Page 79 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
He looked at her then and a flicker of something she could not quite decipher flitted in his dark green eyes.
“The author,” Marion echoed softly, sensing a deeper confession. “Much as we have hinted around it… Ye ken it is her? I havenae said it so plain, but it is her.”
“I had my suspicions from the start, Marion when I heard of it. Then when I read it, the descriptions of Strathcairn, the nuanced understanding of certain emotional complexities…” He paused, then finally met her gaze. “Verity spoke of a love for the name Donald as a young girl. In fact it was her pretend friend’s name. That was the final tell. But there were also some intimate details, of confinement in carriages and other such things that felt… most personal.”
Marion felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “I tried to be discreet.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “You were. But I have always been rather observant, even if I do not always speak about what I observe. I knew you helped her with some of the finer points, and she did well capturing some of that.”
“I see,” she said softly, trying to wrap her head around that point.
“Does it displease you, that I know you helped her conceive some of this?”
Marion shook her head and moved closer to him. “No. It... it feels rather freeing, in fact.” She reached out, her fingers tracing the lapel of his coat. “It means you truly see her, not just as your sister, but as the remarkable woman she is. And you also see us.”
“Indeed,” Anselm murmured, his hand coming up to gently cup her cheek. “I see you, Marion. More clearly than anyone else.” His thumb stroked her skin. There was a quiet promise in the gesture.
“I daenae have the energy to paint, me husband. But I would very much like to kiss ye in our bed.”
He stood on his feet then and scooped her up into his arms.
“Ye ken I can walk, right?” she joked as she kissed his cheek.
“I very much like watching you walk, but I also like this.”
The next morning, Marion decided it was time for a more direct approach to mending the chasm between Anselm and Verity, much as they had made progress on their own. After a simple breakfast, as Anselm retreated to his study with the air of a man facing a mountain of paperwork, and Verity headed towards thelibrary with a stack of new, eagerly anticipated books, Marion intercepted her.
“Verity,” Marion said, her voice bright. “I was just about to explore the Duke’s more… academic collection in the library. Perhaps ye could offer some guidance? Ye are so much more knowledgeable about literature than I.”
Verity, clearly flattered by the sincere compliment, readily agreed, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.
“Oh, I would be delighted! I know those tomes like the back of my hand!”
They entered the vast library; its towering shelves filled with leather-bound volumes that seemed to hold centuries of thought within their spines. Marion then set about subtly, almost imperceptibly, ensuring Anselm and Verity would be left alone. She had a plan.
While Verity sat at a desk to review an old favorite book she had rediscovered, Marion found a large book on Ancient Roman law and placed it strategically on Anselm’s desk. She attached a note suggesting its relevance to a recent parliamentary debate he had mentioned at breakfast a few days before.
Meet me in the library to discuss this further. Love, Marion
Anselm entered his study a few minutes later, frowning at the unexpected book on his desk. He looked up, his gaze sweeping the quiet room when he picked up the note. After reading it, he picked up the book and ran hurriedly to the library.
As he entered, he saw Verity browsing the shelves. She was utterly engrossed in each title and emitted a faint hum of contentment as she scanned them. He sighed, prepared to retreat, and vanish back into the haven of his ledgers… but then he remembered Marion’s gentle encouragement and the quiet promise he’d made to her… as well as the cursed note.
This is her doing,he thought to himself.Best to go along with my wife’s wishes.
“Verity,” he began, his voice a little gruff, catching her attention.
Verity turned, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes, as if bracing for a lecture. “Anselm. Were you… looking for a book? Is there something I can help you with?”
He cleared his throat, feeling awkward in his own library. He set down the book and put his hands in his pockets. He walked toward her then stopped a few feet away.
“No. I… I saw you here,” he said hesitatingly, then gestured vaguely at her pile of books. “Are you finding anything… suitable?”
Verity’s apprehension eased and was replaced by a tentative smile.
“Oh, yes! Mr. Hawthorne procured a first edition ofSense and Sensibility. I was finding a good home for it here and felt inspired looking around at all the books we have here.”
“That sounds wonderful, Verity.”
