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Chapter Thirty-Six

I nside the Grisham townhouse, a quieter trouble was brewing. It combined with a searing melancholy that had already been in the family for decades.

“We’ve already tucked the twins in,” Elizabeth informed Marianne as she smoothed the folds of her dress. “They, as you saw, were very restless. Daphne was distraught on your behalf, and Victoria was angry.”

The fire in the hearth was dwindling, poorly illuminating the parlor. It didn’t matter. It was already late, and soon, they would have no need for light.

Marianne was seated on a velvet settee. She was trained to behave a certain way. So, her back was ramrod-straight. She seemed serene, but her mind was anything but. Elizabeth and Wilhelmina sat on either side of her.

“Victoria may have eavesdropped, but even if she hadn’t, they would still have sensed the tension.

For some reason, children are good at that.

Then, they absorb everything within themselves.

Some of them even keep the things they heard inside for years,” Wilhelmina explained, sounding more serious than she’d ever been.

Her brow was furrowed, making the sixteen-year-old look more mature. Sadder.

“Thank you both. I came here for some comfort. Father might not be able to give it to me, or even offer protection, but the two of you are here,” Marianne mused. “I don’t regret coming here, even though Father would still?—”

“Choose any man over us,” Elizabeth finished for her.

The three young women smiled at each other. It was a sad smile, but still a sign of their sisterhood. Their peace did not last long, however.

A not-so-distant sound interrupted their moment. They could hear a carriage trundling toward the townhouse. Their smiles faded into scowls. Tight lips. Furrowed brows. Heavier breathing.

“Father’s home,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice full of apprehension.

“Both of you should go to your chambers. He’d expect that you two are asleep already, anyway,” Marianne advised, rising and smoothing the skirt of her dress.

“We want to stay with you, Marianne. Isn’t that understandable, too? Sisters miss each other and simply want to spend more time together,” Wilhelmina reasoned.

“Please, girls,” Marianne urged gently. “I can handle Father, especially now that I am a duchess.”

It was true. Somehow, she had gained a title that made her seem better than she used to be. It wouldn’t make him pleasant to her, but at least he would think twice about his words and actions around her from now on.

Elizabeth and Wilhelmina acquiesced. As they ascended the staircase, they kept glancing back over their shoulders.

Marianne soon returned to the parlor. There were some things still left unsaid. She wanted her father to at least care about what could happen to their family if they continued their partnership with Linpool.

As expected, the front door to the parlor creaked open. Footsteps followed. It sounded like someone was dragging their feet, by the uneven thuds.

Sure enough, Lord Grisham entered with an unsteady gait that had Marianne worried he would fall on his face in the middle of the room. Then, it registered—the scent of alcohol. It was strong and completely explained the way he was walking. His eyes were glassy.

It didn’t look like she’d be able to pull anything from him. Apology. Understanding. Even when the man was sober, he didn’t seem capable of those.

“Marianne,” he slurred, a faint grin spreading across his face. It was the best expression his father had ever directed at her, but it was done when he was this drunk. “I didn’t expect you would still be here.”

“Of course, I’d still be here, Father. We didn’t get to talk properly. You let Linpool rot your brain with his lies and charm,” she said, trying to remain composed.

“Always so proper—or pretending to be proper,” he rasped as he stumbled forward, reaching out to grasp her arm. It was tight—a squeeze—and it aggravated her bruise from the accident. “Just like your mother.”

His voice had softened, revealing some deep regret. But it was only for a brief moment, and his face suddenly darkened again. As if recognizing who he was holding onto, he glared at her.

“Father, perhaps you should rest,” Marianne soothed, even though her arm throbbed in his grip.

She tried to pull away as gently as possible, but the drunk, older man was inexplicably strong.

Lord Grisham’s grip on her tightened for a moment. Then, the pressure eased right before he swayed and collapsed on the floor. He was immediately unconscious.

Marianne knelt beside him, checking his pulse. He was alive but inebriated.She summoned some servants to help her carry him to his bedchambers, and they helped put him in his bed.

“Thank you,” she told the maid. “You may all retire for the night. I am so sorry I had to summon you this late. I will try to monitor his condition myself.”

The maid hesitated, glancing at the snoring Marquess. “Are you certain, Your Grace?”

“I am. Goodnight.”

Once the servants returned to their rooms, Marianne headed back to the parlor. She didn’t feel like using her former bedchamber. It seemed more reasonable to settle onto the settee. After all, she felt like she was in some in-between place, trying to grapple with her feelings.

She was surprised that the fire was still crackling, although the light had not improved. So, no, there were no servants there rekindling it just before she returned. Not that it mattered. She wanted to get some rest.

But rest would not find her easily. Her thoughts immediately drifted back to Dominic.

Was it truly over? It didn’t even get the opportunity to begin. It was pure lust, the hunter finally conquering the hunted. Or was it?

Tears welled up in her eyes. She let herself cry, alone in the room with nobody to witness her pain. The evening felt heavy and suffocating, as if her whole world was crashing down around her.

She must have drifted off to sleep on the settee, but something jolted her awake. There was a sudden creak of the floorboards. It made her sit straight, her pounding heart bringing her fully to waking.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw a silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. It was Lord Linpool, and he wore the smuggest smile on his face.

“Did you think me an easy enemy, Duchess? Did you truly believe I’d be easy to get rid of?” he drawled as he eased off the doorframe he was leaning against.

Whenever Dominic leaned on the doorframe, it was a seduction. But when Linpool did it, it felt like a threat.

“What are you doing here?” Marianne asked, scrambling to her feet and assuming a defensive stance.

Linpool seemed to take it as an invitation to enter the room because he did. Shadows flitted across his sharp, slightly bony features. “Why? I’m visiting a friend.”

“You’re not welcome here,” she snapped, her body growing more rigid as he approached.

“Always so spirited, dear Marianne,” Linpool murmured, then chuckled.

She suspected that he was laughing at the fact that he didn’t need to show any respect for her title anymore. His mask was down, which made him even more dangerous.

She walked toward the fireplace, pressing a hand on the mantel for support, seeking what was left of the heat to keep the growing cold she felt inside at bay.

“Leave. Now!”

“Or what?” he asked mockingly, his eyes gleaming as they reflected the dying embers.

He approached her. Slowly. Teasingly.

“I’ll scream,” she warned, raising a hand with her palm facing outward.

“Very well. Try it, Duchess,” Linpool goaded.

There was something in his eyes that made her think that she shouldn’t. That she couldn’t .

Still, she wanted to try and escape the man who had quickly replaced her father as the main villain in her life. She darted to the bell pull in the corner of the room. Her hand reached it when he made a sound.

“Ah, ah.” He tutted. He lifted a hand and pointed at something outside the open door of the parlor.

Marianne might have been eager to pull at the hanging cord, but when she followed his finger, her blood ran cold. They could see the stairs from their position, and though it had grown darker than before, she could clearly see three men.

One held a matchbox, and the other two held bottles. She might not see what was written on them clearly, but she knew what they were. The acrid scent was enough to tell her that they were holding lamp oil.

“Scream or pull that cord,” Linpool said in a low but menacing voice. “Or run or even make sudden movements, and my men will pour the oil and strike a flame. Then, it wouldn’t just be you who would be hurt, Duchess.”

Marianne gasped. “You wouldn’t,” she said.

But she didn’t really know that. The man was turning out to be more vile than she had initially thought.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Linpool asked, his eyes still glittery. Wicked. “A part of you knows for certain that I would. You’ve humiliated me so many times, and I’ve been patient with you. I’ve been calm, hoping you’d find a way to save yourself by stepping away.”

Marianne could not believe what she was hearing. Was it her fault that he was a terrible man? A criminal?

“Why are you doing this? There are children in this house. My sisters…” she faltered, tears welling up unbidden at the thought of Daphne and Victoria sleeping peacefully upstairs.

“I know, Duchess,” Linpool interjected, still with that smile on his lips. The one she could not wait to wipe off but did not know how. “Why do you think I chose tonight? You are visiting. Your father is drunk.”

“You bastard!” she cried, her voice cracking, while her body trembled with fury. “You are insane.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” he argued. “I am merely determined. I know what I want and how to get it. Now, shall we leave this place and save your family?”

Linpool had a way of twisting the situation, but she knew better than to fight him. Her eyes wandered back to the staircase. The men stood there like puppets waiting for their master to turn the keys.