Page 37 of Destined to be a Duchess
“What happens if you select someone who is not suitable?” Marianne asked, selfishly imagining what it would be like for him if he selected someone like her.
“I …” Anthony shrugged, taking his time searching for an answer. “I am not sure. I had never considered that I would marry someone not qualified for the role of duchess. If I did select someone else … Yes, I’m afraid I do not know what would happen.”
“Because I think …” Marianne took a deep breath, not intending to make him uncomfortable. “Well, I think that everyone should try to marry a person they genuinely like. You should be able to consolidate what is required from you and what you desire for yourself … I shall try and do that in my own life,” she added nervously.
Anthony nodded, putting on a nonchalant air that made Marianne smile. “What do you have in mind for yourself?”
“Money and power, of course,” she joked. “In an ideal world, I would marry someone kind who understands my situation. On a practical level, I would like him to be well-connected, or at least for him to provide me with a platform I can use to get my life started.”
“Your new altruistic goals … My mother mentioned them to me. I find it commendable that you should want to put your newfound privilege to good use.”
He genuinely seemed to mean that. Marianne wondered what charitable endeavours Anthony pursued in his own time—or if that, too, was justtalk.
“These goals aren’t merely things Iwantto achieve. Imustachieve them.” Marianne thought back to her life in Lambeth, to the nearby rookeries. “I would be a hypocrite if I did anything else but dedicate this new life to helping others. I can’t pretendto have not seen the problems around us. I’m not sure where I will start, or how … if not by a marriage.”
“There are some women in London—and an even greater number on the Continent—who lead more independent lives. But more often than not, they have come into their wealth by tragic means. Widows, spinsters, others who are not accepted by theton.
They pursue knowledge and politics like you wish to do. It is not always an easy life for them. I think you’re right,” he said, though it seemed like he wished it wasn’t true. “A good marriage will make it much easier for you in the long run.”
Marianne leaned forward, looking at him closely. “How can you be so hopeful about my own prospects while being certain thatyoumust marry for duty?”
“I am merely being realistic. There was a greater chance of forging something organically before my father’s passing when I had more time,” Anthony murmured, turning towards the bank overflowing with Hindborough guests.
“Achieving a perfect balance under the current circumstances seems impossible. I need only look at other aspects of my life as evidence to the point. I had hoped to continue painting when I returned to England, but I’ve yet to complete a sketch, let alone start work on a canvas.”
“What?” Marianne was certain he was lying. “But you spend so much time locked away in your painting studio …”
Anthony smiled, his eyes alighting with mischief. “I do not necessarily retreat there to paint. I told you, I enjoy the quiet. On the Continent, I could lock myself away for hours without being distracted. Since I’ve returned to England, someone always wants something.”
A breeze swept over the lake, gently rocking the boat. Water lapped rhythmically against the sides. Marianne fell quiet for a moment, listening, thinking. She surveyed the hull, pausing on Anthony’s jacket cast over one of the seats.
“Did you bring your sketchpad with you?” she asked.
Anthony followed her gaze to his jacket and nodded.
Marianne glanced around them. The closest boat was so far away she could barely make out the faces of its passengers. It stood to reason that no one could see them either. She smiled at the thought, clapping her hands together.
“Sketch something now,” she said. “We have nothing else to do. I’ll be quiet, and I promise I won’t distract you.” She squinted over the water, looking for potential subjects. “You could drawthe lake or the guests over there. Or …” An idea came to her. “Or if you wanted to sketch a portrait, I could serve as your model.”
He arched a brow, but his lips were curling into another smile. “You wouldn’t feel uncomfortable? Modelling is not exactly a proper pastime for a gentlewoman.”
“I thought ladies sat for portraits all the time.” Marianne dismissed his concerns with a wave. “I am used to holding a pose for a while. You’ll recall it was just my mother and me at the shop. I spent a great many hours positioned for my mother while she measured gowns on me. You should be like Mr Crofter and make up for lost time.”
The comparison appeared to light a fire under Anthony. He growled and reached for his jacket, extracting a small sketchpad and a roll of leather from the inside pocket. He splayed the wrap out on the bench in front of him. Marianne leaned forward, examining his collection of graphite pencils. A small knife occupied one of the loops, and Anthony pried it free to begin sharpening his instrument of choice.
Shavings collected on the surface of the water. Anthony returned to Marianne, placing the blade back into his case. With his pencil in hand, he rose into a stand. She grabbed the edge of the boat. Her stomach flipped as they rocked side to side. By the time she had her wits about her again, Anthony had crouched directly in front of her.
“Take off that bonnet,” he ordered, gazing up at her and making Marianne’s heart skip a beat. His eyes were narrowed in concentration. “And position yourself …” He angled his shoulders to the side, twisting his body. Marianne followed his instructions. “Yes, like that. You’re perfect …” He raised his brows in alarm. “Perfectly positioned, I mean.”
Nodding, Marianne forced a neutral expression, ignoring how giddy she felt. She watched Anthony out of the corner of her eye. He returned to the boat’s stern, placing his pencil between his teeth while he found a comfortable position. She almost wished she had the skill to sketch him right back. She didn’t want to forget this moment—the excitement in his eye, the passion that roared within him.
I hope he is like this forever, she thought, knowing all the while that it was nottheywho would have forever together.
Because even though she had suggested that he could marry a woman who had not been bred to become a duchess—a woman like her—she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Anthony Colline would ever actually look at her as a real prospect for marriage.
“Stop frowning,” he said, tilting his head to the side in observation. “You must think only happy thoughts while I sketch you, or the drawing will be miserable, too.”
She intensified her scowl. “Is that a real artistic concept or something you’ve come up with just to torment me?”
