Page 56 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Anselm straightened himself and turned around, smoothing the front of his jacket.
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Duchess. It was a trivial matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do,” he said as he walked around his desk, picked up a quill and sat down.
“Trivial?” Marion scoffed while stepping further into the room. “That visit hardly seemed trivial, Yer Grace. And ye seem quite displeased. What did he say? If this concerns me, I deserve to ken.”
Anselm glanced up from his papers at her.
“He said nothing of consequence. I have it all under control. You do not have to worry about him or anything else.”
“Daenae worry?” Marion’s voice rose. “How can I nae worry when ye refuse to tell me anythin’? When ye keep secrets, even when they directly concern me! Was it about the notes? Did he try to imply somethin’ unsavory, out of spite?”
“Marion,” Anselm insisted, his voice firm. “It is handled. You do not need the details.”
“But Idoneed the details. I am yer wife, not some delicate flower to be shielded from every unpleasantness!” Her hands were clenched into fists. “Ye act as if I am incapable of understandin’ anythin’, of handlin’ myself!”
“You are capable, yes,” he conceded while taking a step towards her and lowering his voice. “But like my sister, you are my responsibility. I handle the ugliness, so you do not have to. That is our arrangement.”
“That is nae our agreement, Anselm! I deserve to ken what ye are doin’!”
Just then, a knock on the study door echoed in the room.
“Yes?”
“It’s the most handsome man in England,” Emmanuel’s voice floated through the mahogany door.
Anselm glanced at the clock. He had nearly forgotten their afternoon appointment. He stepped away from Marion and opened the door himself.
“Anselm, my friend,” Emmanuel said as he entered. His gaze flicked between the fuming couple. “Your Grace, pardon me. Am I interrupting something? I was merely here to collect your husband for our meeting with Lord Elston. You remember, old boy, about the shipping contracts?” He paused with a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Though it appears I have arrived at a rather… inopportune moment.”
Anselm grunted in response; his gaze was still locked on Marion.
“Indeed, you have,” he said as he turned to his friend. “Very well. Let’s go.”
He strode past Marion.
“Have a good day, husband,” Marion called as he walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The whispers started the very moment the Greystead carriage pulled up to the glittering facade of Marlstone Manor.
As Anselm, Marion, and Verity stepped inside Lady Lowdham’s grand ballroom, the low hum of conversation swelled, then died down before it was replaced by a hundred eyes tracking their every move.
While Marion and Anselm had frequented many social events together, this was the first major ball they attended since the hurried wedding. As always, thetonwas ravenous for any fresh morsel of gossip.
Marion felt confident in a gown of shimmering ivory that caught every flicker of candelabras. She had her hair pulled up around her head in braids and the strands were adorned with delicate diamonds. Yet, much as she felt every bit the Duchess, theweight of public scrutiny pulled on her as they were formally announced.
“Another Scottish Duchess… sounexpected,” one onlooker whispered.
“And the Duke’s sister, poor thing, after that scandal…” Another hissed, again pulling on Marion’s heart as she had not considered how hard these events must also be for her friend, much as she put on a brave face.
Marion looked at Verity then, who was as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside. She wore a delicate lace gown in hues of pink and lavender that accentuated the same green eyes her brother had. She looked like spring herself.
Marion scanned the room further and her stomach tightened into a knot as she saw that Lord Gilton was indeed present. He was ever a dark shadow in her life, this time in the flesh and near a pillar across the ballroom. She watched as his gaze occasionally swept over their party, but thankfully he kept his distance. Marion had enough on her mind.
“Ah, there you are!” Emmanuel’s cheerful voice cut through the tension she felt, and she smiled at the familiar face.
“Lord Wrotham, ye are a sight for sore eyes,” she said as she gave him a bright smile.
