Chapter 12

To Anthony's surprise, most things in England had remained the same in his time away. Norfolk was still as flat as ever. Their King's health was still hanging on by a thread—despite what the royalist newspapers printed. To the upset of his Whig friends, the Earl of Liverpool had remained their prime minister. In fact, it seemed like the only real change had been the death of his father.

Hagram Park, for instance, was exactly as he remembered it. The building wasn't quite as large as Moorhaven Manor, but it still eclipsed most properties with its beauty and size. It had been built earlier than Anthony's home, looking more like an undersized fortress than a stately house. Above the stone parapets, a flag of England rose over the estate, billowing in the wind. The Hindborough's crest flew on its own flag just below it.

It didn't feel like a homecoming. But it felt … close.

Anthony's vehicle was not the first to arrive. They parked at the end of a parade of coaches and waited their turn before driving to the doors. It was around noon by then, and the sun was high in the sky. Anthony wondered whether the heat had got to Marianne in the carriage. She had been quiet for most of the journey and looked nauseous now that they were ready to meet their hosts.

"You will be perfectly fine," Anthony said as encouragement when the footman came around to open their doors. "If you feel out of your depth, you need only tell me. We are in this together—all three of us."

Neither Patrick nor Marianne looked like they believed him.

It was much cooler indoors when they were finally let within. Anthony watched Marianne carefully as they were led inside by the Hindborough butler. Their luggage was carried in by a complement of liveried footmen sporting the Hindborough maroon.

The marquess had obviously spared no expense for the hunting party that year. The entrance hall was spotless, reminding Anthony of the Scottish keeps he had visited on his Grand Tour of England. It possessed flagstone floors, dark wooden accents, rich tapestries that hung from the walls … As a child, Anthony had spent no small amount of time shadowing his father and Warren throughout its lofty halls.

Yet Warren Webb, despite his best efforts at appearing as impressive in body as he was in spirit, didn't have the build to be a Scottish laird. He appeared at the top of the grand stone staircase, talking to the guests who had arrived just before Anthony's group.

They disappeared out of sight, and Warren looked down into the entrance hall. His thin, greying brown hair was oiled back in its usual style. His face, while still round and youthful despite his middle age, was peppered with age spots and freckles from his many travels.

"I don't believe my eyes," Warren cried. His voice echoed in the room, going right through to Anthony's bones. "Our very own Duke of Westden, come with so many friends."

Warren took his time descending the staircase, giving Anthony just enough time to conduct a final check on Marianne. Her hands were folded in front of her as she stood demurely. The colour had returned to her face. At the base of the stairs, Warren bowed for Anthony—which was highly unnecessary—and greeted both Marianne and Patrick with a nod.

"You've certainly lost your tan," Warren joked, clapping Anthony on the shoulder. He looked at Patrick. "You both look healthy, boys. I'm glad. Especially given the circumstances …" His happy expression faltered a moment. "But we should count our blessings and not be so dour so soon. You are here, my son, finally returned to us."

It had not been unusual for Warren to call Anthony that in the past. His son. It unsettled him now that his father was gone. He made a note to correct Warren about it later, turning to the matters at hand instead.

"Allow me to introduce Warren Webb, the Marquess of Hindborough," Anthony said, then he gestured towards Patrick. "You will remember Mr Bowers from our time in Italy." Now he turned to Marianne, feeling suddenly nervous. He wanted this to go well for her. "And finally, I have the pleasure of being one of the first gentlemen to introduce our newest friend. This is Lady Marianne Chambers, the granddaughter of the late Earl of Foxburn."

Warren looked nonplussed. Catherine had briefed him about Marianne's attendance in a letter. His mother's honeyed words seemed to have worked their magic—for now.

"Of course, I remember Mr Bowers," Warren said in order of the introduction, smiling. He stepped forward to greet Marianne, taking her hand as she performed a curtsy. "Now, you are a pleasant surprise, Lady Marianne. The Duchess of Westden informed me of your recent arrival in Norwich.

My daughter has spoken of nothing but you since we received confirmation that you would be attending. She will be beside herself with joy to see that you have come. The granddaughter of old John Chambers. Yes, what a surprise you are indeed …"

Marianne smiled timidly, obviously struggling to find something to say. Anthony couldn't help intervening at the sight of her unease.

"I am certain Lady Eliana and Lady Marianne will become fast friends," Anthony intervened, hoping the platitude would comfort her. He stepped forward, and Warren released her hand. "Where is Lady Eliana?"

"At present, I believe she's outside with the few ladies who arrived this morning. I encouraged Eliana to invite some friends of her own so she wouldn't feel too left out while we men took to the hunting grounds." Warren tilted his head at Marianne. "There will be plenty for you to do as well, Lady Marianne. My daughter has designed an itinerary to keep you all satisfied and busy."

And to keep us apart, Anthony thought sadly. Patrick and I will be lucky to spend even an hour with Marianne while we are here. Perhaps there is some way I can etch out some time just for the two—or three—of us to make sure that she is not overwhelmed.

"Your daughter sounds like an industrious and considerate young woman," Marianne said politely, surprising Anthony. "I am just as excited to meet her. I have heard nothing but good things about Lady Eliana."

Was her accent different? And had that been a lie? Anthony wondered whether that had been his mother's doing, instructing her to act differently and be less honest to protect their hosts' feelings. Well, Anthony liked Marianne just the way she was. The guests at the hunting party deserved to meet the real Marianne, too.

"I met your father, you know," Warren said to Marianne. "It was long ago before any of you were born. That makes me sound ancient, doesn't it? You have his eyes and his courage. One must be courageous to undertake an endeavour of such magnitude. I think Nicholas would have been extremely proud to see you reclaiming your lost heritage."

"You are kind to say so, My Lord." Marianne side-eyed Anthony. She wasn't convinced by Warren's friendly display just yet. "Where shall we all begin?"

"So eager to get started. I rather like her." Warren laughed. "The footman will deliver your effects to your rooms. Lady Marianne, you will be sleeping in the western wing of the house on the second floor. You, gentlemen, will find your rooms in the eastern wing on the third floor. A servant will be waiting to direct you on the first landing."

He stepped back and motioned towards the stairs with an elegant wrist roll.

"Let me say again how delighted I am to have you," Warren finished, bowing as Marianne walked up the stairs with Patrick to guide her.

Anthony lingered a moment in the entrance hall, watching her leave. She looked back at him only once, and it pleased Anthony to no end. She chatted with Patrick until they disappeared out of sight, leaving Anthony to catch up with his father's old friend properly.

"I hardly knew what to expect when Her Grace wrote that the bastard daughter of Nicholas Chambers would be arriving with you."

So, the gloves were off now that Marianne was out of earshot. Anthony reeled back in surprise, hoping against hope that Warren was only joking.

"I hope you haven't found the task too far beneath you, showing that poor rabbit around the warren at your mother's insistence," the marquess continued, ignoring Anthony's horrified stare. "I imagine you have much better things to do than play minder to an overgrown child. I'll see that she is thoroughly distracted while you are here, don't worry. A woman of her calibre should be easy enough to entertain."

"A woman of her calibre?" Anthony was outraged, blood boiling in his veins. He kept his composure, sensing that more guests were approaching the doors. "What exactly do you mean?"

Warren looked surprised by his questions. The man had always been like an uncle to Anthony—an uncle with infallible judgement. Only the most incensing or improper topics had been off limits. For the most part, they had always seen eye-to-eye …

Was this the way Warren and his father had spoken together in private? Or had they spoken like this openly, and Anthony had been too na?ve, too uneducated to realize the extent of their prejudice? Either way, Anthony would not put up with Warren's slander of Marianne when he hadn't even tried to get to know her.

"I've found Lady Marianne to be an exceptional young woman," he got in before Warren could argue his defence. "It's been no trouble at all to host her at the manor, and my mother would agree."

Anthony chewed the inside of his mouth, refraining from saying more, even when Warren scoffed in surprise. "For the record, Lady Marianne is no bastard. Her parents were married. Everything about her is legitimate, and a process is currently underway to prove that."

"Ah, yes … That song-and-dance with the Chambers' elopement." Warren stared up the stairs, his lips pursed. "How could your mother have agreed to this? I love Catherine like a sister, but she forced my hand sending her new protégée along with you. What was I supposed to say? I hardly wanted to add to her anguish by refusing to host the ingenue."

"Marianne will cause you no grief," Anthony repeated, gritting his teeth at Warren's continued attack on Marianne. "This is where she belongs, and she has our full endorsement. I am sorry if you feel you were backed into a corner regarding her presence here. But that is as far as I will extend my apologies to you. Should you prefer to see her gone, then I will have to leave with her."

Warren glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. "You're quite serious about this, aren't you? What the devil happened on the Continent to make you so soft?" He sighed—the sound of defeat.

"Very well, Anthony. For now, I will give both you and her the benefit of the doubt. But I do not like the idea of her socializing with Eliana. My daughter's curiosity is insatiable. She will want to befriend the newcomer just so she can vaunt being the first to do so."

"Perhaps your daughter is more open-minded than you give her credit," Anthony muttered. More open-minded than Warren, certainly. "And you know I am not in the habit of taking Eliana's side."

For as long as Anthony had known Eliana, they had mixed like oil and water. He wasn't sure what it was about Warren's only daughter that he found so intolerable. On the surface, she was beautiful, accomplished, intelligent, and worldly. And yet, the moment Anthony was left alone with her, every conversation ended in disagreement.

As he grew older, Anthony began to wonder whether Eliana intentionally treated him so poorly. Their fathers had spoken about a marriage between them on and off since their children were born. Eliana might have wanted to sabotage their plans by making Anthony despise her.

Alternatively, Anthony thought, she thinks that our quarrelling is evidence of my passion for her. Any attention is good attention, so far as Eliana is concerned.

He kept his thoughts to himself. The boat had sailed on a potential engagement between Anthony and Eliana anyway. She had spent two Seasons in London, and from what Warren had said back in Florence, she was only growing more popular with each year that passed. If she wanted to tie Anthony down, she would have made her intentions known by now.

"I'm not convinced," Warren murmured, startling Anthony out of his thoughts. "Like always, I don't think Eliana knows what is good for her."

"I doubt many of us do," Anthony replied, wondering, not for the first time, whether it had been a mistake to come in the first place.

*

Marianne paused on the pebbled courtyard behind the manor, lacing her fingers in front of her as she looked out over the grounds. Hagram Park was tucked away in what felt like the middle of a forest. The house was beseeched by high-rising trees at every angle, obscuring them from the rest of the world. The main gardens were razed flat, stretching out for at least half a mile in front of her until they surrendered to more woodland.

"The perfect playground for restless lords," she murmured to herself, taking the steps down onto the grass.

She had been ordered downstairs by Miss Barclay once they were done unpacking her belongings. It was important, Miss Barclay said, that Marianne acquainted herself with Lady Eliana and her friends as soon as possible. Alliances formed quickly at gatherings such as these. Marianne would be left out to dry like yesterday's washing if she didn't find a friend to hang on to fast.

That was the last thing she wanted. All the guests were adults, but Catherine and Miss Barclay had described the young ladies of the ton as cabalistic children. Marianne didn't want to be the only girl left with no one to play with.

"The odds are stacked against you," Miss Barclay had said not ten minutes earlier, folding Marianne's night chemise. "You are already a curiosity because of being Nicholas Chambers' daughter. It will single you out, and you must use that to your advantage before it gets the better of you. Become like the new toy they wish to play with, and then transcend your role the moment you have some leverage."

As if Marianne knew where to find some. She figured the group of ladies lounging on blankets in the middle of the lawn was a decent place to start. She approached them with her heart in her throat, trying to recall all of Catherine's advice on making the perfect introduction.

She could barely see the women's faces until she was within metres of them. Each lady held a parasol, protecting themselves from the sun. Marianne cursed herself for forgetting her own parasol in her room. She counted maybe twelve women, varying in age, appearance, and size.

They were spread out on four matching blankets, looking like one of the paintings Catherine hung in her solar. Each lady looked perfect in a white cotton day gown. Marianne, by comparison, stuck out like a sore thumb with her bright red spencer and the matching ribbon in her hair.

A woman on the nearest blanket peered up at Marianne from beneath the rim of her parasol, breaking the conversation she had been having with the plumper young lady beside her.

"Heaven on Earth," she exclaimed, rising into an elegant stand. "Everyone else has arrived, so you must be Lady Marianne …"

The mere mention of her name caused the conversations to cease all around her. Marianne looked helplessly at the woman who had given her away. She was taller than Marianne, with silky black hair and clear brown eyes. A mole decorated her upper lip, drawing Marianne's gaze to her naturally red lips.

"That would be me, yes," Marianne stammered, blinking as the woman grabbed her wrist.

"Well, how wonderful to meet you. I am Lady Eliana Webb—but please, you will call me Eliana. You must have met my father when you arrived, Lord Hindborough." She turned Marianne towards her friends. "Everyone, say hello to Lady Marianne."

Like a well-trained troupe of actors, the ladies chorused a greeting for her. Marianne gave her most winning smile, gasping as Lady Eliana began dragging her down onto the blanket with her. It was impossibly soft, where it brushed against Marianne's stockinged ankle. She shifted into a halfway comfortable position, barely able to catch her breath before Lady Eliana was pawing at her again.

"Come here and sit with me," Lady Eliana urged, smiling at Marianne sweetly. "Did you forget your parasol? That's no matter. You can share with me. I can give you anything else you may be lacking when we return inside. You only have to ask, Marianne. Really, you mustn't be shy."

Eliana angled the instrument over them—tilting it so that the two disappeared slightly from sight behind the lacy fabric.

"You have such a lovely complexion," Eliana went on. "You would not want to ruin it by staying out in the sun too long. Now …" She grabbed one of Marianne's hands, fixing it against the picnic blanket. "Tell me everything about you. I know most of the story from the duchess' letter. But so much can get lost in translation. What has happened to bring you here? Start from the very beginning."

Marianne hesitated. Catherine had urged her not to reveal too much about her past to the ladies at Hagram Park. One whiff of blood, and they would pounce on her, tearing her story to pieces. The ton did not treat outcasts like Marianne with kid gloves. One mistimed remark could make Marianne a laughingstock.

"You will know the bones of the story," Marianne said, averting her gaze to what little she could see of the grounds. "My father, Nicholas Chambers, was the son of the late Earl of Foxburn. He eloped with a woman who worked for his father, and I was the product of their union. I have come to Norfolk to discover my past, first and foremost."

The words sounded different coming from her mouth than when Catherine had first composed them for her, having been learned like lines of a play. Marianne had kept her voice low, wishing Eliana had properly introduced her to the other guests before stealing her away.

That couldn't have made for a good first impression, already establishing Marianne as a novelty to be fought over. And first impressions, the duchess had implored, meant everything in their world.

Eliana seemed thrilled by the story. "It's the stuff of novels," she said, gracefully tucking her legs beneath her. "How has it been for you so far? Staying with Her Grace at Moorhaven Manor?"

"I have little to compare it to," Marianne began, going slightly off-script. "But the duchess has been nothing but kind and patient with me. And the manor is beautiful. Everything else is completely overwhelming, of course." She laughed.

"Frankly, when my father announced that Anthony was bringing some friends along, I could barely believe it. He's not the sociable type. When he explained that you were the one coming with him, I worried they were pushing you into things too quickly. He lacks that sort of sensibility. He doesn't understand feminine sensitivities." She smiled, but she wore the expression strangely.

"I pictured you turning up in rags with your hair all in knots. And I told my father I would take you aside, dress you, and cut your hair, even if I was ridiculed for it. Anything to help you become the lady you are destined to be. I really mean that, Marianne."

"Thank you," Marianne said, even though it sounded more like a question.

"My initial plan was completely childish, and I see that now. I allowed my imagination to run rampant." She patted Marianne's hand. "You're nothing like a character in a novel, are you? You're real, and you're going through so much." Eliana sucked in a breath. "And yet the offer still stands. Anything you need from me, I will give to you."

Marianne only wanted her to stop offering to help. She felt like the world's best-dressed beggar. Was that what the other ladies thought of her? Did they see her as a worthy cause they could advocate for? A problem they could fix because it was the charitable thing to do? A niggling, dark voice sounded at the edge of her mind …

Is that what Catherine and Anthony think of me?

No, Marianne thought back. Don't be stupid.

"I have been provided with everything I could ever need," Marianne replied evenly, pushing away her doubt. Eliana's large, round eyes were still boring into hers. The woman never looked away. Never blinked. "But you're very kind for offering to help me."

That seemed to relax Eliana. "And you are kind for saying so."

"I expected nothing less than a warm reception from you. Her Grace has sung your praises from the moment you were first mentioned." Marianne hated being a bootlicker, but Catherine had stressed the importance of compliments when making friends with ladies her age. They were starved for validation. "In fact, she said that your two families have been close for many years."

"The duchess speaks true." Eliana nodded. She raised the parasol slightly, obviously done trying to protect Marianne's privacy now that she was complimenting her. All the better for the others to hear.

"The Webb and Colline families have been allied for generations, given that we both hold our seats here in East Anglia. My father and the late Duke of Wesden became greater friends than any of the men who came before them. Really, they were more like brothers until the duke's untimely passing. That makes Anthony and I like cousins. Even closer, I would say."

Even though Anthony had encouraged Marianne to call him by his Christian name, she knew that was not the done thing. Eliana had to be close with the duke to be speaking about him so casually in front of others. Marianne felt a bit less special because of it. Her stomach clenched at the thought. Anthony had been honest with her about everything—even his father's death. But he had never spoken to her about his relationship with Eliana.

That begged the question: Why?

A ringlet of dark hair had escaped Eliana's chignon, caressing the nape of her neck—and Marianne got the sense it had been placed there on purpose, to draw the eye of an observant gentleman, who would see it and be inspired by all sorts of wicked thoughts.

A new question emerged instead: What had she found herself in the middle of?

"And that's why I'm so glad he's back. I think it's time we all returned to normalcy," Eliana continued. "With the exception of you, of course. You are only just beginning your own journey here. Tell me, what are your plans? Do you intend to stay on with the dowager duchess for good?"

The eyes of a dozen women were slowly shifting to Marianne. She looked over her audience, reciprocating their flat smiles. They weren't even bothering to hide their eavesdropping, heads tilted in observation like the birds decorating the nearby trees.

"I don't know." Marianne shrugged. "I have met some relatives of mine. There was talk of a potential London Season—"

"Yes, there would be," Eliana interjected, looking at her flock. They all nodded in agreement, like they shared one mind—one thought—between them. "You're beautiful. The Chambers name may not hold the weight it once did, but that should not stop you from branching out and forming new connections. Why wait for London? I will introduce you to people here. Just point whoever you like out to me, and I will perform the introduction."

The other ladies cooed and whispered in excitement. Marianne caught mumbled names: Lord Holton, Mr Crofter, Mr Bowers … She should have been pleased that Eliana was offering to match her up with the man of her choosing. After all, Marianne's life wouldn't progress much further without finding a gentleman husband.

And yet she couldn't be glad. Because when she looked into herself and tried to imagine what sort of husband she would like, she saw nothing. Or next to nothing. At the edge of her consciousness, there was a face, a name …

But it was too dangerous a thought to entertain.