Page 2 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke

Elizabeth quickly obeyed, her whole body recoiling.

“Perhaps,” Wilhelmina, her sixteen-year-old sister, muttered, brushing something invisible from her sleeve, “if you weren’t such a joy to be around, we would not have to entertain ourselves by throwing inkwells at nasty tutors.”

Silence fell—dead, heavy, and complete. For Marianne, it felt absolute, as if the world itself had stopped breathing. Her heart pounded in her throat, fierce and insistent, yet it made no sound—only a rhythm echoing in the stillness.

Her father turned around. Slowly. “W-What did you say?” he bit out.

Marianne saw Wilhelmina swallow, but the girl kept her chin up.

“You heard what I said, Father,” she replied, quietly but defiantly.

“Say. It. Again,” Lord Grisham grunted, each word punctuated by the cane thudding on the floor.

“If you weren’t so tyrannical, you would not have had to deal with this. Have you ever wonderedwhythe girls behave a certain way?” Wilhelmina’s voice was louder, more confident this time. Her back was straighter, too.

Stop it, Mina,Marianne thought, her throat going dry.

Lord Grisham tightened his grip on his cane, fury etched on his face, which was now so red that she thought he’d erupt.

“You insolent wretch! Is that how you speak to your father?” he yelled.

Marianne saw all her sisters freeze, while their father raised his shoulders, his cane going above his head.

Marianne knew where he was aiming. So, she threw herself between him and Wilhelmina, her arms outstretched.

“No! Stop this!” she panted.

The cane stopped, hovering over her. The tip was so close to her face that she could see the specks of dust and dirt clinging to it.

“Ah, here comes the martyr.” Her father let out a sardonic chuckle. “Get out of my way, Marianne,” he growled.

“No,” she replied, even though her voice threatened to wobble.

“My dear martyr. No matter how righteous you think you are, you are not going to stop me from disciplining your sister!”

“You are not disciplining her. You are harming her,” Marianne retorted.

“Ha! You think you are better than me, don’t you?”

“I never thought or said I’m better than anyone.”

“Still a little liar, aren’t you?” he sneered. “You always think you’re the hero. One day, you’ll see your foolishness when your sisters are nothing butfailures.”

His face twisted into a grotesque expression. He had become the nightmare of their home, instead of their protector.

“And you, Marianne? You are the biggest failure of them all,” he continued.

His words cut hard and deep. Even though Marianne had braced herself for the things he spouted out of his mouth, they always hurt. Always.

Still, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

So, she remained still, using every ounce of self-control she had not to flinch. That was the advantage of knowing him, his tantrums—she was able to prepare herself.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

Thankfully.

The butler stepped into the room. He looked pale and significantly apologetic. Sweat glistened on his brow, his fingers twitching slightly, almost imperceptibly, yet Marianne had caught it.