Page 43 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Her fingers trembled as she rapped the carriage door.
“Home,” she ordered. Her voice grew tight as the footman rushed to obey.
She didn’t dare look back.
Verity!
In the quiet sanctuary of Marion’s bedchamber, she saw the novel lying on her dressing table with a ribbon around it.
A single note was written at the bottom.
For Marion, I could not have done it without you.
Verity entered without knocking. Her eyes shone with pride as she rushed to her friend. They embraced tightly.
“Verity, it’s magnificent, truly. When I was at the new boutique today, it was all anyone could talk about! I cannae wait to start reading it.”
“I’m so excited, but it’s a little overwhelming. It’s not like I can just blurt out that it’s me, can I?” She clasped her hands nervously. “How do I tell the world I am Eliza Jane Bennet?”
“Well, I feel privileged to know the secret.”
“I heard Lady Willis herself declared it the most scandalous work she’s read in years. But Marion, you must promise me: not a word to Anselm. He’d never allow it if he knew. He’d ship me off to a convent.”
“Me lips are sealed,” Marion promised..
“Thank you, Marion. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“And I daenae ken what I’d do without ye, me friend. At least we daenae have to think about that.” Marion gave her one last, warm hug.
Anselm displayed masterful control wheneverThe Highland Holidaywas mentioned, which was a frequent occurrence.
Each time, he responded with a deliberate nonchalance: a slight nod, a deft change of topic, or a wry comment on the triviality of such gossip-filled novels. Behind his composed facade, he took a quiet, almost private satisfaction in the way Verity would bite back a smile or laugh softly, betraying her amusement despite herself.
If she truly understood how much I knew…
One evening at dinner, Verity brought up the book again and her voice was light while her eyes glinted with mischief.
“It’s the talk of theton, Anselm. Surely, you’ve heard the whispers?”
He maintained his impassive mask, delicately cutting into his asparagus. “A mere diversion for the fairer sex, I imagine,” he said evenly, his tone carrying an edge of dry condescension.
Marion exchanged a glance with Verity. The shared amusement was barely concealed behind their polite smiles.
Verity leaned in, teasing. “You’re quite cutting, brother. How does Marion tolerate such a curmudgeon?”
Marion’s lips twitched with a smile. “It’s a tryin’ task, but I do me best,” she replied as her eyes flicked briefly to Anselm’s.
For a moment, Anselm’s guarded expression softened and a hint of warmth touched his eyes.
“A fiery spirit, that Highland lass,” he admitted quietly. “I hear there’s a character inThe Highland Holidaywith bright blue eyes and dark chocolate hair. Curious coincidence, don’t you think?”
Verity rose gracefully, composing herself with the poise of a woman well used to navigating such delicate moments.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to,” she said in a calm voice.
A few days later, under a cloudless blue sky, the trio attended a garden party at the sprawling estate of the Duke of Richmond.
The air was heavy with the scent of roses and freshly cut grass as only a blissful spring day can provide. The sounds of tinkling teacups and the conversations were pleasant against the soft quartet that played under a tent.
