Chapter 21

As soon as Charlotte was gone, Andrew resumed his restless pacing. He had much to think about, but the more he paced, and the more he thought, the more one thing became clear to him:

He had to go to Marian.

I will sleep on it first. Things often feel different in the morning.

When morning came, however, Andrew woke from yet another restless night to find his opinion unchanged.

I cannot allow her to marry this Sinclair without at least seeing her first and making sure that is what she wants. I know her friend is convinced it is not, but I must hear the truth from Marian's lips before I can know what to do for the best.

Going to Marian, however, was easier said than done. It had been years since the Duke left the safety of his estate — years since he had ventured into society. The thought of having to do the very thing he had successfully avoided for so long now struck fear in his heart, but then the morning brought a letter from Charlotte which made him even more determined to act.

The engagement has been announced,she wrote. The ball is arranged for tomorrow evening. Please, Your Grace, you must come. My friend is almost too distressed to speak, but I know she will wish to see you there.

A ball.

Of all the ways Andrew could have chosen to make his re-entrance to society, a ball was the very last thing he would have wished for.

To have so many eyes upon me.

But it had to be done. Of that, he was absolutely sure, and so, with a heavy heart, he rang for Ben and asked him to help him find his formal clothes and prepare them. It was not, of course, the butler's job — and it certainly was not the cook's — but between them, Ben and Rose worked their magic, and by the next evening Andrew was standing on the steps of the house, dressed in his finest clothes, and preparing to step into the coach which was making its first journey in years.

I shall go to the ball, it seems. But as for how I shall get on there, well, that remains to be seen.

The Duke had no invitation, of course, but it did not matter; as he pulled up outside the address Charlotte had given him in her letter, the footmen waiting at the door took one look at the magnificent coach and the finely dressed Duke inside it and immediately stepped forward to show him inside.

Well, that was easy enough. Let's just hope the rest of the evening goes as smoothly.

In her room in her father's house, Marian stared morosely at her reflection in the mirror as Mrs. Grant fiddled with her hair.

"There," said the housekeeper at last, stepping back to take a critical look at her work. "It is far from perfect, Miss, but it's the best I can do. You really ought to have a lady's maid for work such as this. Still, that's about to change soon. I'm sure Lord Sinclair will want his wife to have all the help she needs!"

She turned away and began straightening the room which was strewn with clothing Marian had tried on and then discarded as she prepared for the ball which was being held in her honor.

"I wish you would wear the gown Lord Sinclair sent you," said Mrs. Grant, turning back to her charge and looking at her sadly. "Such a generous man. I've never seen a gown so fine!"

Marian scowled at her reflection in the mirror, not knowing what to say to this.

The dress had arrived earlier that afternoon in a magnificent box tied with a pink satin ribbon.

"Wear this tonight," said the accompanying card which had Robert's name printed on the top. There was nothing else: no note, no word of affection. Just the box which Marian had opened to find filled with the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. It was a pale pink silk, embroidered around the neckline with delicate pearls, and tied at the waist with a ribbon matching the one on the box. Marian knew without even trying it on that the color would suit her to perfection, and when Mrs. Grant had finally succeeded in getting her to try it, she'd found that it fit perfectly, too.

Had it arrived at any other time in her life, Marian would have been delighted with it and eager to wear it, for she had never owned anything even half so beautiful. Under this particular set of circumstances, however, she could not wait to take it back off — and when it was, once again, lying folded in its box, she swore she would not so much as look at it.

"Please, have it sent back to Lord Sinclair," she had told Mrs. Grant tearfully. "He may give it to whomever consents to marry him. I care not who it is; I only know that it will not be me — and I will take nothing from him at all."

"Come, Miss," the housekeeper said consolingly. "You mustn't speak so. It's just nerves, I expect. Every new bride has them, but they will soon pass — you'll see. Ah, it's a shame your mother is not here to help you through this. She would have been delighted to see you make such a good match at last. She would have been able to talk some sense into you."

Marian said nothing to this. She knew perfectly well that it was not simply nerves that made her dread her marriage to Robert. There was little point in trying to convince the housekeeper of this, though. Mrs. Grant did not know the man well enough to understand the fear he put into Marian's heart. And she also did not know of the threat he had made to Marian's father, should she refuse to marry him, which made Marian's position a difficult one indeed.

She would have to go to the ball, she decided — but she would not wear the dress. It would be her one, final act of defiance. Her one way of showing Robert that he may be able to force her hand on this, but he would never be able to control her, no matter how hard he tried.

And so, she had stuffed the pink dress back into its box and rifled through her closet in search of something else. Alas, however, it had been a long time since the Sullivan fortunes had stretched to buying new clothes, so everything she tried on was worn and patched — not remotely suitable for a ball at which her engagement was to be celebrated. Finally, she had settled on an emerald green silk that had been her mother's favorite. Like the others in her wardrobe, it was old and rather faded with time. But it made her skin look like ivory and her hair like polished oak — and it would have to do.

"Oh, I so wish you would wear the pink," pleaded Mrs. Grant now, wringing her hands. "Lord Sinclair will be so disappointed not to see you in it. It was so thoughtful of him to realize you would not have anything suitable to wear to such an occasion and to send something so you would not feel ashamed. I don't understand why you must be so stubborn!"

Marian shook her head, refusing to engage.

It is not my shame Robert is concerned about but his own. He does not want to be embarrassed by a future wife in an old dress. Well, that's too bad, for that's exactly what he shall have. What do I care for the opinion of his society friends? They care nothing for me, after all.

She squared her shoulders determinedly, her mouth in a thin line.

"You should go downstairs," Mrs. Grant said nervously. "The carriage will be here soon. It would not do to keep it waiting."

The carriage in question was Robert's of course, and he had arranged to send it for her for the same reason he had sent the dress — so that Marian would not embarrass him with her poverty. She was under no illusion that his feelings for her ran any deeper than that; to him, she would just be a possession — something for him to show off. And she would do everything in her power to thwart him.

Before she could reply to Mrs. Grant, however, she was startled by a knock at the door which the housekeeper ran to answer.

"I trust I am not disturbing you, my dear?" said her father from the doorway. "I had hoped to have a quick work if you wouldn't mind excusing us, Mrs. Grant?"

The housekeeper dropped a quick curtsy in his direction then left, closing the door behind her. Marian remained seated at her dressing table, watching her father's reflection in the looking glass as he approached and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

Well, he's sober. For now, at least.

Edward Sullivan was wearing a fine new dinner suit which Marian had never seen before; he, at least, had clearly had no issue with accepting Robert's gifts. Marian felt herself tense with anger at the thought of how easily manipulated the man was.

I suppose it's easy enough to make a drunk man bend to your will — so easy even one so weak as Robert has been able to do it.

If her father noticed that Marian was wearing an old dress rather than the splendid new one which sat in its box on the bed beside him, he made no comment on the matter. Instead, he simply handed her a long velvet box which Marian took cautiously.

"This was your mother's," Edward explained simply. "But now that you are to be wed, I thought it time it became yours. She would want you to have it, I know."

Marian held her breath as she opened the lid of the box to reveal a sparkling emerald necklace, the green stones interspersed with diamonds.

"I remember this!" she gasped, tears springing into her eyes. "I remember Mama wearing it! It was her very favorite of all her jewels."

"Which is why you should have it," nodded her father, his own eyes glistening. "And why I could not bear to get rid of it."

Marian took the necklace from its box and held it up to the light where it sparkled so much it almost seemed to dance.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, not trusting herself to speak in her normal voice. "But Papa," she turned to him, confused. "This must be worth a small fortune," she said. "If we sold it…?"

If we sold it, we might have enough to live on — for a while at least.

If we sold it, I might not have to marry a man I do not love.

"If we sold it, it would buy us a month or two's grace from our creditors, Marian," her father said sadly. "At the very most. Once that time was up, we would be back where we started, but we would not have this reminder of your mother, and we would be all the poorer for it."

Marian blinked up at him doubtfully, but Edward simply shook his head as if the matter was at a close.

"I gave her this upon the occasion of our betrothal, many years ago," he said. "And now you must have it for yours. It is a connection to the past, Marian, a connection to her. It is something money cannot buy."

Marian sat silently as he leaned forward and fastened the necklace around her neck.

It was the perfect match for her dress, she realized. In fact, in these jewels, the dress itself was positively transformed: no longer old and shabby, but now simple and elegant — the perfect foil for the jewels which glistened around her neck.

At least I now get to thwart Robert in his plans without totally humiliating myself in the process.

"You are beautiful, my dear," her father said, his voice thick with emotion. "I shall be proud to have you on my arm. I only wish I could have made you proud in return."

He stopped with a sob, and Marian impulsively threw her arms around her.

"Oh, Papa, I am proud," she insisted, her heart contracting with pity for the old man. "I know you try your best. It has not been easy for you without Mama. But if you could just somehow manage not to drink so much —"

"I wish I could stop, Marian," Edward said sadly. "But it is not as easy as you imagine. I am a weak, foolish man. I would it were not so, but it is the truth. I do not deserve a daughter such as you. I cannot protect you, the way a father should, which is why this match must go ahead."

"But you are sober now," Marian exclaimed, refusing to believe him. "You can do it if you really set your mind to it."

"For a short period of time, perhaps," Edward agreed, shrugging. "But not for long. Not for nearly enough to be able to secure your safe future. No, this is the only way, my daughter. I'm sorry, but it is so."

Marian stifled a sob of exasperation as she looked at him.

If he knew the threat Robert had made against him, he would be even more convinced that this is the only way, I'm sure. And in spite of everything, he is still my beloved father. He may well be a mere shell of the man he once was, but Edward Sullivan is still in there, somewhere. And I cannot let anything bad happen to him. Not while there is breath in my body to stop it.

"Excuse me Sir, Miss," interrupted Mrs. Grant, popping her head apologetically around the door, "but the carriage is here."

She withdrew, and Marian and her father looked sadly at each other for a long moment,

"Well," said Edward at last, standing up and offering Marian his arm. "Shall we?"

Marian heaved a sigh as she stood up to join him.

"I suppose we must," she said.