Page 18 of Destined to be a Duchess
“I hardly know what to say,” Anthony murmured. “But if that is true, why would he have agreed to the race? Why would my mother have let him go along with it?”
“From what little I understand of the situation, your father expressly ordered the physician not to speak a word of things to Her Grace,” Mr Acaster replied. “Your father told no one except those who worked most closely with him. He did not want toalarm the duchess, believing, I think, that his weakness would pass in time.”
Anthony glanced over his shoulder through the window leading to the garden. Sun beat down on the grounds as strongly as it had that morning. He tried to push the thought of his father suffering alone out of his mind.
It was a pointless task.
“That old fool, letting his pride get in the way of his recovery …” Anthony paused. “Who was this physician? Someone new?”
“Doctor De Laurier, I believe. He runs his practice out of Norwich.”
Anthony didn’t recognize the name. The family physician had always been Boris McMillan. If his father hoped to keep the secret from his mother, it stood to reason that he had chosen to consult with a doctor she didn’t know.
Anthony squinted against the sun as it streamed through the window. A silhouette passed under the nearby arbor, and he recognized the figure instantly as Marianne. She sported the same pale pink dress as that morning, hoisting up the hem of her skirts as she cut through the flower beds. His mother would have been horrified, but the sight only made Anthony smile.
Marianne was all too good at distracting him. She was funny and bright, effortlessly charming. With so much misery ensconcing them all in the manor, he was glad of the distraction, already imagining the next time they would speak. For now, he needed to conclude matters with Mr Acaster.
“I would like to talk to this man,” Anthony declared, turning suddenly back to his agent.
He didn’t feel the need to explain his motivations. For the simple fact of being Edward’s son, he needed to know what exactly had happened.
Or maybe, Anthony thought to himself,you’re still hoping to discover something that will prove the impossible. Your father wasnotimmortal, and you are not immortal either.
*
"There you are, darling Marianne!” Catherine beamed at her as Marianne arrived in the archway to the drawing room. “Frida and I were just discussing your wardrobe for the party at Hagram Park—assuming, of course, that you have come to the correct conclusion and wish to attend.”
Marianne drifted by the entrance, her eyes still adjusting to the light indoors. She had taken a brief but necessary walkwhen Catherine had retired inside with Miss Barclay a few hours earlier. Her mind had been racing since their discussion at breakfast. Not even one week ago she had been filling out invoices and sewing trims in the back of her mother’s shop.Now she had to face the prospect of meeting a whole gaggle of aristocrats who would not have looked at her twice before becoming aChambersinstead of aBuller.
The walk had helped clear her mind, and she entered the room confident in her decision. Catherine was right when she said Marianne was just delaying the inevitable. Returning to London with all her new knowledge would have been impossible.
Marianne Buller was as dead as Anne. Neither would be able to rest until Nicholas’ daughter was allowed a chance at life. If that meant learning to be a lady, then so be it. Marianne would just have to suck it up and try.
A hundred questions still needed answering. Where would Marianne get her money? Where was she going to stay? It was enough to resolve one matter: Shewouldattend the party.
“I thought my attendance depended on His Grace’s decision,” Marianne replied, leaning on the back of the remaining empty sofa. “If he does decide to attend … then I agree that I should go with him.”
Catherine’s face lit up with delight. She clapped her hands, jumping to her feet. In the blink of an eye, she grabbed Marianne and dragged her onto the sofa beside her.
“Such wonderful news. Truly,wonderfulnews,” Catherine cried. She squeezed Marianne’s hands. “Though I never doubted you for a second, naturally. There really was no other outcome.” She smoothed out a loose ringlet in Marianne’s hair, grooming her like always. “But I must ask—what decided for you in the end?”
“I suppose ...” Marianne bit her lower lip, unsure how much to reveal. “When we spoke this morning about your duties as a duchess, it made me realize that I could be of so much use to people as the daughter of an earl. I would like to use my name and influence to make a difference. I’m not sure where to begin. Who knows whether anyone will even listen to me? It’s worth a try at least, don’t you think?”
“How honoured I am to have inspired you,” Catherine said in awe, pressing a hand to her chest. “And yes, I agree. Every woman must seize the opportunities presented to her, especially a rare gift like this.”
Marianne was glad Catherine felt that way. So glad, in fact, that she saw no point in correcting her. Catherinewasinspiring. There was no denying her kind spirit. But Marianne wanted to do even more with her newfound influence.
She had only a basic knowledge of politics—Whigs and Tories and everything else that could be read in the newspapers—but there had to be people out who wanted to make real changes, people who needed someone with the money and the authority to carry them out.
For the first time in her life, Marianne had witnessed how the other halftrulylived. The luxuries, the parties, the food, the space ... She couldn’t believe how ignorant she had been to the inequality that defined their world. For someone to be at the top, hundreds of thousands of others had to be at the bottom.
She and Anne had lived in one of the more affluent neighbourhoods in Lambeth. But she still remembered their visits to the rookeries. She couldn’t forget if she tried. And with that thought, she wondered whether the Colline family had ever seen poverty and struggle up close and personal.
The duchess had spoken about prejudices against theton.To Marianne, thetonunderstood even less about the working class—or didn’t care to learn—and even less than that about the people in the slums. Immigrants, orphans, and veterans forced to rag-pick or turn to crime just to survive.
There were endless problems just sitting on their own doorstep. Children, she was sure, were going hungry not five miles away, while that night, the Colline family was going to feast on exotic fruits that cost more than the average year’s salary.
She had loved being of use to others atBuller’s Stitch. Nothing had made her happier than seeing a nervous young woman equipped to face the world with a new gown. Now, she had the chance to make a real difference. Not with dresses, but with real action.
