Page 21 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Seventeen

“ H ave you read it yet?” A young lady asked her friend as Marion perused the offerings at a new clothing boutique in the heart of London.

“Not yet!” her friend whispered back, though not nearly quiet enough to escape Marion’s notice. “But I must get my hands on it. I hardly slept last night thinking about it.”

“I finished it just this morning,” the first girl declared, practically glowing. “It’s utterly scandalous—but in the best way. I brought it in my carriage; I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.”

Marion couldn’t help but tilt her head subtly. Her curiosity was piqued despite herself.

“I heard the author is anonymous,” the second girl said in a conspiratorial hush. “Well, she uses a pseudonym, but no one knows who she really is.”

“Eliza Jane Bennet,” the first one sighed, savoring the name like forbidden fruit. “Isn’t that delicious? And The Highland Holiday , oh, you’ve never read anything so thrilling. Highlanders and romance and danger…”

Marion’s breath caught as the name of the title hit her like a gust of icy wind.

She barely registered the shopkeeper chiming in from behind the counter, gushing about how everyone was talking about it, or the sudden hush that fell when they realized she was standing nearby.

Marion had already turned away because her pulse thundered in her ears. Without a word, she strode from the shop and lifted her skirts as she hurried toward her waiting carriage.

Eliza Jane Bennet.

She could scarcely breathe the name.

Her fingers trembled as she rapped the carriage door.

“Home,” she ordered. Her voice grew tight as the footman rushed to obey.

She didn’t dare look back.

Verity!

In the quiet sanctuary of Marion’s bedchamber, she saw the novel lying on her dressing table with a ribbon around it.

A single note was written at the bottom.

For Marion, I could not have done it without you.

Verity entered without knocking. Her eyes shone with pride as she rushed to her friend. They embraced tightly.

“Verity, it’s magnificent, truly. When I was at the new boutique today, it was all anyone could talk about! I cannae wait to start reading it.”

“I’m so excited, but it’s a little overwhelming. It’s not like I can just blurt out that it’s me, can I?” She clasped her hands nervously. “How do I tell the world I am Eliza Jane Bennet?”

“Well, I feel privileged to know the secret.”

“I heard Lady Willis herself declared it the most scandalous work she’s read in years. But Marion, you must promise me: not a word to Anselm. He’d never allow it if he knew. He’d ship me off to a convent.”

“Me lips are sealed,” Marion promised..

“Thank you, Marion. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And I daenae ken what I’d do without ye, me friend. At least we daenae have to think about that.” Marion gave her one last, warm hug.

Anselm displayed masterful control whenever The Highland Holiday was mentioned, which was a frequent occurrence.

Each time, he responded with a deliberate nonchalance: a slight nod, a deft change of topic, or a wry comment on the triviality of such gossip-filled novels.

Behind his composed facade, he took a quiet, almost private satisfaction in the way Verity would bite back a smile or laugh softly, betraying her amusement despite herself.

If she truly understood how much I knew…

One evening at dinner, Verity brought up the book again and her voice was light while her eyes glinted with mischief.

“It’s the talk of the ton , Anselm. Surely, you’ve heard the whispers?”

He maintained his impassive mask, delicately cutting into his asparagus. “A mere diversion for the fairer sex, I imagine,” he said evenly, his tone carrying an edge of dry condescension.

Marion exchanged a glance with Verity. The shared amusement was barely concealed behind their polite smiles.

Verity leaned in, teasing. “You’re quite cutting, brother. How does Marion tolerate such a curmudgeon?”

Marion’s lips twitched with a smile. “It’s a tryin’ task, but I do me best,” she replied as her eyes flicked briefly to Anselm’s.

For a moment, Anselm’s guarded expression softened and a hint of warmth touched his eyes.

“A fiery spirit, that Highland lass,” he admitted quietly. “I hear there’s a character in The Highland Holiday with bright blue eyes and dark chocolate hair. Curious coincidence, don’t you think?”

Verity rose gracefully, composing herself with the poise of a woman well used to navigating such delicate moments.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to,” she said in a calm voice.

A few days later, under a cloudless blue sky, the trio attended a garden party at the sprawling estate of the Duke of Richmond.

The air was heavy with the scent of roses and freshly cut grass as only a blissful spring day can provide. The sounds of tinkling teacups and the conversations were pleasant against the soft quartet that played under a tent.

“Have you read The Highland Holiday ?” a giggling young lady asked another while fanning herself vigorously. “The hero is so frightfully brooding, and the heroine… so utterly spirited! One can only dream of such a passionate affair!”

“I hope I can find a Highlander myself one day!” Her friend said back, giggling as she devoured a petit four .

Verity was wearing a simple, light pink gown, which matched her complexion as she beamed, taking in the conversation.

Marion watched how animated she was, chatting freely with a small group of admirers.

Surprisingly, it was mostly younger gentlemen drawn to her vivacious spirit as they gathered around her.

Marion walked over, as Anselm was involved in a business conversation that bored her, listening from the periphery.

“Lady Verity,” one young lord started, a hopeful glint in his eye. “Do-do-do you find such grand romantic gestures believable? A duke, riding across the country for his love?”

Verity merely smiled politely and raised her eyebrow.

“I imagine a true heart, Lord Roughton, knows no bounds.”

“Have you known such love?” A young girl asked.

“Well, it is aspirational but love such as that is rare. So, statistically speaking, no.”

Marion walked away then to enjoy a quiet moment turning about the grounds when an old friend caught her eye. The sight brought a smile to her face that pushed her forward in a rush to meet her.

“Catriona! And Yer Grace,” she exclaimed. Her face lit up as she embraced her dear friend. “Oh, sweet Lydia! And the twins! Ye are all here!”

Marion noted that Catriona was radiant. Motherhood looked quite good on her. It had not been long since her own nuptials.

Catriona held one swaddled infant, Sarah, while Lydia held Elizabeth. They were both sleeping soundly and peacefully as only babies can be.

“Marion, darlin’!” Catriona squeezed her. “It is so good to see ye! And how are ye doin’ with the duties of bein’ a duchess? I swear, it is more exhaustin’ than a full day’s huntin’, which ye ken I would prefer. I ken ye would too!”

“Especially when you have to carry these little bundles everywhere,” Richard chuckled as he gently kissed the top of Elizabeth’s head.

“Marion, I hear there’s a new novel causing quite a stir,” Lydia said as she smiled at her. “A Scottish romance…”

“Yes, I may have heard of such a book,” Marion answered with a winked and grinned back at her.

“Do you know where I may get a copy?”

“Just focus on Elizabeth, for now,” Richard ordered as he shook his head. “There will be time enough for such things when the babies are grown.”

Suddenly, a ripple went through the crowd and a hushed silence filled the yard.

Heads turned to see what the cause of the commotion was. Marion watched Lord Mansfield, a notorious rake, stumble backward, nearly toppling a vase of peonies. She brought her hands to her face to stifle her laughter, which quickly evaporated when she saw the reason for the disturbance.

Lord Gilton.

He slithered confidently through the parting guests like a snake in the grass.

He was impeccably dressed in crimson, which felt a bit out of place at a garden party and despite the fineness of the clothing.

He had a faint, almost sickening smile gracing his lips as his eyes landed right on her.

He walked with a determined gait in her direction, paying no mind to the frozen glances he left in his wake.

Marion felt a cold dread creep up her spine and her breath caught in her throat.

Aye, I have dreaded this moment, much as I ken it would come…

Just as Gilton reached her, Anselm, seemingly out of nowhere, was by Marion’s side. She felt his presence surround her like a wall. She felt safe. His hand instinctively settled on the small of her back. It served as a grounding weight that sent a sense of calm flooding through her.

“Ah, Your Graces! I wanted to personally extend my sincerest congratulations on your nuptials. A most expeditious and unexpected union.” He took her hand and planted a cool kiss on it.

Anselm’s body tightened in response, which Marion could feel in every fiber of her being. She simply nodded.

“One must admit, seeing you both now, you are remarkably well-matched. A truly handsome couple,” he said as he extended a hand to Anselm then. “Truly.”

“Indeed,” Anselm answered cooly.

With a slight bow, Gilton inclined his head again towards Marion. “Your Grace, you are simply flourishing. London clearly agrees with you, perhaps more than the Highlands.”

“Lord Gilton,” Anselm stated as he reached out to shake his hand out of obligation. “A pleasant surprise.”

Marion managed another stiff nod as words finally came to her.

“Lord Gilton,” she said softly. Her voice was tight and barely above a whisper. “Thank ye for yer kind words.”

The weight of Anselm’s hand on her back was her only anchor to reality as all that she had endured barreled through her mind in rapid fire.

The notes…thank heavens I dinnae marry him…

“Indeed,” Gilton replied, his eyes lingering on Marion’s face.

Anselm’s grip on Marion’s back tightened and she arched into it.

“Well, I shall not monopolize your time further. Enjoy the festivities.”

With that, he turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving a shadow in his wake.

Anselm’s hand lingered on Marion’s back, a feeling she savored. The warmth of his palm was palpable even through her dress. It was a welcome comfort after the sight of Gilton, which brought back the trauma that had led her to Anselm.

She assumed he would pull away, yet he just stood there. Marion felt her heart thrumming against her ribs as she turned to face him.

Then, as if snapping out of a trance, Anselm’s hand lifted, and he looked around the party as if he had forgotten something.

“We should circulate, Marion,” he said, his voice clipped. “There are others we must greet.”

“Of course.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Marion alone as she looked around for Verity or Catriona. She was in desperate need of company and distraction from all men.

Finally, she saw they were seated at a table enjoying refreshments. As she walked toward them, she found herself placing her hand on the small of her back and soaking in the residual warmth left by her husband’s touch.

When will I feel that touch again? She wondered, as the familiar longing filled her and she looked over at him across the lawn.