Page 46 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“ H is Grace requests your presence, Your Grace,” a footman announced as he entered Marion’s chambers after a quiet knock. “He informs me that you have been invited to Lady Aberton’s soirée this evening and has asked me to fetch Miss Beth to help you dress.”
Marion, still raw from the previous night, felt a fresh wave of hurt at the cool invitation. He was treating her as a mere obligation for social appearances, an adornment to be worn at a party.
“Please inform His Grace,” she replied, her voice carefully neutral, “that I am feelin’ rather… indisposed this evenin’. I regret I cannae attend and will remain in me quarters for the time bein’.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” the footman said with a bow as he departed without asking any further questions.
Marion knew it was a lie as she spoke it, but she could not face him. Not yet. Not after his cruel words and cool actions. She needed more time to think of what to say and do next.
Marion heard clamoring in the hallway, and she walked to her door. She placed an ear on the heavy wood to see if she could hear what was happening.
“Lady Verity,” the footman called from down the hall with a soft knock. “Your brother would like you to attend Lady Aberton’s soirée this evening as Her Grace is indisposed. He would like to see you ready and in the foyer within the hour… if that is acceptable.”
“Very well,” Verity said in response as she cracked open her door. “Seems I am unable to defy His Grace’s wishes, so I will not put up a fight. Please send up my maid to help me dress and I will be down within the hour.”
“Of course, my lady,” the footman said as Marion heard his footsteps pitter patter down the hall, and Verity’s door slam shut.
“Lovely weather we are having this evening,” Verity joked as they entered the carriage. Light rain poured around them as the sun had begun to set.
“Indeed,” Anselm said as he sat across from her, taking off his gloves and looking absently out the window.
The ride was stiff, marked by long, awkward silences. Luckily, it was not a far jaunt to Lady Aberton’s London estate, and they would soon be swept up in conversation with more willing partners.
The ballroom at Lady Aberton’s was a dazzling spectacle of light and music. Anyone with eyes could see that.
He moved through the crowd with Verity as a reluctant shadow at his side. He dutifully introduced her to a series of eligible, if unremarkable, lords and to her credit, she looked every bit the part of a beautiful lady. He could only hope that she would be amenable to his introductions.
“Lord Fairworks,” Anselm announced, presenting a young man with a receding hairline and a nervous cough. “My sister, the Lady Verity. Lord Fairworks is known for his keen interest in…what was it again? The breeding of prize-winning cattle or something of the like?”
“I am most honored that you remember, Your Grace,” he said with a wide smile. His nervous cough disappeared with the compliment. “I very much take pride in the abilities of our estate to produce such fine stock.”
Verity offered a polite if strained smile as she looked between the two of them before finally speaking.
“Indeed?” she said, more as a question than a statement. “How… fascinating.”
“And Lord Percival,” Anselm continued as he waved another gentleman over, moving on to a portly chap whose eyes seemed to glaze over like a French pastry. “Dear sister, Lord Percival here is a noted collector of ancient coins.”
Verity’s smile tightened once more, and Anselm knew the expression on her face well. She was bracing herself, trying not to say something unseemly.
At least she is trying to soldier through this painful ordeal, he thought to himself as Lord Percival went on about coins.
It was clear to Anselm, and to anyone with an ounce of wit, that none of these men possessed a fraction of his sister’s intelligence or her vibrant spirit. He felt a flicker of frustration himself and acknowledged the futility of his efforts, even as he pushed them forward.
Why must everything be so bloody hard? he thought as he took a glass of champagne from a passing servant and downed it in a single gulp.
Just as Anselm was attempting to introduce Verity to a particularly vapid Viscount, whom he secretly despised for the ostentatious color of his clothing, and only out of sheer desperation, a booming laugh cut through the polite chatter.
“Well, Your Grace! One finds you surrounded by such interesting, if earnest, company this evening!”
Emmanuel, his leanly muscular frame clad in a rather elaborate yet elegant waistcoat, materialized beside them with a knowing twinkle in his eye.
“Lord Faircranks, is it?” Emmanuel asked, his face as serious as cardiac arrest.
“Yes, Faircranks, my lord,” he said in response before correcting himself, the nervous cough returning to his throat. “It is Lord Fairworks. I am sorry, but I must?—”
“Oh, of course, a thousand apologies, my dear boy. And Lord Percy?”
“You know well that it is Percival?—”
“Well, I do hope they are not discussing the merits of cow manure, or the intricacies of Roman coinage, for her lady’s sake.”
“You are incorrigible,” Verity whispered as she walked closer to him.
“And you, my dear, are looking entirely too serious for such a festive occasion,” Emmanuel retorted, then turned his gaze to Anselm. “Though I daresay, your brother here looks as though he has just swallowed a sour lemon. What is the matter with you, my dear friend?”
“Your usual charm is, as ever, overwhelming.” Anselm grabbed another passing flute of champagne on a servant’s tray.
“Oh, I strive for consistency, Your Grace,” Emmanuel chuckled. He then turned back to Verity and lowered his voice. “So, my lady, have you found any inspiration for your next literary endeavor amongst these fine gentlemen? Quite a cast of characters I do say.”
“Anselm, if you would excuse me,” Verity said as she turned to her brother. “I believe I shall procure a beverage. All this stimulating conversation has made me quite parched.”
“I think that is a wise idea,” he said as she offered her brother a nod and slipped away into the crowd.
Emmanuel watched her go, then turned his full attention to Anselm, his expression fading.
“And where, pray tell, is Her Grace this evening? I confess, I rather miss her insightful commentary on the various artistic merits of the assembled company. She is quite funny. Funnier than you at least, which I suppose is not all that difficult and?—”
Anselm stiffened, which silenced Emmanuel.
“Marion is… indisposed this evening.”
Emmanuel raised an eyebrow as he shifted his back to passersby, creating a more private conversation.
“Indisposed?” he asked. “Ah, yes. A sudden chill, perhaps? Or a headache of the most inconvenient variety?”
Anselm knew that while his tone was light, his eyes were sharp and probing. He had known Anselm for years, and he easily understood when something was amiss. Anselm’s jaw clenched as he considered his response.
“Oh… I am sorry for my jest. Is it serious? Is Her Grace all right?”
“She is simply not feeling well, Emmanuel. It is nothing of consequence nor of your concern.” His voice was dismissive, a clear attempt to shut down the conversation.
“Nothing of consequence?” Emmanuel pushed as he took a step closer and dropped his voice further. “Anselm, I have known you for long enough to discern when a matter is nothing of consequence and when it is a rather large, uncomfortable elephant in the room.”
“I assure you, Emmanuel, my private affairs are precisely that. Private. And you would do well to remember your place,” he said as he drained the last of the champagne flute.
He realized his tone was louder than he intended as a couple of nearby guests, sensing the shift in atmosphere, cast curious glances their way.
Emmanuel, for once, seemed to genuinely falter.
There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes at Anselm’s raw anger.
He took a small step back, raising his hands in silent surrender. He did not say another word.
Anselm, realizing he had drawn unwanted attention, instantly regained his composure as he straightened his waistcoat. His face smoothed into its customary, formal mask as he paced away from his friend.
“Now, if you will excuse me, Emmanuel. I believe I saw Lord Barrington near the refreshments. A man of considerable intellect, I assure you. Perhaps you might find his company more stimulating. I must find my sister,” he said as he turned abruptly, leaving Emmanuel standing alone.