Page 2 of Destined to be a Duchess
She had never thought the day would come when she might actually end up there herself.
“You’re a clever girl, Marianne.” Sarah nodded at her, a warning look in her eye. “I’ve tutored all sorts of young ladies. And notone of them has been as bright and brave as you. Now, you know I’d never let you go homeless or starve. You’ll always have a home with me here …”
Hope bloomed in Marianne’s chest until Sarah’s hands came down hard on hers, where they clutched the cup of water.
“So go to Norfolk and meet this bloody duchess. Figure out what Anne was hiding.” It was not a suggestion but an order. “You will never forgive yourself if you don’t …”
*
Frowning, Marianne peered out the window that Friday morning, looking down at the busy cobbled street outside. People strolled by either on errands or on walks. Without fail, every passerby stopped to ogle the lavish carriage parked in front ofBuller’s Stitch.
A vehicle like that was a rare site in Lambeth town. The sun beat off the carriage’s roof, gleaming like a swathe of black satin. A footman appeared beneath the doorway outside, carrying Marianne’s hope chest. He had been up and down the stairs for the last thirty minutes, transporting her effects when he wasn’t helping her pack.
The driver shouted something at the footman before returning to his team of white horses. Another woman lingered by the shop’s entrance, inspecting the beds of her nails. The group hadarrived in Lambeth an hour ago, at the exact time and date that the Duchess of Westden had said they would in her letter.
Everything about that morning felt unreal. Marianne hadn’t planned to leave London in her wildest dreams. Women like her didn’t rub shoulders with peers and certainly didn’t flounce around their manor houses. She had expected to feel excited, or afraid, or perhaps some mix of both, upon the carriage’s arrival. But it was hard to feel much of anything with everything changing so quickly.
Marianne’s eyes were unfocused for only a second, and she was momentarily startled by her reflection. It might as well have been Anne’s ghost looking back at her. Marianne’s dark blonde hair was the same shade her mother’s had been, currently worn loose around a face gaunter than she remembered.
Everything about Marianne looked ghostly pale in the glass—except for her green eyes, which had been nothing like the dark brown eyes of her mother. The origin of their colour had always been a mystery to her, having probably been inherited from her wastrel father.
The less that was thought about him, the better.
Distracted by her reflection, Marianne failed to notice the footman slip back inside the house. He rapped on the door behind her, causing Marianne to swivel in her window seat. Her heart clenched at the sight of their empty apartment. Everythingnot bolted down had been sold or packed into Marianne’s travelling trunks, which Sarah and her son had helped with.
Dust floated in the streams of sunlight falling in through the windows. Despite the wallpaper peeling at the corners and the vinegary, fishy smell rising from the Thames nearby, Marianne would miss Lambeth and their shop. This was her life, every familiar, stale inch of it.
“Are we ready to depart, Miss Buller?” the footman asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. It was a warm summer’s day. “The driver expects us to arrive in Norwich before dark, given that we leave within the hour.”
She drew in a fortifying breath and folded the duchess’ letter. “Yes, of course. I’ll be down in just a moment. Thank you,” she replied, relaxing once he disappeared again without a word. Left alone, she murmured, “I just need to say goodbye …”
Marianne reached into her pocket to retrieve her hair ribbon, quickly weaving her hair into a long braid down her back. She pinned it into a bun at the nape of her neck with her mother’s old silver hairpin. A teal butterfly decorated the top, rising proudly out of her chignon.
She then picked up the key to the apartment door and stroked it with a doleful smile. The key clinked against the wall as she hung it on the hook beside the door. Her coat had been strewnover a nearby counter, and Marianne swept it over her shoulders before taking one long final look at her mother’s apartment.
“Goodbye,” she whispered at the empty room, raising her hand lamely in a wave.
The narrow staircase groaned under her weight as she rushed downstairs. She couldn’t bring herself to look into the now-empty shop as she arrived in the lobby. Men hired by the landlord had come earlier that week to clear out the shop floor, taking the remaining wares to auction. They had fetched a decent price—just enough to cover a few months’ rent somewhere else in case the duchess’ invitation turned out to be a dead end.
Pushing open the front door, Marianne exitedBuller’s Stitchfor good. Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the light before someone appeared before her. It was the woman she had seen waiting by the driver. Given how she was dressed, Marianne guessed she was an attendant employed by the duchess.
“I take it that you’re Miss Buller?” the woman said, inspecting Marianne from head to toe shrewdly. Her pinched face was framed on either side by ringlets of chestnut-coloured hair. She looked to be in her thirties, at least ten years older than Marianne. “We’ve been waiting for you. I’m glad to see that you agreed to join us.”
Marianne nodded, ignoring the woman’s disapproving tone. She wasn’t in the mood for a fight. She jolted as the footman locked the boot of the carriage. “You’ll have to forgive me. Until you arrived, I wasn’t convinced you were going to show up at all.” She peered into the empty carriage. “Is all this for me? Will we be travelling alone?”
The woman furrowed her brow, stepping aside as the driver came around to open the door for Marianne. “You’re more than welcome to hop atop the nearest coach if you’d prefer some company.” She laughed at her own joke. “Mr Plym will be driving us today. I shall be seated with you inside.”
With a flick of her wrist, she gestured to Marianne inside the carriage like a disobedient dog. “My name is Miss Frida Barclay. I have been tasked by Her Grace to ensure that your trip is as comfortable as possible. Now, shall we?”
Ducking into the carriage, Marianne paused long enough to gaze lovingly at the brick face of her old home. The wrought iron sign denotingBuller’s Stitchswayed gently in the breeze, waving back at her.
This could be a good thing,Marianne thought, forcing down her rising anxiety,so long as I play my cards right. I must know what secrets my mother was hiding. The duchess alone holds the key to the past and perhaps the future.
Chapter 2
When asked, Miss Barclay estimated it would take six hours to reach Moorhaven Manor. For the first four hours of their trip, the woman barely said a word to Marianne. She had plowed through half a novel during that time, completely expressionless while she read. Marianne had tried to read the name on the spine, albeit in vain.
The title had been written in what she guessed was French. Marianne had a decent grip on the English language—her mother had encouraged her to read as much as was possible, even though their library counted a grand total of five books—but French was out of the question.
