Page 27 of Destined to be a Duchess
Marianne skipped towards the door ahead of him. “Not at all,” she assured him. “I may have been so nervous at the prospect of this party that I couldn’t sleep last night, but I don’t want these new dancing skills to go to waste.”
“At least if you did not sleep, there is a chance you will drift off in the carriage.” He followed her, grinning. “You haven’t been quiet since you arrived. Merciful silence at last.”
Her hand found the door handle. She pressed herself against the door, waiting excitedly for another quip from Anthony. But when she turned back, his expression had changed for the worse.
“What’s the matter?”
Anthony’s neck worked. “It just occurred to me that I never expressed my condolences about your mother’s passing. We were speaking about my own father, yet I never voiced how sorry I was that you were grieving your own parents. You have been exceedingly pleasant since you arrived—not a bother, as I suggested in jest. And I suppose … it slipped my mind.”
Marianne’s throat grew thick with emotion. So much had happened in the last few weeks. She had barely had time to process her mother’s death before Catherine’s letter had arrived. Since then, her life had been a whirlwind. It wasn’t Anthony’s fault that he had forgotten to express his condolences. Marianne had forgotten that she deserved any.
A hand came down on Marianne’s shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed Anthony approaching. He towered over her, but his presence was grounding and peaceful.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice soft as a whisper.
Marianne looked up, stunned and remorseful. “And I am so sorry for yours.”
He released her slowly, leaning back. Even with the door behind her, Marianne felt unsteady now that he was gone.
“You were right,” he said. “I am not only mourning my father. I am grieving the time we have lost and the answers to questions I never had a chance to ask.”
Anthony looked off into space, his brow creasing.
“Marianne, I must know what happened to him. If Doctor de Laurier will not tell me, there must be other means by which I can find out. It will solve nothing. My father cannot be resurrected. And yet I must know all the same what took him from me.”
“I would want the same thing,” Marianne agreed, composing herself. “I am looking for my own closure as well. It might not be found with the Manners, or in London, or God forbid at Hagram Park …”
“But it must be found,” Anthony concluded.
He approached her again, reaching for the door handle. His hand brushed against hers. On purpose, by accident. Marianne had no idea. His body was so close to hers that they could have been waltzing again. Her neck grew hot. She turned away out of fear that he would see how his presence affected her.
“I will help you if you will help me,” he promised, his breath ghosting against her ear.
“You don’t even have to ask,” Marianne replied.
“Good,” Anthony said. He clicked open the door and stepped aside. “First things first, however … We must survive my mother’s goodbyes.”
*
Outside, a horde of servants were preparing the coach like a swarm of worker bees. Miss Barclay was their angry queen, directing various footmen as they loaded the party’s travelling bags into the coach’s boot.
Marianne paused on the front steps of the manor, shielding her eyes from the sun. Anthony descended in front of her, quickly joining the fray. She still tingled from their interaction in the drawing room, unable to look at him for too long. She had already mentioned her lack of sleep the night prior. It would not have been a stretch to pretend to have a nap to avoid any awkwardness in the carriage.
Mr Plym would be joining them for their journey to Hagram Park. He was discussing something with the duchess by one of the gargoyles. Patrick waited on stand-by, turning suspiciously towards Miss Barclay as she barked orders at her platoon of footmen.
Approaching the duchess, Marianne’s breath hitched at the grief-stricken expression on the duchess’ face. Catherine spun on her heel and extended her arms. She hugged Marianne, knocking the breath out of her lungs and the thought of Anthony out of her head.
“My sweet, darling Marianne. I’m going to miss you more than I can say,” Catherine whined, stroking Marianne’s back. “I know you will only be gone for a week. It will feel like ten years until you are all returned to me.” She released Marianne, holding her by the shoulders. Her eyes were wet with tears.
“I wish you could come with us,” Marianne replied. “But I know that’s impossible.”
Catherine would still be in mourning for months. Attending a house party was out of the question. The rules for grieving had been very different in Marianne’s old life. Women didn’t isolate themselves for months on end—if anything, a death brought most communities together. Marianne hated leaving Catherine behind in all her black clothing, waiting by the window for their return.
“I still think you should have let Miss Barclay stay,” Marianne said, clutching the gloved hand on her shoulder. “There must be a maid at Hagram Park who could chaperone me.”
“Nonsense.” Catherine shook her head. “I have other maids to keep me company. And Frida is the only person in this world I trust to accompany you on this endeavour.”
“I shall try not to take that personally,” came Anthony’s voice from behind them.
