto the desk.

Then reached for the second.

His personal phone.

Very few people had that number.

His family.

A handful of close acquaintances.

And Damian.

The screen lit up.

One unread message.

An unfamiliar number.

Anthony frowned slightly.

"...Who?"

He opened it.

Hello, Anthony. This is Vivienne. I hope I’m not disturbing you. Would it be all right if I gave you a call when you have a moment?

For a long moment...

He simply stared.

Then...

Almost automatically...

His eyes shifted to the unfamiliar number itself.

’...How did she get this?’

The answer came almost immediately.

’...Damian.’

Of course.

Who else would hand out his personal number so casually?

Anthony let out the quietest sigh.

His gaze returned to the message.

Without meaning to...

His thoughts wandered.

Orientation.

The Polo Club.

The Foundation.

The old oak tree.

It seemed...

Lady Beaumont still possessed an uncanny ability to find him.

Anthony closed his eyes for the briefest moment.

Some habits really never change.

His thumb hovered over the keypad.

He could reply now.

It would take only a few seconds.

Then another thought quietly followed.

If I reply now...

He didn’t finish it.

He didn’t have to.

Somehow...

He could already imagine the conversation that would follow.

The Founders’ Ball.

Their engagement.

The things he had quietly postponed, again and again, without ever quite meaning to.

Not forever.

Just...

Not today.

He looked at the stack of papers still waiting on his desk.

Tomorrow’s schedule lay neatly beside them.

Another full day.

Anthony pressed the lock button.

The screen went dark.

"...Later."

He placed the phone carefully beside the unfinished papers.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.

At least...

That was what he told himself.