Chapter 14

"There's not that much to it, surely. You're telling me you never participated in one of the races at Oxford? Never rode in one of those gondolas, not in all that time you spent in Italy with my father? What on earth did you occupy yourself with?"

Anthony scowled, staring across the water while Eliana blathered on beside him. He had found himself in the unfortunate position of escorting her down to the lake after breakfast, having been initially cornered by Warren and then stuck with her when the others had begun making their way towards their activity that morning.

The lake's surface was gently undulating, a deep slate blue colour that looked unnaturally clear. Anthony could all too easily imagine Warren sending his manservants down into the lake with nets, tasked with purging the water of every blemish, living or otherwise, until it was deemed clean enough for the boating that morning.

"There was a war going on," Anthony reminded her, toeing the bank of the lake with the tip of his boot. "I was there for study, not for pleasure. Most of my days were spent indoors sketching or visiting places that your father deemed educational to me."

"Ah, so you're one of those scholarly artists." Eliana's tone was teasing, and it grated on Anthony's nerves. She gave her parasol a little twirl when he glowered at her. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm sure the trip was perfectly necessary and not at all undertaken for any selfish reasons—even with that little war going on, as you said."

"Yes, and I imagine you spent the last two years industriously yourself," Anthony rebutted. There was no point mincing his words. "How were things for you in London?"

"Oh, you are so very boring, Anthony." Eliana scoffed, rolling her eyes for emphasis. "It's no fun to bicker with you because you always take things too personally." She glanced over her shoulder, looking at the mass of guests accumulating around the lake. "But since you asked, my Seasons were fine. Surely you did not expect me to settle for the first suitor who came knocking? And they did come knocking, in droves."

Anthony laughed under his breath. "Since I was not here, I will just have to take your word for it. Your mother—"

"What about her?"

"I only meant to ask what she had thought of your progress and where she had gone." Anthony crossed his arms over his chest, surprised by Eliana's barked question. It had been said viscously, even for her. "My own mother fully anticipated her presence here this week. When did the marchioness leave?"

"A few months ago, if you must know. And frankly, you do not need to know anything about her. It's my father you are friends with, not my mother," Eliana replied, her face falling. "She is with her family in Carlisle for the summer, though in her last letter, she mentioned wanting to return to our home in France now that the war was done. I should like to go there myself if she does." She paused, looking up at Anthony through the line of her long, black lashes. "Perhaps you could join us."

"I have rather one too many things that require my attention here." Anthony shook his head at the understatement.

"Yes … I've met the things dominating your attention at present." Eliana angled herself towards the crowd of guests. Anthony couldn't see Marianne among them but imagined Eliana was looking for her. "She's a lovely woman—if a little rough around the edges. Are you in love with her?"

Anthony looked at her so quickly that he got whiplash. He gritted his teeth together, rubbing his sore neck as Eliana burst out laughing. She was joking, thank God. To Eliana, Marianne couldn't have been deemed well-bred enough to tempt Anthony. Little did she know, he thought, about his improper feelings the night prior.

Like the crick in his neck, he hoped they would pass in time.

"You shouldn't joke about things like that—I know," Eliana continued, imitating him. "It was worth it to see the look on your face. We may have our differences, but I know you're not completely hopeless. Lady Marianne is pretty enough. Perhaps she could trap a knight if she plays her cards right."

Eliana side-eyed him. "But I'd be careful around her. You know well enough that a match between the two of you would be impossible, but Marianne does not yet know the rules of our world. She could misinterpret your charity towards her as something more."

"Lady Marianne is much brighter than you give her credit. She may not yet understand everything about the ton, but she is naturally sensible and practical." Anthony stopped himself, not wanting to fuel Eliana's deranged suspicions by rightfully complimenting Marianne any more than was necessary to prove his point. "I enjoy her company. I see no reason why another lord should not get along with her just fine."

Saying as much made a knot form in his stomach. He didn't like to think of Marianne on the marriage mart, yet he wasn't sure why.

"And who do you imagine would enjoy my company?" Eliana asked, bringing the conversation back to her favourite subject—herself. "Do you see a duke in my future, too?"

If Eliana hadn't hated him, Anthony might have thought she was trying to flirt. Instead, he pressed his lips together and looked out over the water.

"I see only a wet and grizzly end for you if you do not abandon your efforts to convince me out onto that blasted lake."

At last, Eliana seemed discouraged. She accepted her defeat with a groan, turning on her heel and rejoining her friends. Anthony waited a moment at the water's edge, concerned about Eliana's interest in Marianne. He had advised Marianne to befriend Eliana for her own sake. And he still thought she would be safer as Eliana's ally rather than as her enemy …

Though frankly, he thought, I would rather Marianne be entirely spared from Eliana and the others. Who knows who she might become after being subjected to their ways in our world of assimilation or alienation?

Anthony pressed through the group of guests, searching for a friendly face. It wasn't long before he spotted Marianne walking towards the lake. Patrick walked on one side of her, holding a pair of rowing oars. On her other side was a young gentleman whom Anthony didn't recognize. He had olive skin and dark brown hair—and the sort of confident smile that Anthony imagined would make most women swoon.

The three of them were so absorbed in their conversation that they only noticed Anthony once they were walking directly passed him. Patrick skidded to a stop, bringing his walk with Marianne and their new friend to an abrupt end.

"I told Lady Marianne you snuck away right after breakfast," Patrick said, thrusting the oars to Anthony so he could wave towards the stranger. "We picked up a new companion in your stead. He joined our table once you left."

"I am Mr Frederic Crofter, Your Grace." The man had a baritone voice, and Anthony watched Marianne carefully for her reaction. He had all the elements of a rake—at least outwardly. "Mr Bowers and I met last night, quite by a strange turn of events."

"Not so strange as that," Patrick interjected, grinning. "I stole the poor cad's table card so that I could sit beside Marianne. Mr. Crofter spared me an evening of discomfort."

"And in return, I failed to make the acquaintance of Lady Marianne," Mr Crofter said, bowing respectfully to Marianne. "It was a stroke of luck that we could make up for the lost opportunity this morning."

She smiled timidly, seemingly on edge now that Anthony had appeared. If she wanted to walk with unknown gentlemen, she was more than within her right to do as much. That was the whole point of her attendance. Why, then, did Marianne look uncomfortable that Anthony had caught them? And why did Anthony feel uncomfortable, too?

"How lucky indeed," Anthony replied. He stuck the rowing oars into the ground like a warrior might wield two spears. "Do you have designs on a boat, Mr Crofter?"

"Oh, I should not think so." Mr. Crofter's face turned white at the mere mention of the lake. "I have a deathly fear of water and always have. I would like to watch of course. Would you like to go out, Lady Marianne? If not, you are more than welcome to watch from the sidelines alongside me. We could get to know one another as we should have last night."

Anthony looked at Marianne agog.

"I had not given the matter much thought." Marianne tilted up her bonnet to get a better look at the lake. "How many boats are there?"

"Five, by my count," Anthony replied. He was grateful when Marianne glanced at him at last. He couldn't tell from her expression whether she wanted to be rescued from Mr Crofter. "We will take turns, I think."

"It seems I've unwittingly given you the keys to the kingdom," Patrick remarked, nodding at Anthony's oars. "Lord Hindborough sent me down with them to give to the man on the jetty. Tell us, then. Who shall you choose to go sailing with you?"

Anthony hesitated. "To be perfectly honest, I …"

The sentence trailed off. He looked at the oars. Eliana had asked him to go with her not five minutes beforehand, and he had made an excuse primarily to avoid being stuck on a boat with her. He wasn't a particularly good rower, and he didn't relish the idea of being watched on the lake by the fifty or so guests who were settling on the lakeside, either beneath the marquee or on their own blankets.

But perhaps Marianne was expecting him to ask her out onto the water. Perhaps she was silently—much too silently—pleading with Anthony to take her away from Mr Crofter right that moment. And, Anthony thought, if he were seen with Marianne on the lake, the other guests would know without a doubt that the Colline family had given the newly discovered Lady Marianne their stamp of approval …

So with all that considered, it seemed only one option was left available to him.

"I was rather hoping that you would come with me," he said to Marianne.

*

"It is supposed to rock like this?" Marianne asked, gripping onto the bench beneath her like her life depended on it—and for all she knew, it did.

"I believe so," Anthony replied, steering them towards the centre of the lake. "I would be lying if I said I was sure … It's been many years since I was in one of these. Perhaps this boat is past its prime."

That did not instill Marianne with confidence. The duke was seated at one end of the boat with her at the other. She glanced over the water towards the bank. Mr Crofter and Patrick were standing on the jetty, having found two new women to speak with now that Anthony had enlisted Marianne to go sailing.

The rest of the guests—those who were not waterlocked—were relaxing on the lawn or standing beneath the white canvas tent the marquess had set up. Servants milled through the crowd, offering drinks and petit-fours to the guests.

Or so Marianne thought to see from her vantage point. The whole world was tilting gently back and forth. She felt nauseated by the thought and immediately returned her gaze to the only fixed point in the vicinity: Anthony.

She had to admit he looked even more dashing than usual as he rowed them slowly across the lake. He had done away with his jacket the moment they gained some privacy, then had rolled up the sleeves of his white cotton shirt, exposing his taut forearms and the down of dark hair that covered them.

His muscles rippled beneath the surface of his skin as he worked the oars—looking more athletic than Marianne would have thought, considering he spent most of his free time in his studio, painting.

Her cheeks grew hot. She looked up at the sky, expecting to find the sun beating down on them. A thin veil of clouds hung overhead instead. The heat in her face had nothing to do with the weather. She suspected it had something to do with Anthony, like it had the night prior when he had leaned in close—closer than was proper, certainly.

She cleared her throat. The two of them could barely shut up when they were left alone. The awkward silence between them was unnerving, and Marianne looked for the first topic of conversation that came up.

"I saw you left this morning with Eliana," she blurted out.

She immediately wished she hadn't said anything, cursing herself with a muttered, "Good job, Marianne." Anthony sucked in his cheeks, turning towards the lake, likely wondering whether it was too late to return to dry land.

"It was by no choice of my own. Lord Hindborough took me aside this morning in the middle of breakfast to talk about the acquisition of a new painting. When I left his office, Eliana was waiting for me." He slowed his rowing, his shoulders moving methodically. "You seem to have found some other company, regardless."

Marianne averted her eyes to her lap. "I hadn't thought you would mind."

"I never said that I did."

"Well, it sounded as though …" She cut herself off, not wanting to accuse him of being upset with her or jealous, as though that were even possible. "Do you know something about Mr Crofter that I do not? Patrick seemed to like him."

"The man is a complete stranger to me," Anthony replied unemotionally. "I only think that you should be careful about who you choose to socialize with while you are here. Every interaction will be recorded and assessed by the other guests. If you show yourself to be too friendly with the wrong sort of gentleman, the consequences could be dire. I like Patrick, but he is not the best judge of character. He is not discerning enough."

It sounded like a scolding and felt like one, too. Marianne bristled at the warning, crossing her arms over her chest. They rowed in silence for a while until they reached the middle of the lake.

Marianne glanced towards the bank, finding that the rest of the guests had become indiscernible silhouettes in the distance. She could hear conversation and laughter, but it was impossible to make out what anyone was saying. The same, she guessed, was true for her and Anthony.

She looked over the side of the boat, following the course of a water-skipper as it traveled northward toward the other side of the lake. Tall trees formed a natural partition between the Hindborough estate and the rest of the world.

Marianne closed her eyes, listening to the birdsong in the air, committing to memory the fresh, green smell emanating from the water. She focused on anything she could find to ignore her rising confusion over Anthony's behavior.

But it was impossible to ignore him forever in the flesh. Her eyes flashed open at the sound of the oars clattering into the boat. Anthony wiped his hands on his trousers, bringing his knees up and then propping his elbows atop them. He glanced forlornly over the surface of the water, his mind visibly whirring behind his serious, blue eyes.

"Are we stopping?" Marianne asked, her cheeks flaming.

"For a spell." Anthony was even more striking in profile, his neck bobbing above the line of his cravat. "I've been searching for a moment of quiet since we arrived. That doesn't mean that you shouldn't talk if you want to." His expression softened. "I am sorry if I sounded harsh. I have adopted my mother's concern for you as my own. And frankly, I was in bitter mood after being run to earth by Eliana this morning."

Marianne could barely contain her relief that he was speaking again, smiling at the sound of his voice. She contemplated him while he contemplated the lake, unable to look away even when she tried.

"Your distaste for Lady Eliana is confusing," Marianne said. "When I first met Eliana, she said that you and she had been friends for many years—and that you were like family. At dinner last night, you looked to be getting along well."

"Looks can be deceiving. I tolerate Eliana because our fathers were friends and because I am beholden to Warren in more ways than one. Among other things, it had been a lifelong dream of mine to study art on the Continent, and he made it possible." He sighed, and his face flashed with something akin to pain. "It is part of my duty as the Duke of Westden to foster good relations with others—even if I may not like it."

"Eliana seems to like you a great deal, and it doesn't strike me as a purely political alliance on her end. I got the impression she had other things in mind for you than friendship. Was there never a time …"

Marianne winced. She wasn't sure how much she should say. Something within her was screaming at her: Do not pursue the topic any further. Still, she continued.

"Your families were close, and you are of similar ages. She is beautiful and well-read, to say the least. I'm certain she must be incredibly popular with the gentlemen of the ton. On paper, a marriage between you—" She choked on her own spit, cutting her off for good. "Forget I said anything," she managed between coughs. "It is not my place to pry."

"Has anything been off-limits between us so far?" Anthony laughed softly, returning his gaze to her. "Of course, there was talk of Eliana and I marrying one another."

Marianne nodded, keeping her composure even when her head felt like it would explode from the news.

"That's all it was, merely talk," Anthony stressed. "I never wanted that for myself. I am obligated to marry one day, but so long as I live and breathe, it will not be to Eliana."

"That's good." Marianne shook her head, correcting herself. "I only mean that I'm glad you are not allowing others to influence your decisions. If you do not get on well with Eliana, then no, of course, you should not marry her."

"Yes, but I must bow somewhat to the pressures of others," Anthony said through a doleful smile. "The woman I eventually marry … There is a list of requirements she must meet." He frowned, looking as flustered as Marianne felt. "It sounds ludicrous, I realize. We are talking of a woman like she is a horse at the market.

The whole business is utterly dehumanizing to everyone involved, not least of all the wives. My feelings do not matter in the end. The fact remains that I cannot freely choose the person I will spend my life with.

She will need to have the correct education and the correct birth to please not only my own family but the Crown as well. Some lesser titles are allowed more freedom in regard to their marriages. As a duke, it will not be so for me. There are expectations beyond number about the match."

"What happens if you select someone who is not suitable?" Marianne asked, selfishly imagining what it would be like for him if he selected someone like her.

"I …" Anthony shrugged, taking his time searching for an answer. "I am not sure. I had never considered that I would marry someone not qualified for the role of duchess. If I did select someone else … Yes, I'm afraid I do not know what would happen."

"Because I think …" Marianne took a deep breath, not intending to make him uncomfortable. "Well, I think that everyone should try to marry a person they genuinely like. You should be able to consolidate what is required from you and what you desire for yourself … I shall try and do that in my own life," she added nervously.

Anthony nodded, putting on a nonchalant air that made Marianne smile. "What do you have in mind for yourself?"

"Money and power, of course," she joked. "In an ideal world, I would marry someone kind who understands my situation. On a practical level, I would like him to be well-connected, or at least for him to provide me with a platform I can use to get my life started."

"Your new altruistic goals … My mother mentioned them to me. I find it commendable that you should want to put your newfound privilege to good use."

He genuinely seemed to mean that. Marianne wondered what charitable endeavours Anthony pursued in his own time—or if that, too, was just talk.

"These goals aren't merely things I want to achieve. I must achieve them." Marianne thought back to her life in Lambeth, to the nearby rookeries. "I would be a hypocrite if I did anything else but dedicate this new life to helping others. I can't pretend to have not seen the problems around us. I'm not sure where I will start, or how … if not by a marriage."

"There are some women in London—and an even greater number on the Continent—who lead more independent lives. But more often than not, they have come into their wealth by tragic means. Widows, spinsters, others who are not accepted by the ton.

They pursue knowledge and politics like you wish to do. It is not always an easy life for them. I think you're right," he said, though it seemed like he wished it wasn't true. "A good marriage will make it much easier for you in the long run."

Marianne leaned forward, looking at him closely. "How can you be so hopeful about my own prospects while being certain that you must marry for duty?"

"I am merely being realistic. There was a greater chance of forging something organically before my father's passing when I had more time," Anthony murmured, turning towards the bank overflowing with Hindborough guests.

"Achieving a perfect balance under the current circumstances seems impossible. I need only look at other aspects of my life as evidence to the point. I had hoped to continue painting when I returned to England, but I've yet to complete a sketch, let alone start work on a canvas."

"What?" Marianne was certain he was lying. "But you spend so much time locked away in your painting studio …"

Anthony smiled, his eyes alighting with mischief. "I do not necessarily retreat there to paint. I told you, I enjoy the quiet. On the Continent, I could lock myself away for hours without being distracted. Since I've returned to England, someone always wants something."

A breeze swept over the lake, gently rocking the boat. Water lapped rhythmically against the sides. Marianne fell quiet for a moment, listening, thinking. She surveyed the hull, pausing on Anthony's jacket cast over one of the seats.

"Did you bring your sketchpad with you?" she asked.

Anthony followed her gaze to his jacket and nodded.

Marianne glanced around them. The closest boat was so far away she could barely make out the faces of its passengers. It stood to reason that no one could see them either. She smiled at the thought, clapping her hands together.

"Sketch something now," she said. "We have nothing else to do. I'll be quiet, and I promise I won't distract you." She squinted over the water, looking for potential subjects. "You could draw the lake or the guests over there. Or …" An idea came to her. "Or if you wanted to sketch a portrait, I could serve as your model."

He arched a brow, but his lips were curling into another smile. "You wouldn't feel uncomfortable? Modelling is not exactly a proper pastime for a gentlewoman."

"I thought ladies sat for portraits all the time." Marianne dismissed his concerns with a wave. "I am used to holding a pose for a while. You'll recall it was just my mother and me at the shop. I spent a great many hours positioned for my mother while she measured gowns on me. You should be like Mr Crofter and make up for lost time."

The comparison appeared to light a fire under Anthony. He growled and reached for his jacket, extracting a small sketchpad and a roll of leather from the inside pocket. He splayed the wrap out on the bench in front of him. Marianne leaned forward, examining his collection of graphite pencils. A small knife occupied one of the loops, and Anthony pried it free to begin sharpening his instrument of choice.

Shavings collected on the surface of the water. Anthony returned to Marianne, placing the blade back into his case. With his pencil in hand, he rose into a stand. She grabbed the edge of the boat. Her stomach flipped as they rocked side to side. By the time she had her wits about her again, Anthony had crouched directly in front of her.

"Take off that bonnet," he ordered, gazing up at her and making Marianne's heart skip a beat. His eyes were narrowed in concentration. "And position yourself …" He angled his shoulders to the side, twisting his body. Marianne followed his instructions. "Yes, like that. You're perfect …" He raised his brows in alarm. "Perfectly positioned, I mean."

Nodding, Marianne forced a neutral expression, ignoring how giddy she felt. She watched Anthony out of the corner of her eye. He returned to the boat's stern, placing his pencil between his teeth while he found a comfortable position. She almost wished she had the skill to sketch him right back. She didn't want to forget this moment—the excitement in his eye, the passion that roared within him.

I hope he is like this forever, she thought, knowing all the while that it was not they who would have forever together.

Because even though she had suggested that he could marry a woman who had not been bred to become a duchess—a woman like her—she wasn't na?ve enough to believe that Anthony Colline would ever actually look at her as a real prospect for marriage.

"Stop frowning," he said, tilting his head to the side in observation. "You must think only happy thoughts while I sketch you, or the drawing will be miserable, too."

She intensified her scowl. "Is that a real artistic concept or something you've come up with just to torment me?"

"Never you mind." He grinned, putting down the foundation of the sketch. "Now be quiet like you promised, and let me get to work …"

Marianne forced a smile and cleared her mind, thinking about all the things that brought her joy. She was unsurprised to find Anthony behind her eyes, among others.

She sat with the thoughts of him for what felt like hours, sometimes recalling memories of her mother, sometimes betraying Anthony's order and allowing her mind to wander instead: her old shop in London, the direction of her life, the duties that awaited them both on the shore. Her anxiety ebbed and flowed like the water surrounding them …

It was nice to drift on the lake in the still moments, unconnected from everyone but herself. She realized with a start how comfortable Anthony made her feel. She could be alone with him, yet not feel lonely, even when they weren't talking.

When he bowed his head in concentration, Marianne peered over the hull to watch him draw. His hand worked the pencil with gentle precision, sometimes sweeping over the page and other times scratching in quick bursts. Her anticipation grew with every new hiss of the pencil against the page. She wanted to see how Anthony saw her, her heart racing as Anthony's pace slowed.

It was maybe half an hour later. He sighed deeply and drew away from the sketchbook, adding a few final details until he seemed done with his work.

Marianne blinked, the world coming back into focus. They had drifted even further away from the party, edging closer to the side of the lake obscured by the central island. The clouds had parted overhead, revealing the sun. She shielded her eyes from the light, squinting as the lake's surface glittered around them.

"Have you finished?" she asked, peering over the top of his sketchpad.

Anthony gave his work a final inspection. Marianne knew that look. It was the same way she had looked at completed gowns—knowing they were done but still feeling unsatisfied. Anthony snapped the sketchbook shut without a word, and the sound ripped through the air. The duke picked up his sketching supplies and started clearing them away.

"Is that it?" Marianne laughed in disbelief, dropping her hands to her sides. "After all that time, I don't even get to see the drawing?"

"That was never part of our bargain," Anthony reminded her, smirking. He tied the strap on his pencil case, cocking his head to the side. "It's a sketch, Marianne. Not meant for the eyes of others."

"Oh, so it was my mistake." She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "If I had asked for a watercolour instead, we would not have had this problem."

"Perhaps. It's a shame we will never know." Anthony grinned, "For I lacked the necessary supplies."

Marianne rolled her eyes, not giving up yet. Anthony rose to collect his jacket, and she slipped off a glove in response. She leaned over the side of the boat, dipping her hand into the lake's cool water, icy against her skin. Just as the duke began dressing himself, she flicked water up at him, catching him off guard.

He stumbled back, almost falling over. Marianne stood up as the boat rocked, not sure whether to laugh or scream. She splayed out her arms, gripping onto the sides of the boat until it stopped moving. Her stomach roiled like the water beneath them. Looking up at Anthony, she burst out laughing.

"That was a highly unladylike and dangerous counterattack," he said once he had steadied himself, trying to look angry but sounding amused instead. "You're lucky we didn't tip the boat and fall in. Do you even know how to swim, Marianne?"

"Not in the slightest," she replied, flicking a stray drop of water off her skirt. Anthony looked horrified. "Perhaps I should have mentioned that before I agreed to join you. You'll just have to rescue me if I fall in. Surely you know how to swim?"

Anthony didn't dignify her question with a response. He bent over to retrieve the glove she had discarded, falling into another kneel in front of her. He held his free hand open, and Marianne stared at it, confused.

"If you return to shore dishevelled and half-dressed, they will assume the worst," he explained, grabbing her naked hand by the wrist.

The feeling of his bare skin against hers set Marianne on fire. She swallowed hard as he thrust her silken glove into her hand, closing her fingers around it. His hand remained clasped around hers for only a second before he stood up, returning to his seat at the stern and repositioning the oars so they could start their journey back.

Marianne stared at the glove in her hand, unsure what Anthony had meant by the gesture. Had he been apologizing for keeping the sketch from her or …?

Or was that some sort of punishment, she wondered, for flicking him with water? Did he know that a touch would render me speechless?

From the victorious look on his face, it seemed like he had.