Page 32 of Destined to be a Duchess
“You’re cleverer than that, Marianne. It’s all an act,” Patrick said, scowling. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “There are two sides to Anthony Colline. Up until now you had only met one of them. You should count your lucky stars. He is by far the better Anthony.”
“And the other?”
“The other—the man you see laughing at whatever mindless thing Hindborough just said to him—that is the shadow of Anthony.” Patrick cocked his head to the side like his meaning was obvious.
“Every man has a shadow. It is the culmination of every familial pressure, societal expectation, question, or doubt that has passed through him. Like a mask that must be worn to protect him from further danger, he adorns it when he feels the least comfortable.
It is the shadow that laughs at jokes out of politeness. Or lies because it’s easier than explaining himself. Or swears that hetakes no issue with the fact that his motherobviouslyloves his two older brothers more than she loves him.”
Her smile fell immediately. Marianne parted her lips to comfort Patrick, but he warned her away with a wag of his finger. She chose not to press him further. Instead, she looked around the room, hoping she would see more examples to illustrate Patrick’s theory.
But she didn’t see shadows. Only strangers.
Patrick smiled. “Pay no heed to them, Marianne. In fact, I would recommend you ignore almost everything people say or do while you are here.”
Marianne wanted to say something equally cryptic or enlightening. She could only manage: “You’re odd tonight.”
This caused Patrick to laugh, and she laughed as well.
“But I beg you to keep talking,” she continued, feeling the energy in the room shift as the final guest entered. “I won’t survive this dinner without more of your rambling.”
The Marquess of Hindborough proceeded to ring a gong once all the diners had been seated for the evening. Marianne settled in her high-backed chair, placing her napkin over her lap.The dining hall settled into relative silence as the marquess remained standing.
He gave a brief speech about the planned events of the party that year, thanking the seventy or so guests who had come for their participation. He mentioned his wife, who was on a long sojourn abroad …
Patrick elbowed her in the ribs. “Separated,” he mouthed.
“More importantly,” Lord Hindborough continued, his glass raised in a toast, “I would like us to spend this next week thinking of tradition and the place it holds in all our lives. It has been my honour to host this party every year, as it was my father’s honour before me.
Some believe that progress is only achieved through the rejection of tradition and that moving forward can only be obtained by destroying what already exists. The trend in art—which, as you all know, is my great passion—has been to respect history, preserve it, and allow it to influence us. I would like to think that this represents a larger shift, already present in the minds of those who shape our fair country.”
He raised his glass higher. As if on command, every other guest raised theirs, too—with Marianne a beat behind.
Suddenly, her gaze met Anthony’s for the first time since they had sat down. His innocent look was like a bullet through thechest. His face looked different than it had not moments prior—lighter, younger. The shadow had been lifted from over his features in the second of connection they were allowed before the marquess started speaking again. Anthony looked up at Lord Hindborough, and his eyes darkened again.
“I would not toast to the future but to the past.” Lord Hindborough paused for a second, eyes drifting around the table. He paused on Marianne. “May old friendships be strengthened while you are all here. May what once lay forgotten rise once again to the surface …”
Murmured “cheers” passed around the room. Marianne glanced up again, expecting to find Anthony toasting the marquess or the man’s daughter. Instead, he had turned back to Marianne, tilting his glass in her direction from all those metres away. She toasted back at him, ignoring the trill of her delighted little heart as he smiled wide.
The wine was light and fruity on her tongue as she drank in a private toast to herself, to Anthony, and their separate new beginnings.
*
Smoke billowed from Anthony’s mouth, dissipating into the night air above him. He tapped the end of his cheroot on the balcony's iron railing, swallowing the ashy taste in his mouth.His eyes were fixed on the orange glow at the end of the thin cigar, crackling and flickering as the fire smouldered within.
“Such perfect, contained destruction,” he mused, angling his head back towards the stars overhead.
“I’ve heard of men finding wisdom at the bottom of a bottle,” a voice came from behind him. “But from the end of one ofthose…? How very novel.”
He smiled at the sound of her voice, glancing over his shoulder. Marianne was leaning against the open balcony door, her cheeks rosy from the hot, humid air inside. Music filtered from the ballroom behind them—a piece from Paine’s first set titled “L’Été”,The Summer.
“Aren’t you supposed to be dancing?” he said teasingly, stepping aside to allow her to join him on the small balcony. “I left you in the care of Patrick. He should know better than to allow you out of his sight.”
“Are you worried I’ll do something to embarrass you when left to my own devices, Your Grace?” Marianne approached slowly, then settled against the railing. She stared over the grounds. “Patrick disappeared once the last dance came to an end. I thought I’d take my chances and try to find you. Who knows what I might have stumbled into if I had gone after him instead.”
Anthony wasn’t sure what she meant. And frankly, he didn’t want to find out. He lifted the cheroot to his lips, then hesitated. It wasn’t gentlemanly to smoke in front of a lady. He had only come out to avoid having to dance a second time with Eliana.
“I shall look away if I’m making you uncomfortable,” Marianne teased, covering her eyes with her hands. “But do tell me—do you usually smoke?”
