Page 99 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Marion felt an uncomfortable pang in her chest as Beth pulled the ribbons of her corset tighter in preparation for a most unwelcome dinner.
“Just a little bit more here, Your Grace,” Beth said. “You are indeed a vision; this shade of emerald is most beautiful on you.”
“Thank ye, Beth,” Marion said as she slid her feet into her delicate, gold slippers. “Help me with the gold necklace, will ye?”
“I have it right here, Your Grace! Splendid choice. If I may say, the way the teardrop falls into the curve of your bust… you are most lovely.”
“And that was all the confidence I needed to face me family,” Marion said with a wink. “Let us make our way down then to welcome the lions.”
A week had passed and the Greystead townhouse was to play host to an uncomfortable gathering. Anselm had sent word to Lord and Lady Harlowe, looking suitably confused by the unexpected invitation, to sup with them. Their faces were puzzled as they entered the drawing room for aperitifs. They offered a small bow to the couple.
Anselm stood by the fireplace with Marion at his side. Her posture was regal and composed. She was no longer the quiet, scared girl they could order about. She was a duchess.
“Lord and Lady Harlowe,” Anselm began. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”
“Your Grace,” Lord Harlowe replied with a tentative smile on his face. “A pleasure, as always. Though I confess, we are rather baffled by this sudden summons.”
He glanced at Marion and she noted a flicker of suspicion in his eyes as he raised a brow.
“Marion, my dear, you are looking… well.”
“Indeed, Uncle,” Marion replied. “Better than I have been in a very long time.”
Lady Harlowe, ever the picture of polite concern, stepped forward then with her hands clasped at her chest.
“Oh, my dearest Marion. We have been so worried about you! After your… unfortunate incident with Lord Gilton reached our ears. Such a dreadful man! We are glad you are rid of him at last.”
Anselm raised a hand, cutting her off.
“Enough, Lady Harlowe. We are not here for pleasantries, nor for feigned concern. We are here for the truth and nothing more.”
He held up a folded document.
“My Bow Street Runner has been most thorough. He has uncovered a great many… unsavory dealings regarding Lord Gilton. Debts, frauds, and a rather damning confession.”
Lord Harlowe’s expression stiffened as he made his way to the beverage cart and poured himself a glass of brandy.
“A confession? What nonsense is this, Your Grace? Gilton is a scoundrel; we all know that now. But what has that to do with us?”
“Everything,” Anselm replied.
He unfolded the document, revealing a signature at the bottom that was undoubtedly the Viscount’s hand.
“Lord Gilton has signed a full confession. A confession that implicates you both, Lord and Lady Harlowe, in his scheme to defraud my wife of her dowry, and to ensure her… permanent removal.”
The Harlowes went white as sheets. In fact, they became so limp if an errant wind had blown through the windows, they may have flitted away entirely.
Lady Harlowe gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes darted nervously to her husband who merely faltered for a moment as he downed his glass of brandy.
“This is a damn forgery!” Lord Harlowe roared. His face became purple with rage. “A fabrication! Gilton is a liar and a bloody desperate man! You cannot believe a word he says!”
He turned his fury on Marion as he took a single step toward her, raising a finger to point at her face.
“And you, you ungrateful wretch! After everything we did for you, providing for you! You are disobedient, a disgrace! You would believe the rambling of a criminal over us?”
Marion stood her ground.
“Me faither loved that land. He loved his title. He loved it with every breath in his body, the same blood that flows through me veins. He would weep to ken how ye poisoned it with yer greed. How ye conspired to ruin me, to send his only child to amadhouse. All of that, simply for a cut of money that was never even yers.”
