Chapter 4

This cannot be happening.

That was all that Marianne could think, as she stood rooted to the spot, her heart hammering in her chest as the silence stretched on, thick and palpable. The vast ballroom, a moment ago alive with the hum of conversation and the soft strains of music, had fallen eerily quiet, with every eye turned towards her. The weight of the ton's stares was a tangible pressure against her skin, a scrutiny she felt in the very marrow of her bones.

The pause was a mere heartbeat, a single breath held in collective suspension, before the room erupted into a cacophony of whispers and murmurs and shouts. Voices overlapped in a tumultuous wave of congratulations.

"Well done, Lady Marianne! What a match!" an elderly aunt exclaimed, her voice piercing the din.

"Who would have thought? Our Lady Marianne and the Duke!" a younger cousin squealed, clapping her hands together in delight.

"The Duke of Stayton, no less! You'll be the talk of the Season, dear," an older gentleman added, raising his glass in a toast.

"Truly, the Duke could not have chosen better," another voice chimed in, a distant cousin perhaps, his tone infused with a mix of surprise and admiration.

Marianne's name and new title as the Duke of Stayton's betrothed bounced from one group to another, a ripple that spread through the crowd with astonishing speed. A tentative smile pressed itself upon Marianne's lips, her face a mask of polite gratitude as she nodded and murmured thanks to well-wishers she barely saw.

What is this? What did he get me into? Where is that insufferable…

Amidst the chaos, her eyes found Andrew, his own expression one of warning. Just go with it, it said, and so she did, at least until she had the opportunity to do something about him.

The brief connection was broken as another well-wisher approached, a matron with eager eyes. "Such wonderful news, my dear! We must discuss your wedding gown—I know just the style for you," she gushed, pulling Marianne out of Andrew's line of sight.

As the crowd swirled around her, each congratulation felt like another wave crashing against her already unsteady resolve.

As the initial burst of excitement began to wane, replaced by the guests' returning to their conversations and speculations, Marianne seized the opportunity to escape. She edged towards the nearest exit, her movements unnoticed in the continuing hubbub. Once outside the main hall, the corridor's comparative silence enveloped her like a shroud, a stark contrast to the tumult she'd left behind.

The coolness of the marble beneath her fingertips grounded her as she leaned against the wall, taking in deep, steadying breaths. Fury simmered beneath the surface of her composure, burning indignation at Andrew for his impulsive declaration. She began to pace, each step a measure of her fraying patience, her mind racing for a solution to the mess thrust upon her.

The sudden sound of footsteps caused her to pause, her posture stiffening as she turned to find Andrew approaching.

"Lady Marianne, I—" he began, but she cut him off with a gesture, her eyes blazing.

"How could you, Your Grace?" she demanded, her voice a low hiss of barely contained anger. "To declare such a thing, in front of everyone—do you have any idea of the position you've put me in?"

"Please take a breath and think about this. It was a rushed decision, but I think it is a good one."

"A good one? Do you actually want to marry me?"

Andrew winced. "No, I do not"

Even though Marianne knew it and felt the same, the outright denial stung more than she wanted it to.

"Then, please enlighten me, Your Grace, to the so-called merits of this…this farce!"

"I know your family is pressuring you, Marianne, and this can help. You know it can"

The use of her given name took her by surprise but the look of near pity in his eyes was enough to combat it. "That is none of your business."

"It can be if you let it. All we have to do is pretend for a little while. Your family will be satiated and mine will be too. No harm done."

"What about my reputation? No harm done! Spoken like a true privileged gentleman. You are a Duke, Your Grace, and you can afford to be this flippant about a failed engagement. But my prospects are already limited and?—"

"Do you really think I would let this harm you?" Andrew walked closer to her, frowning. "I know, I acted foolishly," he admitted, his voice earnest. "But I know I can make this right, Marianne."

He was towering over her and suddenly the air around her felt thin. His eyes were piercing and she could not look away.

"You are under my protection. And I take that duty very seriously."

Marianne had to force herself to speak. "And how… how will you achieve that?"

"You will be the one to end the engagement, finding me lacking," his eyes turn mischievous. "The lady who rejected a duke. You will be the most exquisite challenge."

Her thoughts were not her own, and only for that reason did the boyish look on Andrew's face affect her so much. This was madness. Unthinkable, incomprehensible madness and she ought to?—

"I have conditions," she blurted out despite herself.

Andrew's face lit up. "So you agree to it?"

"Under conditions."

Before she knew what was happening Andrew's arms closed around her and she was picked up and spun around.

"Yes, yes, thank you, my lady, you will not regret this!"

"Put me down! Someone will see?—"

He gently put her down, taking a step back and Marianne was once more surprised with herself at her disappointment.

"What is a hug between a betrothed couple?" he asked teasingly and Marianne was back to being furious in seconds.

She walked away from him and paced the secluded corridor, her emotions a tempest of anger, confusion, and an unexpected thrill that quickened her pulse. She could still feel his arms around her and the ease with which he lifted her…

She schooled her thoughts. The fake engagement, a scheme born of desperation, now seemed to herald an unforeseeable future. As the distant sounds of music and laughter echoed down the hall, she felt the grandeur of the estate press upon her like a gilded cage.

He seemed to patiently await her return to their conversation, but Marianne had an idea that needed forming and a mind that needed focusing. If they could get out of this unscathed, she could actually give her family some relief in the process. They just needed to be careful about it.

"I cannot leave things as they are," Andrew began, his voice steadier, reflecting his resolve. "Marianne, I'm sorry for the position this has put you in. It was not my intention to complicate your life or bring you unwanted scrutiny," he said. "So please, tell me how I can even the scales. What is your condition?"

"I have two, actually. Firstly we have to make sure this does not return to hurt us in some way."

"I told you I will take care of that."

"And what about my reputation? The Season is unforgiving, and rumors often outlive the truth."

Andrew nodded, his expression solemn. "I've considered that. We maintain the engagement publicly with discretion. Behind closed doors, we prepare a narrative for its eventual dissolution."

"And Society's perception?" Marianne pressed, her gaze piercing.

"We control it," Andrew insisted, a flicker of confidence in his eyes. "We stage public outings, show expressions of affection. We become the Season's love story. When we part ways, it will be seen as a regrettable end to a beautiful chapter. You will emerge with your reputation not only intact but enhanced. And I… I take full responsibility for the end."

"How will you do that?"

"By becoming the villain. Anything from inappropriate behavior to adultery, you can decide."

Marianne's gasp was genuine. "You cannot be serious. Certainly, we can achieve the same result with something less scandalous. Not to mention you going away with another woman hardly puts me in a good light."

"Maybe that was an extreme example. But we have time to think of the perfect cover."

Marianne's mind whirred, considering the angles, the risks, and the potential gains. "It's a gamble," she said at last, her words heavy with implication.

"Isn't it always in matters of the heart and Society?" Andrew replied, a rueful smile touching his lips.

Marianne paced again, this time her steps slower, more contemplative. Andrew's proposal was madness, yet within it lay a sliver of sense. To turn a scandal into a spectacle, one they could control, was daring. But it was also a path fraught with peril, reliant on the whims of Society and the strength of their own resolve.

"Say I agree," Marianne ventured, stopping to face him fully. "What then? We carry out this… charade? We lie to everyone?"

Andrew met her gaze squarely, the gravity of the situation reflected in his eyes. "Yes, but for a purpose—to protect and to plan. I won't pretend it's without risk, Lady Marianne, but it gives us agency in a situation where we currently have none."

Marianne considered his words, the enormity of the decision pressing down upon her. To agree would be to step into uncharted territory, to link her fate with Andrew's in a way she hadn't anticipated. Yet, to refuse was to face immediate and certain censure, the repercussions of which would ripple far beyond herself.

She thought of her grandmother, her family, and her own future. Then, she considered Andrew, his earnestness, and the unexpected solidarity she felt with him in this moment of shared vulnerability.

"All right," Marianne said, the word slicing through the tension between them like a sword. "We do this, but on my own terms. We maintain the illusion, but we also prepare for the end from the start. We protect not just my reputation but my heart. I won't be made a fool of, Your Grace—not by you, not by anyone."

Andrew's relief was palpable, a visible loosening of the tension that had gripped him. "You have my word, Lady Marianne. We'll navigate this together with all the care and caution it demands. Are those all of your conditions?"

"No," she swallowed. "We have to visit my family estate in the meantime. Together."

Andrew's brow frowned. "We can do that. Is there a particular reason?"

"Yes, but it is not for now to explain."

To her surprise, he simply noted. "That sounds reasonable."

"And one last thing." He stood too close, crowding her vision. Looking up at his eyes she took a deep breath.

"This is, and will always be, nothing more than a ruse." The implications behind her words was clear, yet she dared not say them.

Andrew nodded, solemn. "You have my word."

"Then we should return," she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "before our absence becomes the next source of speculation."

As they made their way back to the ballroom, Marianne felt the weight of their agreement settling around her. It was a decision born of desperation, a leap into the unknown. Yet, as she glanced at Andrew, his profile set in determination, she felt an unexpected flicker of hope.

* * *

As Marianne and Andrew re-entered the ballroom, preparing to face the music of their recently declared engagement, the person Marianne dreaded—and longed—to see most was her mother. Her mother's reaction would be the true barometer of the storm they had just unleashed.

They found Lady Hillsfolk surrounded by a buzzing cluster of the ton's elite, her face the very picture of maternal pride. Yet, as Marianne approached, she caught a glimmer of something more complex in her mother's eyes. It was a mix of happiness and a profound, hidden reservation, a duality that left Marianne unsettled.

"Marianne, my love!" Lady Hillsfolk's voice rang out, clear and jubilant, drawing the attention of those nearby. "Such wonderful news!" She enveloped Marianne in a warm embrace, one that felt slightly too tight, slightly too controlled. "Your Grace, we are delighted," she added, turning to Andrew with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Thank you, Lady Hillsfolk, but I am sure it cannot compare to my delight in finally being able to share this with the world. Or my happiness for joining our two families," his gaze collided with Marianne's and she could see a hint of trepidation. He did not enjoy lying, even if he was so good at it.

Lady Hillsfolk, ever the social savant, navigated the conversation with aplomb. "This match is a blessing," she declared, her voice imbued with warmth. Yet, the tightness around her eyes betrayed her true feelings—Marianne knew her mother's expressions better than anyone.

Her heart sank with confusion and worry. Was her mother not happy for her? Did she disapprove of Andrew or the match itself, despite its apparent advantages? Lady Hillsfolk's demeanor suggested support and joy, but the subtle cues—the tension in her shoulders, the fleeting looks of concern—spoke volumes, and Marianne's anxiety peaked.

"I just find it a little disappointing," Lady Hillfolk continued, turning to her daughter. "You never said anything until now."

"Mother I —"

"We do apologize for that, my lady, but we had our reasons. I am sure at a better time, you will hear and agree with them."

"Yes exactly," Marianne agreed, shooting Andrew a grateful smile.

"And I cannot wait to hear them. But listen to me, such great news and I mull over precedence! No matter! Congratulations to you both once again." She smiled to Marianne and her heart clenched. She hated lying to her mother. This was going to be a long process indeed.

As the day wore on, with guests flocking to offer their congratulations, Marianne found herself observing her mother closely. Lady Hillsfolk mingled, laughed, and toasted to the engagement, but there was a precision to her movements, a calculated grace that seemed more about performing her role than sharing in the moment.

At one point, their eyes met across the room, and Marianne sought to convey her confusion, her silent plea for honesty. Lady Hillsfolk's response was a smile, one that managed to be both loving and inscrutable. It was a smile that said, "We will talk later," leaving Marianne adrift in a sea of speculation and unease.

Andrew, proving a lot more observant than she thought him to be, quickly realized her disquiet.

"Is something wrong, Lady Marianne?"

"I am not sure, but I think my mother might suspect something. She is acting strangely."

"In what way?"

"It is difficult to describe. But I have a bad feeling about it."

"We just have to come up with a good enough lie to dissuade her, don't worry. I am good at that." The smile he gave her was past mischievous and all the way to devilish and Marianne felt herself shiver. She turned her gaze to her mother, more to distract herself than anything.

She thought she was imagining it for a moment, but then she felt Andrew's hand around hers. She looked down and then at him. He was speaking with some lord, accepting congratulations like it was nothing.

Somehow it made her feel better and worse at the same time.