Page 3

Chapter Three

“ K eep us safe from harm,” Marianne murmured, unsure to whom the words were addressed—God, fate, or perhaps no one at all.

She rarely attended the gatherings held at Grisham Manor, and when she did, she kept to the periphery, draped in cool detachment. But today was different.

Today had the weight of consequence. Today might decide everything.

The servants had scrubbed the manor from top to bottom in anticipation until the air itself carried the mingled scents of polished wood and crushed lavender.

It was meant to impress, to soothe. Yet neither scent brought her comfort.

Not today. Even the sunlight filtering through the curtains seemed duller, muted, as though it, too, sensed the tension coiling in her chest.

The drawing room was full, thick with soft laughter and whispered remarks hidden behind fans. Marianne knew, with the practiced awareness of someone often watched and often judged, that their whispers were for her. But that was hardly new.

Outside, the gentlemen had already departed—galloping into the woods in pursuit of a stag, fancying themselves hunters and heroes.

In truth, they were nothing of the kind.

Dressed in their tailored coats and gleaming boots, they resembled dandies playing a sport, their measure taken not by courage, but by coin and how skillfully they could shoot something defenseless.

The women, it seemed, were no different. Their smiles were sharp, and their eyes gleamed with quiet cruelty. They appraised her as one might a rival mare at auction—seeking flaw, gauging worth. They knew she would not stoop to defend herself, and so they took pleasure in making silent jabs.

Marianne stood near the hearth, her hands folded loosely before her. She kept her gaze level, her features schooled into a mask of polite indifference. She would not give them the satisfaction of unease. But beneath the surface, her thoughts churned, and her heart kept an uneasy rhythm.

“Lady Marianne,” Lady Adelaide Vaughn began in a suspiciously sweet tone.

Marianne tensed, knowing that the woman more likely had something nasty planned.

“You must be delighted that Lord Grisham had decided to host a stag hunt. We all know that these hunts can draw out eligible bachelors, and today proves that right.”

“Delighted? I suppose it depends on the woman, Lady Adelaide. Women who enjoy stag hunts are those who can bear watching innocent creatures being chased and shot for sport.”

The silence was sharp enough to cut.

Marianne could almost feel the shock ripple through the other gathered ladies—the very ones who had made it their business to surround her, despite her clear desire to remain apart. The air shifted subtly, the way it often did just before the claws came out.

Then came the laughter—bright, brittle, and far too loud for the moment. It rang out not with amusement, but with the practiced cruelty of women who knew how to wound with a glance, a whisper, or the slight arch of an eyebrow.

She didn’t need to hear what was said. She knew. She always knew.

“Oh, so that is how you are spinning the story?” cooed Miss Lily Farwell, her eyes glittering with mischief. “So admirable! So true to yourself.”

“Despite everything,” Lady Adelaide murmured.

“Despite what?” Marianne could not help but ask, even though she had long vowed not to be affected by anything these women said, managing to keep herself as cold and calm as the winters in the Grisham estate.

“Well, I don’t know how it’s not apparent to you,” Lady Adelaide replied, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Despite your, uh, advanced age and your current status in the marriage mart. It is ever so gracious that you’ve decided to see it for what it is and retreated from the game to give other young women a chance. ”

There it was.

These young women were not her friends. Their words, laced with what might sound like praise to the untrained ear, were little more than veiled barbs—cleverly disguised ridicule masked as civility.

But what they failed to understand, what they would never see beneath her composed exterior, was that Marianne had already endured far worse than their petty games.

After a lifetime of enduring her father’s cold gaze and harsher tongue, there was little left that could truly wound her. She had been hardened, not by Society but by something far more ruthless—his relentless expectations, his sharp silences, his quiet fury.

They could sneer all they liked; she had survived a battlefield far grimmer than theirs.

“Some of us prefer to wait—or not at all. Not everyone is willing to dive headfirst into mediocrity for the sake of marriage,” Marianne said with a small smile that did not reach her eyes.

The ladies froze again. Marianne almost laughed. Almost. But then they resumed their chatter, though now it carried a forced, brittle edge. The sound reminded her of the fragile loyalty these women clung to, built on appearances and disdain.

An awkward silence followed. Then, one by one, they drifted away, leaving her with nothing but the lingering trace of their perfumes—more bitter than sweet, laced with contempt.

Child’s play.

She exhaled, relieved that their petty performance had ended. They thought they could make her flinch, but they had never faced Lord Grisham’s razor-sharp scorn. If she cared about their approval—or marriage—it might have worked.

But she didn’t.

All that mattered was shielding her sisters from their father’s cruelty. Words couldn’t touch her now; she knew far worse existed in the world. And Elizabeth…

Elizabeth might come face-to-face with one of those horrors after today’s stag hunt.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her sister. Elizabeth sat near the window, her fingers curled into the hem of her gown, twisting it until her knuckles turned white. The same women who had just targeted Marianne were now circling her sister.

“Poor dear,” Lady Adelaide said with feigned concern she did not even attempt to hide. “It must be a burden to carry your family’s expectations. Marrying first? Ah.”

Elizabeth did not comment, but she was visibly distressed. She chewed on her lower lip as she continued staring off into seeming nothingness.

“Your elder sister seemed to have chosen a life of solitude,” Miss Lily added while smirking at Marianne.

“You will have to take her place—do what she cannot. But… well, I don’t know.

Shyness does not attract suitors, darling.

Bolder girls might be more prepared to seize an opportunity.

If not for the stag hunt, do you think anyone would show you some interest? ”

That was enough.

Marianne was already moving across the room.

“Is there a problem?” she asked in a clipped voice. It was low enough, but not too low that it sounded like the other women’s pretentious cadences.

“Oh, no,” Lady Adelaide quickly replied. “We were merely commenting on how lovely Lady Elizabeth looks today.”

Marianne turned to her sister. With her honey-blonde hair—so like their mother’s—soft hazel eyes, and gentle demeanor, Elizabeth was the image of a perfect lady. She had a figure that so many gentlemen prized: slender yet sweetly curved.

And yet Marianne heard what the other women’s veiled remarks implied—that without the stag hunt, Elizabeth might never attract a suitor.

The worst part? They might be right.

Not because Elizabeth lacked beauty, but because she was quiet. A wallflower. Too soft-spoken to draw attention in a room full of practiced charm and shrill laughter.

Right now, her shoulders were hunched, and her eyes were wide with unease, as though she were already bracing for something to go wrong.

“She is beautiful,” Marianne declared firmly. “Unlike some, she does not hurt other women to reach her goals. She is beautiful not only today because she does not parade herself like a peacock, as some young women are wont to do.”

It was the second time that day that Marianne had silenced a gaggle of ill-mannered young ladies.

They offered Elizabeth a few hurried curtsies before retreating, their dignity trailing behind them.

“Thank you, Marianne,” Elizabeth whispered. “There are moments when I wish to speak, truly. But my voice fails me. It’s as though the words catch in my throat.”

“Some people have quiet courage. We don’t always have to speak,” Marianne reassured her, touching her arm gently. “You’ll find the right moment for your courage to spring out. Not all battles are worth fighting.”

“Oh—oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Marianne looked down to see Serafina, her grey tabby, twining around Elizabeth’s ankles as if to comfort her.

“Serafina,” Elizabeth cooed softly, bending to pet her.

The cat sauntered toward Marianne, rubbing against her skirt, taking away some of the heaviness in her chest.

“I wish I could be like Serafina,” Elizabeth murmured fondly. “She’s beautiful, but also unafraid.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think you’d want to be like her,” Marianne said with a wry smile. “She’s spoiled, demanding, and entirely too pleased with herself. In short—utterly delightful. You’re like that, dearest. Only with far worse manners.”

“It makes me think. Why do the men have to hunt?” Elizabeth asked. “Why must they chase an innocent animal to catch and kill it?”

“You know precisely why,” Marianne replied, her tone edged with bitterness. “Because they can. These diversions feed some illusion of power. It’s all in their heads, of course—but frightening, nonetheless, how easily the men of the ton are raised to believe that the world was made to indulge them.”

Suddenly, she heard a discreet cough behind her. Turning around, she saw one of the young maids, Helena, standing only a few feet away.

“My lady, my apologies for interrupting your conversation,” Helena began breathlessly, as if she had been running. “B-But we cannot find Lady Victoria.”

“What?” Marianne asked, bewildered.

“Someone saw her slip out the side gate. She might be headed for the woods—perhaps to see the hunt up close.”

Oh no.

God help Victoria.

Not only might she land herself in all manner of trouble attempting to spy on a hunt—where men rode armed and mounted—but if, by some miracle, she survived the ordeal, their father would surely see to it that she never stepped foot beyond the threshold again.

Marianne could hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears.

“Did anyone else see her sneak out?”

“No, my lady. Just Maria. Then, she told me, and I thought you should know first.”

“You did the right thing, Helena,” she murmured, even though she could barely breathe now. “Thank you.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Stay here. If Father asks where I’ve gone, tell him that I had a headache and had to get some fresh air.”

“Y-You’ll find her?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide.

“I’ll bring her back. I promise,” Marianne said, before slipping out of the house and hiking up her skirts slightly to gain some speed.

She hurried through the least-used passages until she reached the same side door her sister had used to recklessly sneak out.

The woods felt darker today, more expansive, as panic set in. The trees loomed like silent conspirators, their limbs bending toward one another as if in counsel. The leaves, still wet with morning dew, clung to her skirts and hair.

It would have been easier, faster, to call out Victoria’s name, but Marianne dared not raise her voice. Not with the risk of their father hearing.

No. She would not give him any reason to bring his cane down upon Victoria. The child had run off without permission, and quite possibly into the very paths his esteemed guests now rode through with their rifles.

If not Victoria, then someone else would be punished in her stead. Lord Grisham’s retribution did not always strike the one who erred—it struck where it pleased him.

Marianne’s boots squelched against the damp earth, but she spared no thought for mud-soaked hems or soiled leather. That was a worry for another time.

Right now, she had to find her sister.

“Where are you, foolish child?” she muttered, her voice low and tight, every syllable laced with a frustration she barely contained.

She ran further into the woods. Somehow, she’d either wandered off course, or the forest had conspired to hold its breath.

There was no birdsong, no rustling of creatures, no thundering hooves or the distant bellow of male laughter. All the sounds she should have heard were gone.

Her chest ached. She stopped to listen, swallowing against a throat grown tight with anxiety. She was exhausted, not just from the exertion but from everything this cursed day had thrown at her.

She’d known the stag hunt was a mistake, but she hadn’t imagined Victoria would become part of its chaos. She should have. The girl was always chasing trouble. And yet Marianne had only worried for Elizabeth this morning.

Then, a twig snapped to her right.

She spun toward the sound, breath caught. But it was only a deer startled by her presence. It darted deeper into the underbrush, its white tail flashing briefly between the trees.

She hesitated, then followed. She wasn’t sure why. Instinct prickled along her spine, a warning she could neither ignore nor explain.

And then, quite suddenly, the woods opened up.

A clearing.

The quiet deepened there. It wasn’t just muffled—it was unnatural. Even her breath seemed hesitant to disturb the hush. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, loud against the stillness.

Movement caught her eye.

There, just ahead, stood a man—tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly composed. His posture was precise, his stance balanced, the rifle in his hands steady and sure. He looked as though he’d been born with it.

This was no idle sportsman. This man knew what it meant to wield a weapon. He knew what it meant to wield power.

Marianne followed the line of his aim. A stag.

It stood at the edge of the clearing, its antlers spread like a crown, its form noble and unmoving. Its wide, unblinking eyes met hers for one brief instant.

Did it know? Could it sense its place as prey?

The man didn’t move much, but she saw his fingers, how they curled just slightly around the trigger. He was ready.

Marianne didn’t think. There was no time for hesitation or calculation, no time to weigh the consequences. Her body acted before her mind could catch up.

She ran.

“Stop!” she shouted, throwing herself between the rifle and the stag, her arms flung wide, her skirts tangling about her legs as she flung her entire self into the line of fire.