Page 44 of Destined to be a Duchess
Smiling until her cheeks hurt, she squeezed Miss Barclay’s shoulder and expressed her thanks. She grabbed her fan and then checked the time on the clock by the wardrobe.
“I’m already running late, so I will have to kiss your feet in thanks later,” she joked, dashing towards the door. “I only hope—”
Her words were cut off by the wobbling of the doorknob. Marianne hopped back out of fright, wondering who would be trying to get in from the outside.
“Are you in there?” came a familiar voice.
Marianna glanced at Miss Barclay, who had blanched a shocking shade of white like she was worried an intruder was trying to break in.
“I think that’s only Patrick,” Marianne reassured her. She approached the door and unlocked it, swinging the door open wide. “And I was right.”
In the hall, Patrick stared at Marianne, mouth agape. That was precisely the reaction she had been looking for, even if Patricklooked more terrified than impressed. He cleared his throat and looked at her from head to toe.
“Goodness, you are … here.” He stumbled over his words, blinking as he peered into the room. “But of course, I knew you would be here. I came to get you. Why else would I have come? The guests are heading inside now. I didn’t want you to be late.”
Not for the first time, Marianne thought Patrick was a strange fellow. She laughed off his curious reaction and stepped out to join him.
“Let me get that,” Patrick said, reaching for the door to close it. He seemed to linger a moment more than necessary, leaving Marianne to ponder why.
He escorted her downstairs at a dangerous speed, like he couldn’t put enough distance between himself and Marianne’s room. They took the stairs two by two, and Marianne needed to stop to catch her breath by the time they reached the ballroom, her stays cutting into her.
They had danced almost every evening after dinner since the party had begun. But there was something different in the air that night, as though the guests knew that time was running out, and they needed to make the last moments at Hagram Park count.
The ballroom was similar to the grand hall, with stone walls and floors and wooden beams running across the ceiling. Exquisite chandeliers hung over the dance floor, illuminating the room with a warm, orange glow. A buffet had been set up in the parlour next door, and a few guests were prowling the edge of the room with plates of finger food or goblets of iced drinks.
The party that evening extended well beyond those two rooms. Guests had been invited to explore Lord Hindborough’s gallery and the Hagram gardens and encouraged to socialize as much as possible before the evening was done. Some of them would be setting off in the morning—and the planned activities for the following evening would be much tamer by comparison.
“One hardly knows where to start,” Patrick murmured beside her, tapping Marianne’s forearm. “Shall I take you to the duke or the earl?”
Pointing them out to her, Patrick designated Anthony and Gideon in turn. They were positioned on opposite sides of the room, both entrenched in mixed groups. This was one lesson in etiquette that couldn’t be taught. Would she show favouritism to one or the other by approaching them first?
Before she could make up her mind, Eliana weaved through the guests encircling the dance floor and joined Anthony. She wore a bright red gown, looking resplendent beside Anthony, whosported a dark navy jacket and stark white cravat. Marianne prickled with hot jealousy, looking away.
“The duke seems occupied,” she said, her tone clipped. “Let us see how Lord Foxburn is getting on instead.”
To her surprise, the usually cold Earl of Foxburn was laughing and smiling within his own group of friends. The near-empty glass of punch in his hand might have had something to do with his newfound confidence. Marianne was glad for him either way. Because even though she dreaded the thought of falsely encouraging Gideon, she still wanted him to be happy.
“Here she is now,” he exclaimed when she approached on the arm of Patrick. “And with Mr Bowers, no less. I suspect your ears were burning. We were just discussing your arrival in Norfolk, Lady Marianne.”
“As is everyone else, I imagine,” one of the guests said, smiling at Gideon. She thought he bore a resemblance to her new friend, Lady Jane, and determined he must have been her father.
“There has not been a story to get tongues wagging in these parts for years. Not since your dear father ran off with that scullery girl. Have you planned to take Lady Marianne to Saltsman, My Lord? There aren’t half a lot of churches you could visit in Bury St. Edmunds.”
“More than in Norwich? I am certain we will find other things to entertain her,” Gideon joked, delighting his audience.
He was in his element, transformed. Marianne glanced at Patrick. Maybe this was Gideon’s shadow—pompous and sycophantic.
“But if you must know, I extended the offer to Lady Marianne this morning to visit Saltsman House. There is no rush. All things in good time, Carlston.” Gideon nodded at her. “We have to survive the night first.”
“You’re still in Suffolk?” another guest enquired, fanning herself. “Why, surely you should have taken up Hart Green where the old Earl of Foxburn used to live. Though perhaps …” She stopped the rhythmic whipping of her fan and looked at Marianne. “A house as large as that would require more than amanat its helm. So yes, all things in good time. Though one must not wait forever, lest opportunities slip us by.”
Was there some sort of aristocratic cabal Marianne was not aware of? In which they decided the fates of young women without consulting them first? She blinked in shock. It seemed all of Gideon’s friends had the same thing on their minds. Marianne wished he would go again almost as quickly as he had come.
“Do you always discuss such boring matters as these? Visits to churches and old houses?” Patrick intervened, shaking his head. “Last night, Carlston had all but wagered Baron Warton to perform a headstand. You can come up with better than this. I’ll perform the ruddy headstand if it will liven up this conversation.”
Marianne breathed a sigh of relief, which went unnoticed under the proceeding ripple of laughter. She thanked Patrick with a look, her eyes smarting with tears at his kindness.
“There will be no need for acrobatics yet,” Lord Carlston said, nodding at someone behind Marianne. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
