Page 65 of Destined to be a Duchess
Her throat went dry. “What ... What did you say back?”
“I told him that I knew everything, Marianne. About De Laurier, about what we saw. I confronted him with the truth, and he confirmed that my father’s death was likely caused bytreatments De Laurier gave him to try and preserve his life, which was already fine.” His face flickered in pain.
“It was of little comfort to me. I’ve realized that knowinghowmy father died does not make mourning him any easier. And yet, the truth had to be known. And as for you and I ...”
He reached for her hands across the island. Marianne’s breath hitched as he laced his fingers with hers, watching their hands entwine with his easy smile. He stroked her knuckles, gaze softening as he raised his eyes to hers.
“What I discovered has bought Warren’s silence. But I am not naive enough to believe we will be safe forever.” Anthony paused, holding her hands tighter. “And even if we were safe ... Even if there were no external reasons forcing us together ... I would want to be by your side forever. Marianne, I ...”
He faltered, his eyes glistening with tears. Marianne stole her hands away, running around the island and throwing herself into his embrace. Anthony seized her, holding her close. She relished the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, knowing that she belonged there and likely always had.
She pulled away to look at him and ensure she had not misunderstood him. In the second that followed, Anthony leaned down to kiss her, seizing her lips in his own and leaving her not struggling for breath but breathless. It was everything she dreamed. His hands pressed into her back, securing heragainst him. He pulled away, resting his face against hers, rubbing his nose against her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real.
“Will you marry me?” he breathed into her skin. “Marianne, will you marry me?”
"Do you even need to ask? Has my love for you not been clear this whole time despite my best efforts at hiding it?” She took his face in her hands, looking deeply into his eyes. “There is no one else I could ever want. Yes, I will marry you. And yes, I do love you. But only if you are sure—”
He kissed her again, with even more passion than the first time. She supposed she alwayshadtalked too much, and it was his way of reminding her.
“No more questions. No more doubts. No more denial,” Anthony said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I love you. You are where I belong—my home. And I shall live there for as long as it stands. For as long as you permit.”
“This is worth it, isn’t it?” she more said than asked, thinking of her parents, his parents, and everyone else who had loved each other even when it was hard.
“Worth everything, my love.”
Epilogue
Six months later ...
Marianne had been rightly nervous about travelling to and from Italy by sea. It had not escaped her memory that her father had met his end on a boat—and there would have been a poetic irony in Marianne dying there, too, right after her wedding. Thankfully, that had been four months ago, and Marianne was still alive.
Like everything else in her young marriage, the crossings had gone perfectly according to plan. The most perfect factor of all, of course, was her doting husband. He had suggested Bologna as their first stop as a married couple after completing their marriage tour around England.
There were more Colline relatives than Marianne could keep track of. And evenmorehidden Chambers relatives, who had been delighted to meet the long-lost daughter of rebellious Nicholas.
The last leg of their journey, the carriage ride back to Norfolk, had been perhaps the most arduous of all. Marianne pressed her head against the cool glass of the carriage window while a frantic Anthony rummaged in his Gladstone for her smelling salts, pushing aside his art supplies. Her early pregnancy had beentaxing, to say the least, making a return to England necessary—and merciless.
She just about found her legs as their coach arrived before Moorhaven Manor. Anthony rushed out of the carriage to help her out, holding her likehislife depended on it, not hers.
“I warned the driver to go slowly, but I have to assume the man was deaf,” he grumbled, pressing a kiss to Marianne’s forehead.
“Or a sadist,” she said through a sigh. She pressed her throbbing head against his chest. “At least no wheels fell off the carriage.”
“I think you are grossly misremembering your first trip here.” Anthony laughed, taking her hand and leading her up the steps. He nodded to the staff who had come to greet the duke and his duchess. “But I shall forgive you a few theatrics.”
“Only a few?” Marianne scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I have much more up my sleeve now that we are back in England. Thetonwill not know what to do with me.”
“As if they ever did.”
One aristocrat was glad to see Marianne if nothing else. Catherine rushed down the stairs to greet her son and new daughter-in-law, hugging Marianne first and marvelling at thebarely visible swell of her stomach. She was finally out of black, dressed in a light lavender gown better fitting her complexion.
Eagerly, she dragged the newlyweds into her solar, begging to be told about their trip. Marianne let Anthony do most of the talking, smiling madly as he reconnected with his mother. There was something lighter about her husband than when she had first met him, and she loved this new, brilliant side of him even more.
“And naturally, I’ve been taking good care of your charities while you’ve been away, darling,” Catherine said, leaning over to pat Marianne’s hand. “It’s been a little difficult without our Frida. I had forgotten how difficult it was to find good help.”
She side-eyed the maid on standby, likely Miss Barclay’s replacement. “But I have never been one to stand in the way of true love—as you well know. You did not run into the romantic Mr Bowers and his new wife on the Continent, did you?”
“He’s written a few times,” Anthony replied, standing behind Marianne’s chair. “He and Miss Barclay—Mrs Bowers,” he corrected, “were in France the last I heard.”
