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Chapter Twenty-Eight

“ T hank you for coming with me, Marianne,” Elizabeth said as the two of them wandered through the garden.

Gentlemen played pall mall in the distance, and Dominic was among them, composed as ever while conversing with their father.

“It’s my pleasure, Lizzie. I’ve missed you,” Marianne replied truthfully.

There was little waiting for her at Oakmere Hall—only the lonely game of hide-and-seek with her husband.

No, not even that. It was just hiding now. She no longer had the energy to seek. She couldn’t imagine enduring Dominic in London either. He remembered his responsibilities only when it suited him.

“I know this isn’t a grand affair, just a garden party with tarts and lemonade, but it still frazzles my nerves,” Elizabeth confessed.

“It takes practice, love,” Marianne reassured her gently. “Eventually, you’ll realize that you’ve been among crowds so often that it no longer feels frightening.”

She studied her sister for a moment. It was astonishing that someone so lovely could doubt herself.

Elizabeth, with her spun-gold hair and enviable figure—slender and buxom—should have no shortage of suitors. Then again, perhaps their father’s looming presence warded them off. A man seeking peace wouldn’t want Lord Grisham as a father-in-law.

And then there was her own husband. Dominic had surprised her by choosing her over Elizabeth.

Why would a man like him choose someone who would fight back and complicate his life? And why willingly tether himself to Lord Grisham?

“What are you thinking about, Marianne?” Elizabeth asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, just feeling a little light-headed. I’ve been cooped up at the estate for so long that this sudden bustle is… a change. And look who’s headed our way.”

Elizabeth groaned under her breath.

Lady Adelaide Vaughn.

What could she possibly want now? Marianne was married—shouldn’t that make her boring and irrelevant to such women?

And right behind Lady Adelaide trailed Miss Lily Farwell.

Perfect. Not .

“We haven’t seen you in weeks, Your Grace!

” Lady Adelaide gushed. “We thought perhaps you were with child and too delicate to travel.” Her gaze skimmed over Marianne’s waist with faux concern.

“Well, you do look plump enough. Congratulations to you and the Duke!” she continued. “What do you think, Lily?”

Miss Farwell tittered as her eyes swept over Marianne. “It does look like it. Congratulations, Your Grace!” she squealed, clapping her hands together.

Those hens . No, hens were much more pleasant than those two. Even if Marianne were indeed pregnant, it would take at least three months for her to show!

“I’m sorry to disappoint you both, but I’m not with child,” she said evenly, her voice calm despite the temptation to snap.

She held herself in check with the knowledge that things could be worse if she let them.

“Oh. Why?” Lady Adelaide asked, widening her eyes in feigned sympathy. “Are you and the Duke… taking your time?”

“I believe that’s not something discussed in polite society,” Marianne replied smoothly.

“Will you tell us next time, then?” Miss Farwell asked with mock sweetness. “We are in desperate need of something to celebrate.”

“No engagements yet?” Marianne asked, her tone cool.

“No, I’m afraid. Much like your sister, Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Adelaide replied, letting her mask slip for just a moment.

“Well, she’s younger than you,” Marianne stated flatly.

She was learning from Dominic, it seemed—quietly poised, unreadable, untouchable.

“Weren’t you two-and-twenty, far beyond your third Season, when you married the Duke?” Miss Farwell then added with a too-sweet smile, “Your Grace.”

The belated honorific was deliberate, but Marianne couldn’t bring herself to care. They were still girls, no matter how grown they pretended to be—catty, petty, and likely deemed as such by the ton.

Still, this was Society. Titles and fortunes would eventually see them wed.

Marianne knew better than most. She had never tried to please, yet she had married.

Thankfully, Lady Adelaide and Miss Farwell made themselves scarce soon after.

“You know you’re better than them, right?” Elizabeth murmured beside her, so quietly that Marianne nearly jumped.

“Of course, my dear,” she said with a grin. “But promise me—no matter how desperate things seem, don’t ever behave like those two.”

“You think I would?” Elizabeth asked in mock outrage.

Ah, there she was—Lizzie, cheeky and warm. Marianne could see her sister starting to relax, her shoulders no longer stiff with tension. She’d noticed the admiring glances being sent Elizabeth’s way, but of course, her sister hadn’t.

As the sun began to set over Lord and Lady Denham’s estate, guests lingered. The garden remained lively, laughter carrying through the air, mingling with the clink of glasses and soft music.

Even Marianne felt herself relaxing. Despite their encounter with Lady Adelaide and Miss Farwell, her mood had brightened. The music pleased her for once, the ambiance even more so. Gas lamps and fireflies cast a gentle, golden light that transformed the garden into something almost magical.

She and Elizabeth made their way to the fountain, enjoying a rare moment of peace—away from their father, away from anyone who would demand something of them.

Marianne drew in a deep breath, the scent of roses filling her lungs. A butterfly fluttered past her, delicate and aimless. It reminded her of Oakmere Hall and its quiet grace.

She was fortunate, she reminded herself. Not every married woman had the freedom she did. She could make her own decisions. She did not have to fear Dominic, even though he fancied himself a hunter.

“You’re suddenly awfully quiet,” Elizabeth remarked, her gaze drifting to the dancers moving among the flower bushes. “You usually have so many questions when we’re together—or at least a sharp comment about someone.”

“I am a little tired,” Marianne admitted, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “Merely observing tonight. Oakmere Hall isn’t exactly teeming with excitement.”

“Oh. Are you bored there?” Elizabeth asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“No, no. It’s the closest I can get to nature without anyone commenting on my preferences. I have Serafina and Perseus. And the servants don’t frown when I ask for meatless meals. Cook even enjoys the challenge.”

Marianne’s smile faded slightly as she reflected on her easy life at Oakmere Hall—a life her sisters did not share under their father’s roof.

That was why she was here, wasn’t it? To see Elizabeth, anxious at the thought of going more than a fortnight without her.

“It’s a good thing I’m here to do the talking, then,” Elizabeth said, chuckling.

She was far from talkative, so the remark amused them both. She swayed lightly in her gown, and Marianne found herself quietly marveling at her sister’s poise.

Elizabeth always looked effortlessly graceful. Any man would be lucky to have her—if only their father would let her choose a suitor, rather than pushing her toward the next man with a title and fortune.

Marianne was about to comment when a smooth voice interrupted them, silken and rich with self-assurance. “Your Grace. Lady Elizabeth.”

The man’s charm radiated from the sound alone. He was, in short, the opposite of her husband, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Augustus Mullens, the Viscount Linpool, bowed with an exaggerated flourish.

Marianne nearly laughed. He was such a character, one she had finally identified through idle chatter and veiled curiosity.

“Lord Linpool,” she murmured politely. “How do you do?”

“I am perfectly well, thank you. Better now, in fact, surrounded by such beauty set against a spring garden. Tell me, what could be lovelier?”

She wasn’t used to being admired so openly. Her husband was… complicated. The Viscount, however, was generous with his attentions, letting his gaze linger on her and her sister with unapologetic admiration.

“Are you truly asking us that, my lord, or merely offering another charming line?” she asked, her smile unmistakably amused—and direct.

“Your Grace, your wit matches your beauty. That deserves my full attention,” Linpool replied, tossing his head in a way that sent a stray lock of hair neatly back into place.

Both sisters gaped at him, though for different reasons. Linpool, perhaps in his early forties, moved and spoke with the flair of a man half his age. Still, he managed to charm even Elizabeth, who typically avoided flirtations of any sort.

“You may have succeeded with my sister, my lord,” Elizabeth said, uncharacteristic mischief in her eyes. “It’s rare for any man to do so.”

“But the true test of my talents would be whether I can charm you as well, my lady. I do love a challenge,” Linpool declared, his grin widening as he leaned ever so slightly toward her.

Marianne’s eyes narrowed. Although she was pleased to see Elizabeth open up, she couldn’t ignore the undercurrent. Linpool’s ease, his unchecked boldness—it set off warning bells in her head.

She didn’t have time to voice her unease.

Dominic had arrived. Marianne hadn’t noticed his approach, but now he was at her side, his presence heavy and sharp.

He was always serious, but this was different. His posture was rigid, his jaw clenched. And then, shockingly, his arm slid around her waist.

She froze.

It wasn’t like him. Not here. Not in public. Certainly not with the ton watching. His possessive gesture, though technically appropriate for a husband, skirted the edges of impropriety.

He didn’t seem to care. His gaze landed on Linpool, cold and cutting.

“Linpool,” he greeted, his voice clipped. There was no mistaking his disdain.

The Viscount, however, didn’t blink. He executed a shallow bow, with none of the flourish he’d displayed to the ladies.

“Your Grace,” he returned. “Good of you to join us. I saw you conversing with Lord Grisham earlier. As for me, I was simply enjoying the company of your lovely wife. And her delightful sister.”