Page 61 of Destined to be a Duchess
His gaze fell to Marianne’s hand, twisting the beaded strap of her reticule. Catherine’s words resonated in his mind. She had not objected to a match between them, yet she had the same fears as Anthony about Marianne’s potential reaction to a proposal.
Foxbury’s presence did little to help Anthony continue seeing things rationally. He had been courteous enough during their trip, having travelled with them in the carriage before departing for his own manor in Mayfair—a stone’s throw from Colline House. Anthony had felt the earl’s presence weighing on him as he had navigated London.
As though he had summoned Foxbury with his thoughts, he turned to find him approaching them, crossing the courtyard with a determined gait.
“Good morning,” Foxbury said to Marianne, bowing slightly for Anthony. “I trust you slept well, Marianne. Not as well as you might have slept with us on Grosvenor Square, but one understands arrangements were already made for you with His Grace.”
“There will be time for me to visit your home later,” Marianne said placatingly. “And I am looking forward to it. It shall be my first time staying somewhere my father once lived.”
“Of course,” Foxbury replied, nodding. He turned to Anthony. “Will you be seeing us inside, Your Grace? Your presence could not harm the chances of a happy verdict.”
“There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Anthony replied, looking directly at Marianne. Foxbury brought out the worst in him, making him jealous and petulant. “We are to be called in at eleven o’clock, so perhaps we might ...”
The words ended in a strangled mess. Anthony froze as his eyes fixed on a familiar figure. He stopped breathing as though every breath hastened his acceptance of the truth. There could be no denying what he had seen.
The Marquess of Hindborough stood at the doors to Westminster Hall.
He was accompanied by another gentleman, dressed like a judge of the courts, speaking and laughing with him like two friends reuniting. Anthony felt sick to his stomach at the sight. There was no rational explanation for Warren’s presence in London. The houses were not yet in session. Only a handful of London-based lords were seeing Anthony that afternoon. Nothingorganic would have brought him down from Norfolk. Warren was here for a reason.
Marianne must have seen what he did. She sidled up beside him, her voice tinged with fear. “What is he doing here?” she asked. “Did he know we were coming?”
“He must have,” Anthony muttered, unable to blink, let alone think.
And when he did start thinking again, his thoughts turned to the worst. Had Warren come to attend Anthony’s summons? Or had he come to intervene with Marianne’s hearing?
Anthony yanked his pocket watch free. Only fifteen minutes remained until they were needed inside. He looked miserably towards Marianne, but she already knew what needed to be done.
“I don’t want to abandon you now, in your hour of need,” he said, forgetting all about Foxbury, about the sea of lords and judges around them. “I wanted to aid you in this.”
“You can help me more by speaking with the marquess and figuring out why he’s here,” she replied, imbuing him with confidence. “Gideon will be with me. I’ll be fine. We will meet again at the house if you do not return before then.”
With a nod, Anthony stepped back. If he looked at Marianne, he would stay. His heart broke more with every step he took in Warren’s direction, burning with anger as his face came into view.
The marquess noticed Anthony on the bottom step, looking down at him with devilish satisfaction. He whispered something to the judge, who entered Westminster Hall, leaving Anthony and Warren alone.
“My dear boy,” Warren exclaimed, taking the steps eagerly. “What the deuce has brought you here this morning? I had no idea you had left Moorhaven.”
Anthony could hear the lie in his voice now that he knew to be on the lookout for it.
“Is that so?” He smiled mirthlessly, putting on his own performance. The mere sight of Warren repulsed him. “Then what a tremendous coincidence this is. Let me present the question to you first.Whyare you here?”
Warren smirked, letting his facade fall. “I wondered how long it would take you to reveal your true colours to me—like with my daughter. But perhaps these are things better discussed elsewhere. Come with me to the houses. We will speak in the peers’ rooms.”
*
It felt like walking into a trap. Probably because itwasa trap. Anthony stared at the face of his watch as the minutes ticked well past eleven. Marianne would now be before the Lord Chancellor, with only Gideon to advise her. Anthony would make Warren pay for forcing him to abandon her, growing more convinced by the second that it had been his plan all along.
The peers’ lounge room in the House of Lords was mercifully quiet. They were alone for now, with some lords taking lunch in the dining room beside them. The benefit of coming to London during the off-season. Yet even that had not stopped Warren from tracking Anthony down.
“Who told you we would be here?” Anthony asked, tucking his watch back into his trouser pocket. “I have to assume you did not land in London through any natural means.”
“Are we to speak so candidly so soon?” Warren frowned, slurping his coffee. “Edward was much more tactful in matters of business. Like many of his qualities, you have failed to inherit his fluency in diplomacy.”
“What use is there in trading barbs when we both know why you are here?” Anthony ground his teeth. “I have other places I should be at present.”
“Besides the bastard in court, yes ...” Warren shrugged. “Another lapse in judgement. What is it about Nicholas’ spawn that you find so intriguing? For she cannot be worth sacrificing your good name and standing. Green as you are, can you even comprehend the generational labour that has made you what you are?”
Again, with his obsession with tradition. Anthony’s heart fell into his stomach. There was nothing traditional about Warren’s good friend De Laurier. Where was the tradition, the honour, in stealing and lying from one’s friends? In making deals with a devil wearing physician’s clothes?
