Page 46 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“But it is gorgeous!” Verity insisted, turning the box over in her hands as she held it out. “And Anselm has more money than he knows what to do with! You know you are the Duchess of Greystead. You can afford it!”
“I cannae do this,” Marion sighed. “I wasnae raised to be frivolous.”
Her gaze became distant, as she fixed on some phantom mark.
“One doesnae simply indulge in frivolities. It is a sinful act that only breeds selfishness. Ye would do well to focus on compliance so that ye might learn to obey yer future husband.”
Her mind then flitted to her uncle, who in some ways was even worse. She thought of his warnings, urging her to be a good wife if she wanted a secure future in the world. When she had asked for a paint set to replace the one she had taken from her, he’d chastised her.
No spending your husband’s hard-earned monies flippantly, child. You must learn your place.
Verity sighed dramatically as she handed the box to the vendor. “Oh, Marion! For goodness’ sake, look at those blues! Like a Scottish loch at dawn!”
Marion shook her head, though her heart ached with longing. A part of her knew that her friend was right, and yet…
“No, Verity. Put it down. We should go.”
With a final, lingering glance at the art set, she steered Verity away from the stall.
Marion guided them through the thronging market, her hand steady on Verity’s arm despite the turmoil in her chest, the maid still obediently following.
As the noise faded behind them, Verity’s voice broke the silence. “So… My friend. I’ve been meaning to ask you…”
“Yes, darlin’?” Marion raised an eyebrow.
Verity glanced back at the lady’s maid behind them. “Would you mind giving us some privacy, dear?”
The maid curtsied. “Of course, Lady Verity,” she said and curtsied at Marion too. “Your Grace.”
Once the maid was several paces behind and out of earshot, Verity leaned in closer.
“Are you content?” she asked. “I mean, in your marriage with my brother.”
Marion’s lips pressed into a careful smile. She forced calm into her tone. “I am content, Verity. I have ye, and me future is secure.”
Verity gazed at her with searching and curious eyes. “And Anselm? Does he treat you well?”
Marion’s cheeks warmed beneath the question.
She nodded, keeping her voice steady. “He’s a good husband.”
“But…” Verity pressed, a flicker of apprehension in her gaze, “well, although he’s my brother, you’re my friend, too. Does he…treatyou well?” Her voice dropped slightly. Even though Verity was repeating the question it was heavier and more suggestive this time.
Marion’s eyes widened, and she cleared her throat with a faint flush. “Verity, that’s hardly proper to ask.”
Verity blinked incredulously. “Since when do you care about what’s proper? You’re the one who fled your wedding and ended up in my brother’s carriage.”
Marion drew in a sharp breath.. “There’s a comportment I must observe on occasion. No matter how much I might resent it.”
Verity smirked. “I write novels. I know what married—or unmarried—couples get up to. We’re friends, Marion. You can tell me. Well, not with the explicit bits, mind, or I’ll be sick. After all, Anselm’s my brother.”
Marion bit the inside of her cheek, desperate to hide the truth that they had not yet consummated the marriage.
She shifted and allowed her eyes to flick away. “He’s proper, as ye ken.”
Verity rolled her eyes. “Marion. Come on.”
She sighed. “We need time. Time to become familiar with one another.”
