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Chapter Twenty-Seven

“ H ow is Elizabeth?” Marianne asked, her voice gentle but firm.

She needed answers. One missed weekend was understandable. Two missed weekends felt like something else entirely.

The second day of the sisters’ visit was quieter, more subdued. Marianne had resolved to take control this time—no more whispered games or secret meetings that kept them apart. As the eldest, it was her place to steer things, to bring some order amid the uncertainty.

When her twin sisters busied themselves with inspecting the toys and books she had brought, she’d found a moment alone with Wilhelmina in the drawing room.

Wilhelmina hesitated, her brow furrowed.

“It’s not so much what Elizabeth is doing or not doing.

Father’s been pressuring her… hard. He keeps saying it’s her third Season and still, no engagement.

‘If a spinster like your sister can find a duke,’ he told her, ‘then so can you’.

” Her voice was low, a mix of frustration and sorrow.

“But no suitor has made any serious calls.”

“That’s awful,” Marianne muttered, feeling a sharp sting of guilt. “It’s not Elizabeth’s fault. She’s beautiful. More than that, she has a good heart. Matches aren’t just about appearances. There has to be something else. A connection, or?—”

“A business arrangement?” Wilhelmina interrupted, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Marianne scoffed softly. “I suppose so. That’s what the thing is between me and the Duke. But it’s not easy to find someone as… stable as His Grace.”

“His Grace?” Wilhelmina raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you call him by his name now?”

Marianne shrugged, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“It’s complicated. I still can’t quite believe I’m a duchess.

He was born into the title—his father’s only heir.

And ours isn’t a love match either…” she trailed off, unsure how to explain the strange mix of duty and distance that defined her marriage.

Wilhelmina’s expression softened with sympathy. “No matter what Victoria says, His Grace seems like a good man. Just… sullen, maybe. But from what we saw yesterday?—”

“Oh, so you noticed?”

“Yes. The way he looked at the portrait… So sad. You should try to comfort him,” Wilhelmina teased, nudging her lightly.

Marianne let out a small laugh, but the truth lingered between them. “It’s not that simple. As I said, ours is not a love match. I expected worse, honestly. But somehow… he’s not a bad man. Just difficult to understand.”

The room fell silent. They shared a quiet sigh, their eyes drifting to the twins, who were engrossed in their game of chess or whatever version of it they had invented.

Marianne felt a pang of envy for their innocence. How quickly life had forced her to grow up. She’d been thrust into a marriage she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I’ll do what I can to help Lizzie.”

Wilhelmina’s eyes lit up with cautious hope. “You will?”

Marianne felt a sharp pang of regret for the word she’d chosen. “I’ll try.”

And she knew, as she looked at her sister’s eager face, that sometimes trying was not quite enough.

Marianne knocked lightly on the door to Dominic’s study. Lately, he’d taken to closing it, shutting himself away from the world—and, it seemed, from her.

“Dominic?” she called softly.

“Come in,” came the gruff reply, muffled by the wood but tinged with something else. A weariness, or perhaps defeat.

She pushed the door open just enough to slip inside and moved toward his desk. The door stayed slightly ajar, a thin barrier between them and the rest of Oakmere Hall.

When Dominic glanced up, he raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Marianne said formally, forcing calm into her voice.

He narrowed his eyes, searching her expression as if trying to unmask her motives. She met his gaze steadily, refusing to falter. He no longer had the right to doubt her intentions.

“All right,” he sighed, the tension leaving him in a small exhale. “What is it you want?”

For a fleeting moment, she missed the warmth behind his old pet name for her— little doe . The memory tugged at her chest.

But this was no time for reminiscing. She swallowed her pride and met his gaze head-on.

“I want to go to London.” She lifted her chin, daring him to refuse.

He had been distant these past weeks; perhaps now was the moment to ask permission.

Permission. The word tasted bitter. Being a woman was never simple.

“And what will you do in London?” he asked coolly, assessing her as though seeing her anew.

“I need to see Elizabeth.” She paused, biting back the urge to blame their father outright. “Our father has taken her to our London townhouse. She hasn’t been here with the others for two weekends. The pressure of the Season is getting to her.”

Dominic frowned. “Why not just send a letter? Say all you want and ask your questions. She can reply. That should be enough.”

Marianne pressed her lips into a thin line. Letters could never replace the certainty of seeing her sister with her own eyes. His suggestion felt cold, a refusal to understand.

“I appreciate your point, but I would rather see her myself. I won’t be gone long. You won’t even notice I’m away.”

He straightened, the faintest edge of irritation sharpening his voice. “You may go to London.”

“Oh! Thank you, Your Grace,” she blurted, the formality slipping despite herself. Permission felt like a favor asked by a child. “I can travel with my sisters and return alone, or wait until the next weekend to come back with them and their governess.”

He shook his head. “No, that won’t do. And what’s with the title? Do you see anyone else here?”

That formal distance had been her shield against his coldness. But now, it felt hollow.

“I’m just not comfortable with it,” she admitted, glancing down. “You do not need to worry. I won’t speak of what’s truly happening here.”

His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, his voice low and firm. “And what is going on here?”

“That our marriage is merely a business arrangement.” She met his gaze squarely. “A fashionable arrangement, it seems.”

His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Dear Marianne, we have a deal. I doubt you want me to send you back to your father.”

Her jaw clenched, suspicion creeping in. Perhaps he was more like her father than she had initially thought. Her silence answered his question. Yet, instead of triumph, something else—something fleeting and unreadable—flashed in his eyes.

“Silence? Is that all you have for me, little doe?” His smirk was reminiscent of their first meeting, sharp and maddening. “Well, I have business in London anyway. I will be going with you.”

“There’s no need to chaperone me,” she protested. “I won’t do anything to tarnish your honor.”

“I’m not chaperoning you. You’re my wife, and it’s my duty.”

“Ah. So, should I be grateful? Is this about protecting me? Physically? Or from gossip?” she teased, bold despite herself.

“That wasn’t what I meant.” His tone turned slightly mocking, but she suspected the words weren’t meant for her. “It’s a break from your menagerie. I can’t wait to tell my friends I’m running a zoo at Oakmere Hall.”

She met his gaze defiantly. “I am bringing Serafina.”

He groaned. “What for? To discourage me from going?”

“Serafina is my cat. I won’t leave her behind.”

“Then why not bring Perseus?” he pressed, pushing back from the desk, exasperated.

“Because he’s a goat,” she said with a smirk, almost like Victoria. “That would be harder to explain.”

Dominic let out a deep groan of surrender. “Fine. You may bring Serafina.”

“Thank you. If you’re going to force yourself along, I should at least have a companion.”

“I’m not your chaperone; I’m your husband. Serafina’s your cat—maybe a child or a toy, but not a companion.”

“Thank you for clarifying, Dominic.” Her grin widened, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

She moved to leave but then paused at the door.

“Why is the west wing closed? Are there monsters hiding there we should watch for?”

His eyes flashed with anger. Then, with a sigh, he turned away, refusing to answer.

She offered one last, quiet olive branch. “You know… if you ever need a listening ear, I’m here. You might be surprised by how much I can understand.”

Dominic said nothing, burying himself in his ledger, the ink stains and crumpled papers betraying his otherwise precise nature.

Marianne left the study, her mission done. The thought of hours in the carriage with her husband stirred a strange, unwelcome thrill inside her.

She would never view that carriage the same way again.