Page 49 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter Forty

“ Y our Grace,” Beth said softly one morning while retrieving a tray of untouched toast and tea from a small table in Marion’s studio. “You really should try to eat. You will make yourself ill.”

Marion sighed while pushing a stray strand of her chocolate locks from her paint-smeared face.

“I am nae hungry, Beth. Truly. I will eat if I feel like it. Ye can just leave the tray.”

Beth wrung her hands.

“But… you are fading, Your Grace. And His Grace, he looks like a specter himself. The whole house feels… wrong. Please, do pardon my bluntness.”

Marion offered a weak smile.

“It will pass, Beth. Everything passes.”

“Perhaps a walk, Your Grace? The air might do you good! Or maybe, we could have the carriage readied and you could go into town to see if there are any art supplies?—”

Marion shook her head.

“No. I prefer to remain here. Thank ye for yer concern.”

Beth sighed, then her eyes lit up with a sudden thought.

“Oh! I almost forgot. Lady Verity asked me to tell you that she found some truly exquisite new orchids in the conservatory. She thinks they would be quite lovely for you to paint. She said something about the colors in the light. She requests your presence there at eleven o’clock.”

“My dear, that is only five minutes from now.”

“I apologize; I was distracted by trying to fetch you some sustenance.”

Marion sighed before pushing herself up from her stool. “Very well. I shall go to her.”

Marion walked slowly down the halls, making her way towards the conservatory. Her heart was still heavy, and restricting her pace, but a faint curiosity stirred within her at a new subject for her art. She had grown tired of the dark abstractions that clouded her mind.

The glass-domed structure was a haven of warmth and light, teeming with life amidst the promise of summer that was upon them.

As she stepped inside, the humid air, heavy with the scent of exotic blooms, enveloped her.

She breathed deeply, wondering how long it really had been since she had stopped and smelled the roses.

She looked around, expecting to see Verity. Yet, there was no sign of her. She only saw Anselm, standing by a towering orchid with his back to her.

Anselm .

Marion’s breath hitched. Her instinct was to turn and flee, to retreat to the safety of her studio, or better yet Scotland. She took a step back and reached for the glass door.

At that moment, the door swung shut behind her. The distinct click of a lock echoed through the glasshouse. Marion whirled around, her eyes wide with alarm. Through the glass, she saw Verity and Emmanuel, standing side by side, their faces grimly determined, and arms crossed.

“Oh, Verity! Emmanuel! What in God’s bloody name is the meanin’ of this?” Marion demanded. She rushed to the door and rattled the handle. “Unlock this door! Immediately!”

Verity merely shook her head. “Not until you two speak. Truly speak.”

“Indeed,” Emmanuel added. “Consider it… an intervention. For the good of all concerned. We cannot watch you suffer anymore.”

“Ye cannae do this!” Marion retorted, pounding on the glass. “This is outrageous! Unlock this door!”

Verity and Emmanuel only exchanged a look, then turned and walked away. Marion watched them until their figures disappeared.

Trapped.

“They will not unlock it, Marion,” Anselm said as he strode to her. He narrowed the distance quickly with his impossibly long strides. “Not until we resolve this.”

“There is nothin’ to resolve,” she said. “I ken where ye stand.”

“And… this was my idea,” he said as he placed his hands in his pockets.

Marion spun away from the door to face him then. Her sapphire eyes blazed with a fresh wave of fury.

“Yer idea? Of course, it was yer idea! More control, Anselm! More manipulation! Ye cannae stand it when things are not precisely as ye order them, can ye? You cannae stand the thought of someone, anyone, havin’ their own will, their own feelings, and their own pain that ye cannae neatly categorize and dismiss with a swipe of yer hand! ”

She took a step closer. The heat of her anger strengthened her resolve.

“Ye are a cold, unfeelin’ tyrant, Anselm! Ye push everyone away, then wonder why ye are all alone behind yer walls! Ye are so terrified of losin’ control that you destroy everythin’ good that comes into yer life! Do ye nae ken ye deserve happiness just as much as the next man?”

She paced the aisles of plants.

“Ye speak of duty, of convenience, but what of the life we almost built? What of the joy we found in each other’s arms? Was that all a lie?” Her voice began to trail off as hot tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

“Was I merely a pawn in yer scheme to ‘protect’ Verity? To protect yer precious name and the shite proprieties of the ton ?” Tears streamed down her face now, blistering and angry.

“Ye held me in the park, Anselm! Ye were terrified that somethin’ could have happened to me! And’ then ye came to me, and’ ye broke me heart with yer cruel words… dismissin’ everythin’ we had become as a ‘mistake’! How dare ye! How dare ye!”

She looked at Anselm then, who stood motionless.

He let her vent, absorbing every furious word and tear. He deserved all that and more. He did not interrupt, defend, or flinch.

Finally, when she had said her piece, when her voice cracked and her anger was spent, he felt her aching sorrow.

She sagged, her shoulders slumping, and her gaze fell to the tiled floor beneath them.

She placed a hand on a nearby counter. The only sounds were her ragged breathing and the gentle drip of water from the conservatory’s humid glass panes.

Anselm took a slow step forward. Then another. Then another. He closed the distance between them, until he stood directly before her. He reached out, his hands gently cupping her perfect face. He tilted her delicate chin up until her tear-filled eyes met his.

“Marion,” he began, his voice husky. “You are right. Every word from your lips rings true. I am a fool. A blind, stubborn, and cowardly fool.”

He paused and used his thumbs to gently stroke her cheeks.

“I am so profoundly sorry. More sorry I think than I have been in my entire life, which is saying quite a bit. I am sorry for every cruel word and every moment of pain I have inflicted upon you… for pushing you away. For believing that control was the only way a man like me could survive.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“My entire life, control has meant survival. It meant keeping my family from ruin, protecting Verity from scandal, from the consequences of my father’s illness.

I believed if I did not maintain absolute control, everything around me would crumble.

That I would lose everything, just as I lost my mother. ”

His gaze searched hers, pleading for silent understanding. She nodded for him to continue.

“But I was wrong. Terribly, tragically wrong. Since you came into this house, Marion, since you became my wife, I have never been this… happy. The word is hard for me to say, but I will work on it. I have never, and I mean never, been this content. You have brought laughter into these halls and light into my life. You have made this house feel like a home again, something I never thought I’d have back after my mother’s death.

She…she would adore you,” he said as his voice cracked.

“You are not a convenience, Marion. You are not a duty. You are everything.”

His hands tightened on her face.

“I hurt you. I know I did. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you will allow me. Please, Marion. Stay.”

He swallowed hard, before placing his hands on her shoulders and looking into her deep blue eyes.

“I love you, Marion. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. And the thought of losing you… truly losing you… is a terror I cannot fathom. I never wish to be away from you again, from this moment forward.”