Chapter 17

"My dear, you simply cannot imagine the things I have been thinking these past few days! Why, I imagined you dead — or even kidnapped which would be worse! Don't you think that would be immeasurably worse, Marian?"

After a tearful reunion at Charlotte's house, Marian and her friend had retired to Dainty's Tea House, a short walk away, in order to continue their conversation without fear of being overheard by Charlotte's Mama, who had both a fondness for gossip and a talent for embellishment. Now, they sat opposite each other at a table in the busy little shop as Charlotte tried her best to uncover the full story of Marian's mysterious disappearance.

"Well, as you can see, I'm very much alive," Marian replied now, sipping her tea and wondering just how much she should tell her friend. "I'm quite well, in fact."

"I can see that." Charlotte looked at her over the top of the plate of iced fancies that had been placed between them and which they were currently working their way through at some speed. "Your cheeks are quite flushed, in fact. Oh, Marian, do tell me where you've been! I'm quite eaten up with curiosity."

Marian laughed. Although her heart still felt heavy with sadness every time she thought of Andrew, seeing Charlotte again had been just the tonic she needed. Her friend was a lively and vivacious young woman, who Marian had always admired for her boldness and her refusal to do as she was told. She was also, however, steady and loyal, and Marian knew that if there was anyone in the world she could trust, Charlotte was that person.

Besides, if I don't tell someone, I will surely burst. I just cannot keep this to myself one moment longer.

"I am quite well, Charlotte," she repeated, making up her mind. "Your concerns, however, were not totally unfounded, however. I was never in any mortal danger. As for kidnapping, though —"

The shriek Charlotte let out at this made several of the cafe's other patrons turn around in their seats to look for the cause of the commotion. Shushing her friend, Marian leaned across the table towards her, her expression serious.

"Charlotte, if I tell you what really happened while I was gone, you must promise never to tell another living soul," she said quietly. "Not as long as you live."

"You have my word, Marian. Of course. You know you can trust me."

Charlotte rearranged her gown around herself and leaned forward attentively. Marian took a deep breath, knowing that she was taking a risk in telling anyone what had happened but unable to keep her secret to herself for one moment longer.

"It all started with an argument with my father," she began.

A short while later, Charlotte leaned back in her chair, her mouth open with shock as Marian reached the conclusion of her story, having skirted carefully over the details of the night before and what had happened in Andrew's room.

There are some things that are best left between he and I — some things that are too precious to be shared.

"But Marian, this is wonderful," she said, her eyes shining with tears as Marian told her how she and Andrew had parted in the woods. "This is perfectly wonderful!"

"Wonderful?" Marian blinked in surprise. Of all of the things she'd imagined her friend might have to say about her encounter with the notorious Duke of Rottdwell, wonderful was not one of them.

"Did you perhaps miss the part where I told you who my host was?" she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Or the part where he refused to let me leave?"

"Yes, yes." Charlotte waved these details away impatiently. "I heard all of that. But it matters not. You believed him when he told you he had not done the things he stands accused of, and I believe you. And he did let you go, did he not?"

Charlotte smiled, satisfied to have made her point.

"In any case," she said, picking up the teapot and pouring for them both. "None of that matters now. What matters is that he loves you. That much is clear. Now we must decide what's to be done about it."

"Loves me?" Marian looked down into her teacup, not wanting to look her friend in the eye. "He said nothing to me of love, Charlotte. He told me to leave him, in fact. He was quite insistent about it."

"Hogwash," Charlotte waved her hand again, dismissively. "He's a gentleman. Of course, he did the right thing by telling you to leave. Of course, he did not try to make it harder on you by telling you how he really felt. But he did not need to tell you, did he? For he had already shown you. Or have I got that wrong?"

From the way she smiled as she sipped at her tea, it was obvious that Charlotte knew perfectly well she had got nothing wrong. And yet still, Marian wavered.

"I cannot speak for the Duke and his feelings," she said, shrugging as if the matter was at an end. Charlotte, however, had other ideas.

"Perhaps not," she acknowledged. "But you can speak for yourself and for yours. And what say you to that, I wonder?"

She looked at her friend speculatively.

"I will not ask if you love him in return, Marian," she said gently. "That's for you to decide. But I will ask if you at least like him?"

Marian replaced her cup carefully on its saucer.

"I more than like him, Charlotte," she admitted at last. "I'm afraid to admit it, even to myself, but it's true. If he had asked me to stay, I would have done so. I should not have been able to tear myself away from him. But —"

"But nothing."

Charlotte reached forward and grasped both on Marian's hands in hers.

"Oh, my dear friend, this is simply marvelous," she said joyfully. "I'm so happy for you. You deserve every happiness in the world after all that you've been through, and now, you have found it."

"But I haven't, Charlotte," Marian pulled her hands away from her friends' impatiently. Charlotte had always had a sentimental streak which, coupled with her love of dramatics, could make it hard for her to see things clearly at time. Now, she was clearly allowing herself to be carried away with what she saw as the romance of Marian's situation, a view which did not allow her to clearly see the reality of it.

"You forget that he sent me away," she pointed out now. "Whatever his reasons for doing it, he still did it. He told me not to think of him. To go to my father, and to live the life for which I was destined."

"And do you really think you were destined to live the life of an old maid, caring for a drunkard who knows not whether you're alive or dead, Marian?"

Charlotte's eyes flashed dangerously, and she sat up a little straighter in her seat.

"Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, Marian," she said, taking her friend by the hand once more. "I do not mean to offend, but I cannot stand to sit by and watch you throw your life away for one second longer. Do you think I do not see what your father is become? What your life has become? Marian, I have known you for as long as either of us can remember. I know you almost better than you know yourself. And I know that if you do not go to this Duke of yours immediately, you will be making a mistake that you will regret for the rest of your life."

Marian sat in silence as her friend came to the end of this extraordinary little speech. Had she confided in anyone else, she knew the advice would have been different. Anyone but Charlotte would have been scandalized by her stay with the Duke — by the very mention of the man, in fact. Anyone else would have urged her to do as Andrew had bid her and forget all about him. To return to her father and her life, and to, in time, find herself a good match — if that were even possible for her now — and settle down.

But Charlotte was not anyone else. Charlotte, as she'd said herself, was the one person in the world who knew Marian as well as she knew herself. She was also the one person Marian could trust to tell her the truth, and now that Charlotte had done exactly that, Marian's mind was in turmoil.

Charlotte thought she should return to the Duke which was, of course, the very thing Marian herself wanted, deep in her heart.

But there was still her father to think of it. And that was an obstacle that would not easily be overcome.

"I know you mean well, Charlotte," she said, turning back to her friend, "but it is not quite as simple as you imagine. I cannot just rush off and leave my father, no matter what my feelings are for Andrew… for the Duke. I will think on this some more, though, I promise you. Now, shall we order another pot of tea?"

At his table just a few feet away, Lord Robert Sinclair had heard enough.

Robert hadn't expected to see Marian when he walked to Dainty's that morning. Indeed, it had been a while since he had seen her at all. When she'd walked in with her friend Charlotte, he'd started to get to his feet, meaning to go over and join them, but something about the expressions on the faces of the two women stopped him.

As they sat down at a table by a window and fell immediately into animated conversation, Robert sat back down himself, angling his seat carefully away from Marian and Charlotte's table, so they could not see his face, should either of them happen to look up.

As it happened, however, the two women were far too absorbed in their conversation to even notice their surroundings, let alone the gentleman at the next table, and so it was that Robert Sinclair was able to overhear almost every word.

Well, well. Marian and the Duke of Rottdwell. Who would have even imagined such a thing?

Robert shifted uncomfortably in his chair, anger rising up in his breast. Like Charlotte, Robert had known Marian for most of her life. Unlike Charlotte, however, Robert had never been able to win Marian's confidence — or even her friendship, much to his chagrin.

That, however, was not important. It was not Marian's friendship Robert wanted — it was her hand in marriage. This had been his single goal in life for his entire adult life — a goal which was supported by his father, the Earl of St. Clair, and which would also, he had been led to believe, be welcomed by Marian's father, who was one of the Earl's oldest friends.

It was the perfect match and had been anticipated by both families for as long as Robert could recall. The one problem in all of this, however, was Marian herself, who would not have him. Time and time again, Robert had asked, and time and time again, he had been refused, politely but even so — refused.

For a long time now, Robert had been content to let matters lie, especially after the death of Marian's mother. The girl was upset, he told himself. She was confused. She would come around in the end. And, after all, it wasn't as if there were any other suitors to turn her head and take her away from him. Like Charlotte, Robert was well acquainted with Marian's father's failing fortunes. He'd be surprised if there was any money left for a dowry — Marian's father would surely have drunk it by now if there were — which made Robert herself the only man who would have her.

Until now.

Never in his wildest imaginings would Robert have considered the Duke of Rottdwell to be a rival for Marian's hand. He'd heard all about the man, of course, and knew perfectly well that despite his money and title, the Duke had been so shunned by society that no woman in her right mind would ever consider him.

But everything he had just overheard between Marian and Charlotte led him to believe that Marian was clearly not in her right mind. Which meant that, if he wanted to secure her hand in marriage, he would have to act fast.

Still being careful to keep his face turned away from the women by the window, Robert quietly paid his bill and rose from his seat. He would go to Marian's father immediately; there was no time to waste.