Page 15 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)
Chapter Thirteen
M arion was relieved that each day became a little easier as she acclimated to the routines and demands of being a duchess. The most mysterious aspect, though, was her husband himself. She could learn about selecting menus and what patterns matched others, but the Duke was a most complex puzzle.
She found herself observing him and watching his controlled demeanor as he went about his days, trying to decipher what made him tick.
He was a slave to work and nothing else.
He took great pains to avoid her most days and only engaged in shared meals and social events that required the presence of his wife .
He was truly living up to their marriage in image only, for the sake of preventing scandal—just as he’d said. At least he was true to his word and she could depend on that. Marion knew she should be grateful given the choices she had, yet she couldn’t help but want more.
One afternoon, while overseeing the ordering of spring linens with Mrs. Clarke, Marion ventured a question.
“Mrs. Clarke,” she began, her voice soft as her fingers traced the delicate embroidery on a pillowcase, “His Grace, well ye cannae deny that he carries such a burden. It is in his very eyes.”
“I suppose that is true,” she responded. “Most men of his station do.”
“It is just that… well, he seems so very stern, so responsible for everythin’ and everyone. Does he ever… relax? Read a book? Take a walk?”
“You are observant, Your Grace. You will do well in this place, I know it. His Grace is a good man, but he had to grow up quite quickly. Took on a man’s duties far earlier than most. It was after his parents passed, you see.
Had to see to everything with Lady Verity so young.
” She paused then and her gaze grew distant.
Swiftly, she shook her head, the produced the next linen sample to review.
“What do ye mean by that, Mrs. Clarke? I daenae mean to pry. I just want to understand. I could ask Verity, but…”
“Best not to dwell on past sorrows, especially in a house where new beginnings are so desperately needed.”
She gave Marion a warm, almost conspiratorial look and offered no more explanations. Mr. Lewis entered then.
“Are you finished selecting the linens, Your Grace? I have received word that the order should be placed today,” he said.
“Yes, indeed,” Marion sighed. “Let us go with the green pattern.”
“A wise choice,” Mrs. Clarke said as Mr. Lewis took the samples and exited the room.
Marion pressed no further on the matter of the Duke, and the meager details Mrs. Clarke had shared. Yet, she felt the hint of a deeper, untold story lingering in her mind. There was a puzzle piece she couldn’t quite fit into the formidable image of the Duke.
And she would seek it out.
A few days later, Marion accompanied Verity to a small, charming bookshop in the center of London that she had not been to before. Marion browsed a collection of illustrated botanical prints for her quarters. Her fingers traced the delicate etchings of orchids and ferns.
Verity, as if on cue, struck up a lively conversation with the bookseller. Her voice was animated as they discussed the merits of various novels which had become all the rage.
“Oh, Mr. Hawthorne,” Verity practically chirped. Her green eyes sparkled as she beamed at a captive audience. “You simply must tell me. Does the hero finally declare his undying love in chapter seventeen, or does he remain tragically brooding until the very last page?”
“Lady Verity, for a true romantic, the brooding is half the pleasure, wouldn’t you agree?” Mr. Hawthorne laughed.
Marion listened idly to their conversation and had moved on from botanical prints to reference tomes, where she overheard a nearby conversation in the next aisle. She could tell there were two ladies even though they kept their voices hushed while discussing a newly arrived scandal sheet.
These people are in a bookstore, and they are readin’ that rubbish? What is wrong with these English lasses?
“Did you hear the latest?” one whispered. “That poor Miss Albright. Ruined, absolutely ruined! And all because of a rogue’s promises and a clandestine assignation with a local clergyman!”
Marion’s stomach clenched. The ton’s appetite for ruin was insatiable and she had no taste for it.
It made her long for the simplicity of Strathcairn and the rolling green hills of Scotland as well as the misty mountains that surrounded her home.
Her heart hummed with a bit of hope. Perhaps, after they’d finally escaped the focused attentions of the ton, they would be able to visit.
A few streets away, Anselm had his own meeting.
He stepped into a private room in a quiet London club.
The air was thick with the familiar scents of aged leather and pipe smoke.
It brought back memories: visiting this very place with his father, long before illness had stolen the man’s mind and strength.
Anselm pushed the memory aside and focused on the task at hand.
He crossed the room and greeted the man he had come to see: a sharp-eyed Bow Street Runner, dressed in plain clothes. Anselm knew him through political circles. He was renowned for his discretion.
And tonight, that was exactly what Anselm required.
“Daniels.”
“Your Grace,” Daniels nodded while offering no further pleasantries.
“I have a delicate matter, Daniels,” Anselm began. “And I think you are just the man to help me untangle it.”
He recounted the threatening notes Marion had received in Strathcairn, omitting the specifics of the wedding day drama as they seemed irrelevant to his search. He preferred Daniels to have only the facts, so that details wouldn’t color his perception.
“These notes were quite unsettling for my wife. Delivered to her before she arrived in London. Luckily, there has been no contact since she has been in my household.”
“Understood, what of it now then?”
“I want this threat removed. Permanently, discreetly, and as quickly as possible,” he said as he inconspicuously pushed a heavy purse across the table.
The leather sagged under the weight of gold.
“This is for your silence and swift action. And for any expenses you might incur. It should be more than worth your trouble.”
Daniels weighed the purse as a faint smile played on his lips before he shook his head.
“Understood, Your Grace. Such threats require immediate attention, and I can understand wanting certainty. A lady’s peace of mind is the key to a happy marriage…
or so I am told. Never did find a lady willing to put up with the likes of me.
” He paused, considering the facts he had learned and piecing them together.
“Perhaps a trip to Strathcairn would yield answers? I always say the simplest answer is usually the right one.”
Anselm shook his head. “Too much time. The source of these notes must be connected to the man Marion was meant to marry, Lord Gilton. I want you to investigate him.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Tail him. Find out about his habits and associates. Any lovers, any enemies. Whoever this vengeful mistress is, she’ll be wherever Gilton is. And he is bound to return to London eventually. He wouldn’t miss the Season for long. Not with his proclivities, which I am sure you have heard of.”
Daniels nodded and his expression turned grim. “It will be done discretely, Your Grace. I will return with a report as soon as I have something concrete. Rest assured, I am quite adept at uncovering hidden truths. I will leave no stone unturned.”
Daniels rose then, bowed, and slipped out of the room as silently as he’d entered. The drink he had ordered for appearances remained untouched.
Anselm grabbed the drink and drained it as he watched the man go and a steely resolve settled over him.
He was determined to handle this situation and protect Marion from unseen danger without burdening her with details. She did not need to know the depths of the ugliness he was willing to uncover or the sheer depravity of some men.
While he was nowhere close to what his wife deserved, that wouldn’t prevent him from protecting her. It was his duty, after all.
Yet a part of him knew that his need to protect the Duchess was more than mere duty.
But this was not the time to come face to face with such a notion.
Not yet at all.