Chapter 11

Like most things at Moorhaven Manor, the Manners' visit was forgotten almost as soon as it was over. Life progressed at a breakneck speed in the run-up to the Hindborough hunting party. With only two days remaining until their journey to Hagram Park, Marianne had been kept on a strict schedule by Catherine and Miss Barclay.

They had spent the first day teaching her everything there was to know about the rules of socialization, proper topics of conversation, and the residential etiquette expected of guests attending a house party. Breakfast, luncheon, and dinner had felt like mock tests regarding cutlery, serving and pacing, and the correct order of courses. Despite a few hiccups, Marianne had passed every trial with flying colours.

Another dance lesson had been issued the following day, but Anthony and Patrick had been conveniently away in Norwich. Marianne had been left to dance with a begrudging Miss Barclay—and their partnership hadn't been nearly as entertaining and surprising as Marianne's partnership with Anthony.

In fact, outside of their meals, Marianne had barely seen the duke in the few days since Gideon and Lavinia's visit. Catherine had said that Anthony seemed preoccupied. And Marianne, despite wanting to help, didn't understand enough about his troubles to ask how she could serve him.

Whatever the reason for Anthony's isolation, he couldn't avoid Marianne for much longer. They were supposed to be leaving for Hagram Park that same afternoon, and Marianne had been tasked with fetching the duke from his office by his mother.

She paused in the hallway to look at herself. The duchess had outdone herself that day when it came to dressing Marianne, having selected a travelling outfit from her own wardrobe. Catherine had ordered it for that summer, but the garments were going to waste while she was forced to wear her mourning clothes.

Despite their age differences, Catherine was similar in shape and height to Marianne. The ruby red spencer fit like a glove, sinching Marianne tightly at the waist—and enhancing her other assets, too.

She supposed that was the point. It was important to make a good first impression on the Webb family and their friends—especially any friends of the gentlemanly variety.

"This is certainly one way to do it," Marianne muttered, pulling down the jacket until she felt comfortable enough to knock on Anthony's door.

Her hand paused in mid-air as raised voices sounded from inside the room. She debated eavesdropping, mostly concerned for Anthony's welfare, not the least bit curious. A heavy footfall approached the door, and Marianne ducked into the adjoining room, tingling with anxiety at the prospect of being caught eavesdropping.

Whoever had been inside stormed down the hallway, leaving too quickly for Marianne to get a proper look. When the stomping had mostly subsided, Marianne peered around the door. A tall and thin man in a neat coat turned towards the servants' stairway and disappeared out of sight. Anthony exited his study a moment later, looking crestfallen from the visit.

Marianne frowned in response, worried about him. His problems were none of her business. But where Anthony was concerned, she couldn't help wanting the best for him.

It's only natural, she thought, after everything he has done for me.

"I've been asked to come and find you," she declared, breaking the silence.

Anthony gasped, turning to her. "Hell and damnation, Marianne!" He recovered from his shock and then focused on locking the door. "What were you doing there?"

"Nothing, really. I simply …" She peered back inside the room. It seemed to be another parlour of some sort, hardly useful for any cover story. "To be honest, I heard you were inside with someone, and I thought I would wait until you were done. Her Grace asked me to come and find you."

Anthony scowled, turning the key in the lock. It closed the office with a damning click, sealing whatever had happened between him and the stranger inside—out of Marianne's reach.

"Who was that?" Marianne asked anyway, not satisfied by his silence.

"All those lessons on etiquette, and my mother didn't teach you not to pry?" His tone was more playful than scolding. He slipped the key into his jacket pocket. "That was Doctor de Laurier. He is a physician."

"Oh …" Marianne frowned, her worry intensifying. She inspected him for signs of an illness. That would have explained his recent absence. "Is something wrong with you?"

"No, nothing is wrong with me. It was …" He licked his lips, then glanced over his shoulder. "If I tell you, then you must promise not to speak a word of things to my mother. Is that clear? I'm not playing now, Marianne. You must swear to me that you will say nothing."

Marianne didn't like the idea of lying to Catherine, but she liked the idea of upsetting Anthony even less. She nodded, and Anthony shepherded her into the parlour next door. He closed the door, leaving Marianne to remember Catherine's lesson on the importance of chaperones. A lady should not have been left alone with a gentleman. Perhaps things were different between her and Anthony.

Of course, they are, Marianne thought, sitting on the edge of a sofa. As a duke, he has no interest in me and never will. We are friends. Those rules do not apply to us. I might as well be a man for how tempting I am to him.

Anthony settled against the door, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. The wallpaper was a rosy, pink shade. The sunlight refracted off the walls, casting a romantic glow on the despondent duke.

"Recently I learned that my father's death was not as surprising as I was led to believe," he began before pausing. "Have you been told what happened to him?"

"Your mother said he died during a horse race," Marianne said, recalling the conversation they had shared. The duchess had enjoyed one too many glasses of champagne a few nights prior, and the topic had turned to her late husband. "She said it was sudden."

"It was," Anthony agreed. "And yet it was not. It turns out that my father was suffering from an illness leading up to their stay in Newmarket. He refused to tell my mother about his condition. He even went so far as to consult with a doctor she did not know to keep his health a secret from her." He nodded in the general direction of his office. "That was the doctor in question. I asked him to call upon me before we left."

"I heard the way he stormed out. The visit can't have gone how you had hoped."

Anthony smiled mirthlessly. "That's a rather grave understatement. Doctor de Laurier admitted that my father had been a patient of his, but he refused to discuss his condition with me. Something about confidentiality." He snarled and started pacing. It was the first time Marianne had seen him truly angry. "The man is dead. What use is confidentiality to him now?"

It seemed Anne had not been the only one keeping secrets. Marianne could see all too well the torment on Anthony's face.

"The doctor might have been trying to preserve the memory of your father," she suggested, treading carefully. "He might have been embarrassed about his illness. I don't mean to put ideas in your head …"

"There is nothing you can say that I have not already thought. You could be right, but I …" He raised his brows, sighing. "I cannot shake the feeling that there is more at play here than I understand. You did not know my father, but he was an honest, good man. He would not have kept something like this from us unless more was at stake than his health. I just cannot fathom what he could have been so desperate to protect."

"I thought my mother was honest, yet she spent my entire life lying to me." Marianne looked away. "You and I do not have children. We have no idea what it means to be a parent. We can only imagine what would make someone lie to their child about something so important.

It doesn't need to change how we think about them, especially now they are no longer with us. I still love my mother. I know that she was only doing what she thought was right. Your father must have felt the same way about his own secrets. It was safer for you not to know. The thing he was trying to protect … It might have just been you."

Anthony was quiet for a moment. He stopped his pacing and raked a hand through his hair. His long fingers flexed between dark brown curls, holding his head like a headache was coming on. Eventually, he let his fist fall to his side.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly, letting his gaze fall to the floor. "I can only hope that you are right. Oh, but I should not have burdened you with this knowledge in the first place. You asked, and I …" He shook his head and looked away. "I do not usually expose myself like this to others. You have a way about you. It is difficult not to trust you."

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing." Marianne pressed a hand over her heart and stepped towards him. "I'm glad that you feel like you can confide in me. It's the least I can do after you and your mother have offered me a new home and life …"

"And a great deal of additional stress as well," Anthony joked. "The Manners' visit, just to name one inconvenience …"

"You didn't like the earl," Marianne guessed.

"No," Anthony replied. "No, I did not like him at all. I have met many men like Lord Foxburn, who come into their titles through a series of tragedies. Most of them are humbled by the rise in station. It angered me that he benefitted so much from your misery yet refused to treat you with human decency.

At least in the beginning stages of his visit. After Mother dragged me out of the room to give the three of you time to talk in private, it seemed you found common ground."

"In a way. I think that …" Marianne frowned, thinking about Lavinia's advice. "I think they realized that I was not going to back down. And it was easier to try and placate me than fight with me."

He looked relieved. "Do you not trust them?"

"I don't trust anyone I don't really know." Marianne laughed softly. "Except for you, I suppose. But it is like you said for me. You have a way about you. You're different."

"Another man might take that as a slight on his masculinity. Us fellows are supposed to inspire awe and respect—or so I've been told." He smiled, inspiring affection in her instead. "My rank should intimidate you if nothing else, Lady Marianne."

"Oh, forgive me." Marianne feigned a gasp, playing into their bit. "You are so very scary, Your Grace. I can barely look you in the eye most days for fear of vexing you."

"Keep that up, and I'll leave you here instead of taking you to Hagram Park." He laughed under his breath, angling his shoulders towards the door. "Perhaps that threat will only encourage you to tease me more."

Marianne skipped towards the door ahead of him. "Not at all," she assured him. "I may have been so nervous at the prospect of this party that I couldn't sleep last night, but I don't want these new dancing skills to go to waste."

"At least if you did not sleep, there is a chance you will drift off in the carriage." He followed her, grinning. "You haven't been quiet since you arrived. Merciful silence at last."

Her hand found the door handle. She pressed herself against the door, waiting excitedly for another quip from Anthony. But when she turned back, his expression had changed for the worse.

"What's the matter?"

Anthony's neck worked. "It just occurred to me that I never expressed my condolences about your mother's passing. We were speaking about my own father, yet I never voiced how sorry I was that you were grieving your own parents. You have been exceedingly pleasant since you arrived—not a bother, as I suggested in jest. And I suppose … it slipped my mind."

Marianne's throat grew thick with emotion. So much had happened in the last few weeks. She had barely had time to process her mother's death before Catherine's letter had arrived. Since then, her life had been a whirlwind. It wasn't Anthony's fault that he had forgotten to express his condolences. Marianne had forgotten that she deserved any.

A hand came down on Marianne's shoulder. She hadn't even noticed Anthony approaching. He towered over her, but his presence was grounding and peaceful.

"I am so sorry for your loss," he said, his voice soft as a whisper.

Marianne looked up, stunned and remorseful. "And I am so sorry for yours."

He released her slowly, leaning back. Even with the door behind her, Marianne felt unsteady now that he was gone.

"You were right," he said. "I am not only mourning my father. I am grieving the time we have lost and the answers to questions I never had a chance to ask."

Anthony looked off into space, his brow creasing.

"Marianne, I must know what happened to him. If Doctor de Laurier will not tell me, there must be other means by which I can find out. It will solve nothing. My father cannot be resurrected. And yet I must know all the same what took him from me."

"I would want the same thing," Marianne agreed, composing herself. "I am looking for my own closure as well. It might not be found with the Manners, or in London, or God forbid at Hagram Park …"

"But it must be found," Anthony concluded.

He approached her again, reaching for the door handle. His hand brushed against hers. On purpose, by accident. Marianne had no idea. His body was so close to hers that they could have been waltzing again. Her neck grew hot. She turned away out of fear that he would see how his presence affected her.

"I will help you if you will help me," he promised, his breath ghosting against her ear.

"You don't even have to ask," Marianne replied.

"Good," Anthony said. He clicked open the door and stepped aside. "First things first, however … We must survive my mother's goodbyes."

*

Outside, a horde of servants were preparing the coach like a swarm of worker bees. Miss Barclay was their angry queen, directing various footmen as they loaded the party's travelling bags into the coach's boot.

Marianne paused on the front steps of the manor, shielding her eyes from the sun. Anthony descended in front of her, quickly joining the fray. She still tingled from their interaction in the drawing room, unable to look at him for too long. She had already mentioned her lack of sleep the night prior. It would not have been a stretch to pretend to have a nap to avoid any awkwardness in the carriage.

Mr Plym would be joining them for their journey to Hagram Park. He was discussing something with the duchess by one of the gargoyles. Patrick waited on stand-by, turning suspiciously towards Miss Barclay as she barked orders at her platoon of footmen.

Approaching the duchess, Marianne's breath hitched at the grief-stricken expression on the duchess' face. Catherine spun on her heel and extended her arms. She hugged Marianne, knocking the breath out of her lungs and the thought of Anthony out of her head.

"My sweet, darling Marianne. I'm going to miss you more than I can say," Catherine whined, stroking Marianne's back. "I know you will only be gone for a week. It will feel like ten years until you are all returned to me." She released Marianne, holding her by the shoulders. Her eyes were wet with tears.

"I wish you could come with us," Marianne replied. "But I know that's impossible."

Catherine would still be in mourning for months. Attending a house party was out of the question. The rules for grieving had been very different in Marianne's old life. Women didn't isolate themselves for months on end—if anything, a death brought most communities together. Marianne hated leaving Catherine behind in all her black clothing, waiting by the window for their return.

"I still think you should have let Miss Barclay stay," Marianne said, clutching the gloved hand on her shoulder. "There must be a maid at Hagram Park who could chaperone me."

"Nonsense." Catherine shook her head. "I have other maids to keep me company. And Frida is the only person in this world I trust to accompany you on this endeavour."

"I shall try not to take that personally," came Anthony's voice from behind them.

He smiled at his mother, and she walked past Marianne to take one of her son's hands. Marianne stepped away, not wanting to encroach on their private goodbyes. She sidled up beside Patrick, clearing her throat to get his attention.

"Oh, you're here," he said, blinking as he turned his gaze from Miss Barclay. "I was making sure no one mishandled my luggage."

"I have no doubt you were," Marianne replied with a grin. "Are you excited?"

"Any more excitement just might kill me," Patrick said sarcastically. He glanced over Marianne's head. "Where did you find Anthony?"

"He was in his study." Marianne wanted to leave her answer at that, but she blushed at the memory of their conversation. "We were just tying up matters before we leave."

"Hm …" Patrick narrowed his eyes at her. "You know," his voice lilted, "I don't think I've ever seen our duke take to a person as quickly as he has taken to you. There were plenty of friendships to be made on the Continent, but for the most part, the man kept to himself. He trusts you. More importantly, he seems genuinely to enjoy spending time in your company. You've become fast friends."

"Are you feeling a little jealous?" Marianne laughed nervously, trying not to give Patrick's words too much weight in her mind. "I think you're still his favourite between us."

"I would not be so sure." Patrick looked over at Anthony, and his mouth twisted in thought. "I'm only saying this to make sure that you don't feel like he was feigning his approval of you when we arrive at Hagram Park. This is your first real social outing—but it is also Anthony's first appointment since returning to the country. There are new connections that he must make, old friendships he must reignite …"

Lady Eliana's name rang in Marianne's ears.

"If you do not see much of him, try not to take it personally," Patrick concluded. The servants began marching away from the carriage, and Patrick walked Marianne towards it. "Anthony has been eschewing his duties here at Moorhaven Manor. At Hagram Park, he will need to prioritize being a duke over being our friend …"