Page 64 of Destined to be a Duchess
Marianne tried to interrupt with words of reassurance, but he cut her off.
“You spoke of marriage first, so the topic is on the table. You should marry me, Marianne. It is the most logical, most reasonable, safest thing for you to do. I will not force your hand. I could not if I tried.” He stepped closer to her, casting her in shadow. “But you should think seriously about my offer. Because the duke may not return to you, and love is not all it’s chalked up to be besides ...”
*
Wrapping her arms around herself, Marianne stood before the remnants of Buller’s Stitch. After dropping Gideon off in Mayfair, she had asked Plym to make the long drive to Lambeth—chaperone be damned.
Her cousin’s proposal had knocked Marianne’s whole world off-kilter. She had anticipated it from the moment they met. And despite knowing that she would be miserable as his wife, a partof her—the part of her that was Nicholas’ daughter—felt like it was her duty to say yes.
This wonderful new life could not have come without a cost. Since leaving Lambeth, she had known her fair share of struggles, but so much of it had beengood. Anthony, most of all. It stood to reason that sacrifices had to be made somewhere. That there was a price to pay she couldn’t see yet, not knowing enough about the aristocrats and their world to understand the reversal Gideon assured her was coming.
She walked up to the boarded shopfront that had once been her mother’s pride and joy. Gideon had said love was not worth the trouble it caused. She thought about her mother and father, wondering what they would say about the matter. They had loved each other so much that they had fled everything they had ever known to be together—and in the end, they had enjoyed months in each other’s company, only for her father to die.
Hammering noises came from inside, and Marianne’s curiosity got the better of her. She tried the front door, and it opened. The sounds of construction grew louder as she approached the doorway that once led to the shop. It was an empty archway now, revealing a shop floor, gutted and bare. Nothing remained of Buller’s Stitch: the floorboards, the wallpaper, the mirrors, the shelves, the counter ... Everything was gone.
Three workers turned to look at Marianne, pausing their work on the new floor. She worried she had walked into more danger, but they seemed content to let her be.
“I’m sorry for barging in.” She pointed to the door. “I hadn’t expected it to be open. I used to live upstairs. Do you know whether the flat has been let?”
“With the ruckus we’re causing?” one of the men joked, dusting his hands off on his trousers. He titled his cap to Marianne, revealing a face that was much younger than she expected. “It’s free, lass. Did you need something from up there?”
“No ... Yes,” she stammered, shaking her head. “Do you have the key?”
The man stepped away, slipping into what had once been the back of the shop. He returned with a familiar key, dangling on a rope, and handed it to Marianne.
“I’d watch your step up the stairs,” he said, falling back into a crouch to keep working on the floor. “Some of them need taking out.”
Marianne nodded, seizing the key and leaving before anyone tried to stop her. Her nose itched at the dust inside the shop, and she pinched it to stop from sneezing as she raced up the stairs. The key slipped into the lock without resistance. The door to her old home opened with a familiar creak.
She smiled as the flat appeared before her, empty but still feeling like home. Taking off her pelisse, she hung it on one of the hooks by the door, turning in a circle as she took in her surroundings. Her heartbeat quickened in excitement at returning home. That giddy feeling didn’t last long as memories flowed unbidden into her mind.
Marianne progressed towards the back of the flat, inspecting their old bedroom. She could only look for a minute before her eyes smarted with tears. She had barely cried since Catherine’s letter had arrived and changed her life. But she cried now. For her mother, for herself, for the old life that could never be lived again.
Wiping her tears on her sleeves, she paused outside the bedroom at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. One of the workers must have come looking for her, wanting the key back. The door swung open, and Marianne scrubbed her face with her hands.
“Just a moment,” she said with her back turned. “I just need one more moment.”
“Marianne.”
She spun on her heel, stunned to find Anthony in the open door. He didn’t move until she did, racing across the apartment to greet him like a lover returned from war. Marianne reached outto hold him, then stopped herself, grabbing her own hand. Her body yearned to greet him properly, to ask where he had gone and why.
“What are you doing here?” she asked instead, worried she had dreamed of him. He still looked the same in his half-mourning clothes, his dark hair curling around his ears in a way that made her troubles melt away. “How did you know where I was?”
“I returned to Colline House and learned that you had not returned. I thought you had gone to see the Foxbury home as was planned, but the earl directed me here.” Anthony was not smiling. He bit his lower lip, hesitating by the door. “May I come in?”
“You don’t need to ask. It’s not exactly my home anymore.” Marianne stepped back and waved him lamely inside. “And yet, I still feel like I should apologize for the mess. It’s hardly a homestead befitting a duke.”
“I like it,” Anthony said, looking at the crown moulding overhead, the island in the kitchen. “Long had I imagined what your old home looked like. I’m glad for the chance to see it. And the shop downstairs ... that was where you worked?”
“It was.” Marianne settled against the counter, watching him carefully as he moved around the room. Her throat constricted at the thought of him speaking with her cousin. “Did Gideon say anything more about me ...?”
Anthony stopped. He looked at her over his shoulder, his profile basked in a soft grey light from outside. Even in this place, where he absolutely did not belong, he looked perfect. Everything about him was perfect. Whatever he said next could not change that, even if hehadgone and agreed to marry Eliana to save them both. She would still want him.
“He mentioned your discussion, yes.” About marriage,she took that to mean. “He thought it was the reason for your detour here. I hesitated to come here, for I thought you deserved time to think. Perhaps it was selfish of me to interrupt your deliberation. But I wanted to see you, and if I am not selfish today, I know I will regret it for the rest of my life.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You’re right. I owe you an explanation,” he whispered, approaching her. He settled on the other side of the counter. “It was as we thought. Warren came to London in hopes of convincing me to marry his daughter. He knew we were here and sought to stop us before it was too late.”
