Page 5 of Destined to be a Duchess
From what little Marianne could see of his body, he looked tall and thin, likely young and confident, given how he held himself.He raked a hand through his tousled dark hair as he approached, marching confidently towards the men inspecting the wheel.
The sun shifted behind him as he walked, revealing more of his appearance to Marianne. He was absurdly handsome. Just looking at him made her feel weak in the knees. His nose was slightly aquiline, and his face was narrow in a way that complemented the rest of his features. When he slipped off his jacket and cast it over his shoulder, Marianne saw golden skin around his wrist and neck.
He obviously doesn’t work the fields, she thought, observing him with bated breath,not with clothes as fine as those, yet it’s obvious that he’s spent his summer outdoors. Could he be a rogue aristocrat? A European?
She turned to Miss Barclay to see whether the stranger had a similar effect on her. Miss Barclay’s mouth was hanging open in an extremely unladylike manner. Marianne smirked. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.
“He hasn’t ridden in on a white horse, but our knight in shining armor certainly looks the part,” Marianne quipped, swaying gently into Miss Barclay. This time, the woman didn’t laugh. She looked terrified, having intensified her grip on Marianne’s arm. Marianne’s tone changed immediately. “What’s the matter?”
Miss Barclay snapped her mouth shut, gulping as she met Marianne’s eye. “Perhaps we should practice your curtsy whilethey are distracted,” she murmured, blanching as she returned her attention to the men.
Marianne furrowed her brow, looking back towards the handsome stranger—at the exact moment that he noticed her. He looked as confused as she felt, his scowl sending a shiver down Marianne’s spine.
Suddenly, she realized what Miss Barclay had meant, and her blood turned to ice.
“You don’t mean to say …” Marianne’s question trailed off.
No. It didn’t even warrant asking.
The stranger wasn’t a highwayman, or a rogue, or even a European.
That was Anthony Colline, the Duke of Westden—the master of Moorhaven Manor.
Chapter 3
Anthony weighed his options carefully, only half listening to what James was saying about their broken carriage. He had hoped to return to England in total anonymity, hence the unmarked travelling coach he had hired out of London. Now that he had been seen—by his own dratted staff no less—there really was no turning back.
Especially not with the mystery still staring him in the face. He recognized Miss Barclay well enough. She had been his mother’s favourite attendant for the last seven years. But the woman standing beside her didn’t look like any companion Anthony had ever seen, even on the Continent, where rules about birth and appearance were laxer than in England.
Between her stunned expression and the quality of the carriage—hiscarriage—in which she had been travelling, he had to imagine she had been invited to Norwich by his mother.
That begged the question: Why the deuce had his mother chosen the moment of his return to entertain guests at Moorhaven?
“Your Grace?” Anthony peered down at the footman, who was looking up at him over his shoulder. James pointed at the faulty wheel. “Shall I walk to Thetford to find a mechanic, as Miss Barclay suggested?”
Exhaling hard, Anthony squinted towards the horizon. “I’m not certain what other options we have. There’s nothing our own driver can do about the break, and he has to be in Norwich by seven o’clock besides.”
He grunted, dropping into a crouch beside James. Reaching a hand beneath the carriage bed, he felt around for the linchpin behind the wheel. He gave it a tug, and it seemed secure.
“The wheel’s not at risk of falling off—yet. Something must have happened to the axle, but I can’t feel what it is,” Anthony said.
He pulled his hand away, laying his arms over his knees and dropping his head in thought. The staff at Moorhaven Manor were diligent in their work. They wouldn’t have forgotten to maintain the vehicles while Anthony was away. If the carriage had been rarely used, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that something had been missed in their checks.
Which means Mother has scarcely left the house in the two months since Father passed,Anthony thought, stretching back into a stand,despite her assurances that she was fine.
Guilty feelings writhed inside him. His father’s death had been quick and painless, according to the letters Anthony had received. Anthony couldn’t have predicted his father’s fall from that blasted horse. Yet, it didn’t make him feel any lessreprehensible for having been gallivanting around the Continent when it had happened.
His mother had been left all alone in her grief, and Anthony ... Well, he had barely had time to contemplate his own feelings on the matter. He had other matters to deal with now, like coming fully into the title of Duke of Westden well before it was his time.
James rose beside him, and Anthony clapped him on the shoulder, returning his thoughts to the problem before him. Plym and his own driver returned from their inspections, and he turned to them to propose a solution.
“I suggest you start walking,” Anthony said. “Alternatively, you could drive the thing slowly as far as it will go. And James, you could walk beside it. Thereisa mechanic in Thetford. He oversaw some of the races Father would host ... So long as there are no passengers in the box, the worst you’ll endure are a few spooked horses until you reach him if anything should happen. Which it will not.”
“A fine idea, Your Grace,” Plym replied. He hadn’t changed at all since Anthony had last seen him, with his thinning dark hair and potbelly. “What do you suggest we do with ...”
He let the question trail off, nodding towards Miss Barclay and the anomaly beside her. Anthony turned to find them standing in the same spot, except now, they weren’t alone.
“It’s just like Patrick to make things twice as complicated as they need to be,” he muttered, shaking his head. His travelling companion must have exited their coach while Anthony had been occupied with the wheel. He was now talking the ears off the stranded women. “Allow me to speak with them while you prepare for the drive to Thetford.”
