Page 45 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Thirty-Six

“ W ill Her Grace be joining you this morning for breakfast, Your Grace?” Mrs. Clarke asked as she looked around at the empty table.

“No, I do not believe so,” Anselm said as he finished his coffee. “Please be sure to leave the breakfast buffet out for her to come down when she would like.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mrs. Clarke said with a raised eyebrow. “And what of Lady Verity? Shall we be expecting her as well at a later hour?”

“I have no indication of that,” Anselm said as he set down his cup. “That will be all, Mrs. Clarke.”

Anselm sat at the head of the long, mahogany table as Mrs. Clarke left him alone with his thoughts, which were most unwelcome company.

The usual clatter of crockery and conversation were absent, replaced by the unrelenting tick of the grandfather clock in the hall and the distant sounds of household staff.

Anselm knew they were talking about him and the quiet turmoil that had enveloped his household.

He picked at his breakfast. The food was tasteless in his mouth so he finally pushed it away.

This distance is for the best. This coldness is a necessary shield.

Yet, the quiet gnawed at him. He felt a hollow ache where Marion’s presence, her quiet smiles, her insightful comments, used to be at the opposite end of the table. For the first time in months, the house felt truly empty. He was empty.

He poured himself into his work and fencing in the mornings as the days bled into a week. The three of them lived under the same roof yet existed in separate worlds.

Marion always seemed to know when Anselm was in a particular room, and she would subtly alter her path to avoid him. She spent most of her time in her studio, a place where Anselm could not find reason to intrude. Somehow, their paths never crossed in the hallways, at meals or in the gardens.

The silence between them grew like rain clouds: heavy, dark, and suffocating.

“Marion? Are you there? It is Verity.”

Marion had been sitting by her window, lost in yet another journal entry as she sought to make sense of her life. Much as she craved conversation with Verity, after all they had both gone through, she could not bring herself to get up from the chaise on which she sat.

“Marion, please,” Verity pressed. “I know I was angry. And I… I was wrong to lash out at you. I so desperately would like to speak with you, and I am sorry for being so cross. Please, open the door…”

After a moment of hesitation, Marion set down her journal and walked to the door. She opened it a crack, revealing her tear-streaked face to Verity.

“Oh, Marion! What is going on, my dear?” Verity gasped, pushing the door open fully and pulling Marion into a tight hug. “I am so sorry for any pain I may have caused you! I was terribly horrid to you. Can you ever forgive me?”

Marion clung to her, burying her face in Verity’s shoulder. She breathed deep, taking in the sweet vanilla scent she associated with her. It was a welcome sensation after so much heartache.

“No, Verity, I was wrong. I should have told ye what was goin’ on, even if I was actin’ in yer best interest. I shouldnae kept it from ye. Ye deserve more than that.” Marion’s voice was muffled by her tears, yet she managed to speak her peace.

Verity pulled back and held Marion at arm’s length.

“No, my dear. I do understand why you did it. Anselm can be… formidable and persistent. And I was so caught up in my own pride that I could not see straight. Please, let us forget it.”

“I would like that,” Marion said as Verity squeezed her hands tight.

“We are friends first. Always.”

“Always,” Marion replied as a shaky smile touched her lips. “Well, let us not stand here all day.”

Marion pulled Verity further into the room and gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I know it is not just me that has caused you such grief. Please, tell me what has happened in my absence,” Verity said softly.

“I fear I daenae ken where to begin,” Marion said.

“Start wherever you like,” Verity said with a smile. “I have all day, and you have my full attention.”

And so, Marion began. She was slow and tentative at first. Yet, the more she spoke, the more the words came out like a flowing waterfall.

She started by telling Verity about Gilton’s true nature. She detailed how the threats came from him, how he was the man in the alley that night, and all about her uncle and aunt’s betrayal. Verity listened and her face grew paler with each revelation.

“I knew something was not entirely sane about that man.”

“I ken…I ken…”

“Oh goodness, I can tell by the expression on your face. Is there more that has happened? Are you unwell?”

“Aye… it is yer brother…”

Verity was downright furious and outraged by Anselm’s cold pronouncements.

“He said what to you?” she demanded, her green eyes blazing hot. “He told you to… to go back to Scotland? That your marriage was merely a convenience?” She leapt to her feet and paced the room like a caged lioness.

“I dinnae realize this would make ye so upset, but there is more to it. He is very?—”

“He is very much a fool! This cannot be! After everything you two have become over these weeks…I have seen you with my own two eyes. And after he almost lost you in the park… he said such cruel things?”

“I think he believes he is protectin’ me somehow,” Marion whispered as she let her gaze go distant while looking at the curtains blowing in the breeze by the window. “Protecting us both from… entanglement. From the vulnerability that comes with real intimacy. I daenae think he can handle it.”

“Vulnerability be damned!” Verity snapped, her fists clenching into fists in the duvet. “He is surely a fool! And a coward, if he cannot face his own feelings!” She stopped and fixed her eyes on the door. “This is unacceptable. I will not stand for it.”

Before Marion could stop her, Verity marched out of the room. Her footsteps echoed with purpose as her heels connected with the marble. Marion knew exactly where she was going.

Anselm had been absorbed in his work when a resounding boom came from the entrance to his study. He looked up to see the door had been slammed open, connecting with the wall behind it.

“Verity,” he said flatly, unwilling to give credence to her thunderous entrance. “I trust you are here to apologize for your recent outburst. If so, I am all ears,” he said as he closed his ledger and looked up at her.

“Apologize? To you!” Verity scoffed, striding towards his desk, her hands on her hips. “I am here to demand answers from you, Anselm! What did you say to Marion last night? What is this nonsense about her returning to Scotland?”

Anselm’s jaw clenched as he set his hands down onto his desk in tight fists. He was not prepared for this line of questioning, evident by the perspiration at his brow.

“That, my dear sister, is a private matter between my wife and myself. It does not concern you and I would appreciate you to focus on your own matters.”

“It concerns me when you break her heart!” Verity snapped, her voice rising. “And when you speak of her as if she is merely a… a temporary fixture! She is your wife, Anselm! And I know it if you do not see what is plain in front of you…she loves you!”

Anselm rose slowly then. He walked to the door and shut it to close them in. This conversation was not for the ears of passersby, and certainly not for Marion.

She… loves me? He thought. No, this is Verity’s creative mind running away with her. My life is not a novel, and my marriage is not her business. I will see things are made simple, and right.

“You cannot meddle in my marriage, Verity!” Anselm said, his eyes narrowing. “You have no understanding of the complexities involved.”

“Complexities?” Verity cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Is it complex to admit you care for someone? To admit you were terrified when she was in danger? I saw you with her, Anselm, all this time! You cannot lie to me about this, even if you are somehow able to deceive yourself. You are in lo?—”

“My concern for the Duchess’s safety is a matter of duty, Verity! Nothing more. And I will not have you confusing sentiment with reality any longer.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Anselm snapped as he pointed a finger at her, which may as well have been a rapier.

“You would do well to focus on your own future. You must find a respectable lord to marry, one who can offer you the stability you require. And you may, of course, agree with your husband to continue your writing, if he permits it. It will not be of my concern then.”

Verity stared at him for moments that felt like hours before speaking.

“Is that what this is about, Anselm?

You are afraid, are you not? The big, strong Duke is afraid to feel anything that might make you… vulnerable .”

Anselm’s composure finally cracked as fire clouded his vision. His eyes flashed with a dangerous anger, turning from sparking green to dark forests.

“That is enough, Verity! You are overstepping your bounds! Leave my study. Now. My words are final, and I will not speak of this matter again. You must heed me, sister. You are treading on thin ice.”

Verity recoiled, pacing backwards toward the door.

“Fine!” she snapped, her voice trembling in a way that was most unlike her. “But I cannot leave without saying that you are a fool, Anselm! A blind, stubborn fool!”

She turned on her heel and stormed out. The door slammed shut behind her with a thud that echoed through the silent house.

Anselm paced over to his brandy decanter and poured himself a glass of amber liquid to still his nerves. He took a deep sip and walked to the window, staring out at a couple on the street below. They were walking arm in arm, without a care in the world.

“Fools,” he said, as he threw back the last of his drink.