Page 23 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“The audacity!” Fanthorpe hissed.
Anselm took another step towards him which caused Fanthorpe to turn sharply before storming out of the room.
The doors slammed behind him, leaving silence which was broken only by the steady breathing of those who had witnessed the confrontation.
Anselm’s eyes lingered on the closed doors a moment longer before he turned back to those still in the room.
“I will be leaving now to obtain the marriage license,” he stated, as if he were leaving for any routine errand. “This is the only way to draw theton’sattention away from both the scandal sheet and Verity’s broken engagement.”
His gaze swept the room once more. He caught the flicker of doubt in Verity’s eyes, the steadiness in Marion’s, and even the faint smirk playing on Emmanuel’s lips.
Verity reached for Lady Marion’s hand. When she spoke, her voice was soft and uncertain. “You don’t have to do this for me, Marion. You’ve already escaped one marriage you never wanted. I won’t be the reason you lose your choice.”
Verity’s words hung in the air. Lady Marion met her gaze for a long moment, and something unspoken passed between them.
Anselm’s brows furrowed. How did this woman communicate so easily with his sister? How had she forged such a deep bond with Verity?
Lady Marion’s eyes flicked toward Anselm and he could feel the way she searched his face.
Anselm held her look steadily, aware of the subtle tremor in her hands and the flicker of doubt shadowing her expression.
Lady Marion’s gaze shifted back to Verity, where a flicker of hope and gratitude softened the tension. A surge of conflicting emotions played across Lady Marion’s face: uncertainty, fear, and determination battled beneath the surface.
Finally, with a slow, decisive bob of her head, Lady Marion met Anselm’s eyes once more.
“I accept,” she said clearly. Her voice sounded steady despite the storm she seemed to hold inside.
“How’s that for a dashing proposal? Whatever happened to the diamond ring or getting down on one knee?” Emmanuel joked.
Anselm glared at him, and his friend ran a hand absently through his golden locks while looking around the room.
“Bad moment, right. Pardon me,” Emmanuel muttered.
Anselm’s eyes wandered back to Lady Marion, who kept her gaze fixed on him.
He pursed his lips. Then he turned to his friend.
“Emmanuel, we are leaving. Now.”
Chapter Nine
“Do you truly believe this charade will quiet the wagging tongues?”
Marion heard a woman’s voice from beside the church door.
Less than a week had passed and Marion Campbell was to be no more. She would be the Duchess of Greystead.
“It is the only option, my dear,” a man had whispered back. “But I suppose that a scandal averted is a scandal half forgotten. Though, I must confess, a duchess from...thoseparts. Unfathomable. It was just the other day the Duke of Greystead married that Scottish girl.”
The ceremony was without fanfare or fancies, though perfectly adequate and tasteful. It was a hurried affair, discreet and swift, practical and economical.
In fact, it was like the way the Duke handled all his affairs. It was fitting.
The guests were a small collection of Anselm’s closest, most trusted acquaintances. For the farce to be real, there needed to be witnesses.
Marion tried not to make eye contact with anyone other than Verity as she felt guests looking at her. Their whispers were muted but palpable as she willed her heart to remain steady.
Much to her dismay, her uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Harlowe, had managed to return to London just in time for the wedding. This meant that Lord Harlowe would walk her down the aisle.
