Page 38 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“A publisher? Well, I will be damned. That is quite impressive for a lady. She has ambition, that sister of yours. And if her conversation is any indication of her written word, she has talent as well. Is this publisher willing to print her work?”
“It seems so,” Anselm grumbled.
“Is she using a pseudonym?”
“Naturally.”
“But you still seem perturbed. This isn’t a bad thing, surely? As long as she’s not using her real name, this is a safe outlet for her energies. A way for her to remain occupied and happy as things blow over after the Fanthorpe fiasco. So, what is the matter?”
Anselm raked a hand through his hair. “It is not the publishing; it is the slipping out part that worries me. This complete disregard for her safety and any sense of propriety, our family, and her name. She could have been seen. Compromised…”
“Yes, I can see how that would be?—”
“What if someone followed her? What if someone already knows she was out cavorting at that hour and twists the facts?” He looked around paranoidly, ensuring no one was listening to them. “I cannot stomach the thought of her name in the scandal sheets ever again.”
He’d recalled how he’d found the note she’d left behind on her bed the day she’d gone missing. Anselm had to run to Fanthorpe first. They concocted a believable reason to stall the wedding, then he’d run around London searching for her, only to have the scandal sheets note her ‘curious disappearance.’ He’d had to go to each and every scandal sheet owner and bribe them in exchange for their silence.
Even then, people read the initial sheets. They’d speculated, whispered, and come up with ridiculous rumors about his little sister. Heavens, he’d worked so hard to keep her safe from the harshness of the world, and she’d gone running away on her own.
And even after he’d promptly brought her back and covered the damage of her vanishing, she’d gone ahead and snuck out in the dead of night.
How was he going to protect her when she seemed to thwart all his efforts?
“Anselm, the whole world is not out to get you nor watching you at all hours of the day and night,” Emmanuel said gently, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Most people do notcare about Verity’s movements. You worry too much. You need to relax and spend time with that pretty wife of yours?—”
“I do not worryenough,” Anselm snapped.
“Yes, you do, my friend,” Emmanuel argued. “I know the burden of Verity’s care fell squarely on your shoulders after your parents’ death, Anselm. You were barely a man yourself. But that doesn’t mean that?—”
“I will not fail Verity. Not again,” he ground out. “This city seeks out innocence with a voracious thirst. It has a way of twisting everything good into something ugly.”
Somehow, his grim words conjured the image of Marion in his mind. All she had endured. The threats against her, the appalling betrothal to Gilton.
Gilton.
“What is it, old boy? Is something else troubling you? I can see it in your eyes,” Emmanuel urged.
“I have not ascertained the source of the threats the Duchess received in Scotland,” he said while shaking his head.
“Has she received more?”
“No, but I resent not knowing the source and having things accounted for.”
“Well, knowing you this many years, I suppose I can understand that. What is your plan then? I know you have one,” Emmanuel said as he crossed his leg and leaned in toward his friend.
Anselm glanced around them, ensuring no eyes or ears were on them, and he replied in whisper, “I have someone discreetly investigating the matter, but it is a slower process than I care for.”
“Well, patience has never been part of your virtues.”
Anselm glared at him. “Look who speaks of virtue.”
Emmanuel chuckled. “Oh, I am highly aware I possess no virtues, my friend. I mostly rely on yours to get by.”
“There’ll come a moment when you’ll have to unearth your own virtues from wherever you’ve buried them, my friend,” Anselm said, taking a long swig from his now-cooled coffee.
“Ever the wise one, Your Grace. Here’s to that remote and distant hour on the horizon. Assuming I remember where I hid my virtues by then,” Emmanuel replied with a smirk as he raised his glass to meet Anselm’s with a soft clink.
Chapter Sixteen
