Page 66 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“Icannae believe ye would go to such lengths for me,” Marion gushed as she embraced him after opening the box before her. “I cannae wait to see Master Jordan’s paintin’s. The dress is also exquisite, Anselm. I love it.”
Three long days had passed since that night and each time Anselm tried to engage with Marion on the subject, so that he might try to broach the topic of what happened between them, they were interrupted.
It was almost as if they were the subject of an eerie curse. His sister, the butler, and everyone else in the household was in on the plot to keep them apart. After a while, he gave up altogether.
Perhaps some things are better left unsaid,he decided.How can I explain myself to her? Will she ever understand how inept I am in the ways of true intimacy and how I am incapable of staying away from her?
Yet, he needed her to know that he felt fond of her and appreciated her. The need to show affection was foreign to him, and while it did not come easily, Anselm found that the more he did it, the more he wanted to continue. It filled him with purpose and brought a spring to his tired steps.
It started with a vase of freshly cut roses on her nightstand one morning. He had been walking through the estate garden and saw them. Realizing how beautiful they would look in her quarters, he had the gardener snip a bundle. Next, he was speaking with an acquaintance who mentioned an art exhibition coming to London, featuring an artist of some renown, and Anselm could not wait to arrange a surprise for his wife.
Instead of mentioning it in passing at breakfast, or just asking her to go, he had a better idea. He sent for a new gown from the clothier and ordered that it be cut in the latest style and made from a shade of sapphire that so perfectly matched her striking eyes.. In the dress box, he had a handwritten note asking that she would wear the dress while joining him at the gallery opening.
“It is no problem.”
“Thank ye all the same, husband,” she murmured and he admired the twinkle in her bright eyes.
A lass could get used to this, Marion thought as she considered the significance of Anselm’s latest gesture.
Flowers are one thing, but a new gown and an invitation to an art exhibition are much more personal. It is as if he really sees me for who I am.
It started subtly, but Marion felt the air between her and her husband shift.. It was not just the luxuries he had provided. It was something more and undefinable.
She found herself starting to linger in the hallway at the precise moment she knew that Anselm would emerge from his study in the afternoon. A hot pulse throbbed through her body at the thought of him. She craved a shared glance, or even a small nod. She savored every opportunity to be nearer to him.
That afternoon, without explicit invitation, they began to walk. She followed him down the hall and before she knew it, they were roaming the streets of London.
“I had nae idea how many people ye employ with yer estate,” Marion remarked one afternoon. “Aside from yer family there are many who depend on ye. I think it is a beautiful way to give back to the community, with good jobs, wages and opportunities.”
“It is true,” Anselm said as they paused in front of a large oak tree and a warm breeze swayed through the green leaves. “But even with all I have to manage, I am learning it is important to stop and look up once in a while.”
“Very wise, Yer Grace,” Marion said as they turned to face each other. “I imagine ye would be more productive if ye regularlytook time for such things, to keep yer mind fresh. Me faither swore by it! He went for two long walks every day, rain or shine. He said there was no such thing as bad weather if ye have the right clothin’.”
Anselm’s mind then drifted to his own father and of the years he spent pouring over his work and the sorrowful fate of his memory. He shivered at the thought.
“I think there may be something to your line of thinking, Marion. I will consider it,” he said as they began walking again.
There were other changes that Marion noticed. What had once been non-negotiable working hours in his study sometimes concluded earlier, especially if the day was pleasant or the work could just as well be completed the following day.
He started to appear in the drawing room at precisely four o’clock each afternoon, just as Marion and Verity were settling down for their daily tea.
He would pour himself a cup, join them on the opposite settee, and spend time in their company.
“But Anselm,” Verity insisted one afternoon, gesturing with her teacup at him. “Do you not see it clearly? If we invest in academies for all children and not just the privileged few with means, we will nurture young minds. Imagine the innovation and progress if education were accessible to all!”
Anselm considered his sister’s words instead of dismissing them and his gaze grew thoughtful.
“An ambitious proposal, Verity. And costly. Where would the funding originate?”
“I can think of one such benefactor,” she retorted with another sharp gesture with her teacup.
“I think Verity has a point,” Marion chimed in. “Perhaps it is worth talkin’ about with yer associates to see if there is a way this could be done.”
“Very well, I will think about it,” he said as he set his teacup down on the saucer.
“Pardon me, but you have a guest,” Mrs. Clarke announced as Emmanuel entered the room.
Anselm shifted uncomfortably on the velvet sofa where he had a teacup perched precariously on his knee. Emmanuel paused in the doorway and a broad grin spread across his face at the sight.
