Chapter 15

Anthony leaned back in his armchair, his sketchpad open on his knee. He studied the sketch of Marianne on the boat, surprised by the accuracy of the drawing despite the circumstances under which he had drawn it. He liked her in the sketch. She looked much happier than when he had denied her request to see it.

It was too dangerous to agree, he thought, sweeping his thumb over the bottom of her gown to blend the shading more. The thoughts and feelings of every artist bleed into their work. Who knows what this sketch might have revealed to Marianne about my shameful thoughts of her?

And, he supposed, a part of him worried that she just wouldn't like it. He couldn't bear the thought of Marianne thinking poorly of his work. He had been judged by artists and art connoisseurs all across the Continent, and he had accepted their colourful critiques with grace. But Marianne was different. She made him feel vulnerable.

The sketch, he decided, will be mine to admire alone.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Anthony snapped the sketchpad shut. He leaned forward in his seat and cleared his throat. Warren appeared at the library entrance. A servant's shadow loomed in the doorway, carrying the marquess' hunting rifles in a long leather bag.

"I thought I would find you here," Warren said, glancing around the library. "You're just like your father. Drawn to books like a homing pigeon."

"It was the privacy of the room I sought, not the literature," Anthony corrected, slipping his sketchpad into his coat pocket. "Though I admit that your collection is impressive."

More than impressive. In the two years since Anthony had last visited Hagram Park, the Hindborough library had doubled in size. The estate as a whole seemed more lavishly decorated. Warren was an art collector. It was not unusual for him to display paintings in his home and sell them later. But the sheer number of treasures he had collected over the last few years made Anthony's head spin. What sort of windfall had the Webb family received?

"I've been busy since you were last here." Warren's smile was worn tight. "Upstart industrialists plague London, and every one of them seeks to imitate our way of life and decorate their new homes with paintings—old masterpieces they haven't the knowledge to display properly and appreciate.

It is our duty to protect these artifacts from being lost to the greed of others. Because I assure you, they will be lost unless we fulfil our roles as the curators of history."

Anthony wrinkled his nose. "It's a little early for philosophy. I'm still digesting breakfast," he joked, walking towards the exit. "But now that you mention it, one of my land agents pointed out that my father sold a number of items from his collection. You wouldn't happen to know who purchased them? Not one of those philistine industrialists?"

Warren frowned and shook his head. "Edward had his head screwed on straight. I doubt he sold them at all. Who's to say they are not at one of the other houses?" He clapped Anthony on the shoulder, hastening their pace. "But come. There are more pressing matters at present. You'll pair with me for the hunting this morning, won't you? The rain has discouraged most of the other gentlemen, and I find myself in want of a decent partner."

"You'll recall that I ride much better than I shoot." Anthony glanced sideways at the bag of hunting rifles the servant carried. "And as for judging the game …"

"We'll make a country lord of you yet," Warren said, leading Anthony into the entrance hall. "I have a final matter to attend before we depart. Wait for me here with the others."

Anthony watched Warren stalk towards the stairs, recruiting a nearby footman on the way. He disappeared, and Anthony turned to the ten or so gentlemen who had gathered for the hunt. Patrick was nowhere to be seen, and after greeting the other guests, Anthony settled with a small group of Warren's closest friends—who had been his father's preferred society, too.

He took up their chosen topic of conversation, nodding absently as they discussed the publication of that year's cricket almanac. Anthony couldn't have cared less for the sport. His gaze wandered as footsteps and laughter emanated from the nearby hallway.

Lady Eliana led a pack of ladies into the entrance hall, spotting Anthony immediately. He supplied her with a smile, relaxing once he saw Marianne enter behind her. Another young lady accompanied her, and the two appeared to be getting along well.

Excusing himself, Anthony made a beeline for Marianne through the throng of hunters and debutantes, feeling Eliana hot on his tail as he finally greeted Marianne.

"We're off hunting," he said, berating himself for the awkward greeting.

"I gathered as much from how you were dressed," Marianne said, laughing. She looked him up and down. "Are you sure you're covered enough for the rain? It seems like the poor weather has returned from earlier this season."

"We'll be fine under the cover of the forest. It's only a drizzle besides," Anthony replied. He recognized Marianne's new friend as Lady Jane, the daughter of the Earl of Carlton. "What will you ladies occupy yourselves with while we are gone?"

"I've organized a most entertaining day for us," Eliana interrupted, sidling too close up beside Anthony. She tapped her nose. "But I shan't say anything else, or it will spoil all the fun for this evening. You'll just have to wait and see, Your Grace … It occurs to me that we haven't spoken since your boat ride. You remained on the water for quite some time. Some of us worried you had decided to sail Lady Marianne back to London."

Lady Jane laughed politely, but Marianne didn't bother. "His Grace was merely helping me find my sea legs. Well, lake legs." She shrugged one-shouldered. "I can assure you, Lady Eliana, I am going nowhere soon."

Anthony beamed with pride. Marianne had found more than her lake legs. He glanced over their heads as Warren appeared at the top of the stairs. He called the waiting hunters below, informing them they would be leaving immediately.

Using the distraction, Anthony leaned down to whisper to Marianne.

"I have no real plans to hunt this morning, but I sense the same cannot be said for you." He reeled back, finding Marianne grinning back at him. "Play nicely, Marianne."

She pursed her lips. "Oh no, Your Grace. I will play to win or not at all."

*

Anthony wiped a pellet of rain from his brow, looking up at the canvas of leaves overhead. The forest surrounding Hagram Park grew thicker the further they walked from the house. Anthony estimated they were two miles away by now as he stalked through the woods alongside Warren and his man.

The other hunters had split off into groups at the forest entrance, each bearing a map of the grounds and a compass, to avoid running into each other and spoiling the game with unwelcome activity or errant bullets.

"The deer have never minded a steady rain," Warren said, climbing over a fallen log. "The female roe we spotted earlier will be settled by the burn; just you watch."

Anthony tried to show some enthusiasm, refraining from telling Warren he had no interest in hunting. The forest floor squelched under his boots as they progressed southward, though Anthony's mind was elsewhere.

"This is the first time you and I have been afforded any real time alone since the party began," Warren continued. He tipped up his hat, wiping his nose. "I had wanted to sit down with you for a drink on the first night, but both of us have been required elsewhere. How are things for you with the duchy?"

"You will have to be more specific," Anthony replied, navigating the undergrowth with more ease than Warren.

"I mean to ask how you're settling into your new role as the duke," Warren specified. "It was under similar circumstances that I acquired my own title from my father. Like you, I was young and unmarried, believing I had all the time in the world before my duty caught up with me.

It is not easy, as a young man, to be thrust into a position of power long before one is ready. My support has been an unspoken promise to you since the day you were born. You need only ask, and I will supply you with the knowledge, advice, or resources you seek—like I always have done."

More than anything, Anthony thought, he still wanted answers. He glanced over at the servant accompanying them, assuming that Warren had sworn all of his staff to secrecy. He did not seem like the type of lord to allow disobedience among his servants. Regardless, Anthony dropped his voice low.

"Then pray, accept this question. Have you heard of a physician named Doctor de Laurier?"

Warren fell silent for a moment. "I cannot say that I have."

"I've discovered that he was my father's physician during the last months of his life, yet when I interviewed the doctor, he refused to tell me anything about my father's illness. I cannot fathom why." Anthony settled against the trunk of a tree, pausing their walk. "What do you know of what happened to him? He told my mother nothing about his illness, but he must have confided in someone."

Having averted his eyes to the ground, Warren turned suddenly to gesture the servant away.

"You must understand that I can relay only what Edward told me," Warren confessed, his tone grave. "I imagine that if he was hiding the greater extent of his illness from Catherine, then there were many things he hid from me as well.

I know that he fell ill towards the beginning of the year, suffering at first from headaches and tiredness. He complained at times about pains in his chest—but for the most part, he kept the matters of his health to himself. Now, if you are asking what could lead a man to want to protect such a secret from those he loves most …"

"I was not," Anthony said, raising his voice over the rumble of thunder in the distance. "But now I must know what you are thinking."

"It is more than likely that Edward was simply more prideful than we knew. It is not easy to declare one's shortcomings to the world. In the eyes of many, a man is only so useful as he is healthy. It would not be difficult to imagine that Edward kept his condition a secret so as not to worry you or your mother."

It was not the first time Anthony had been told as much. Marianne had suggested the same thing before they had left for the hunting party. But unlike Marianne, Warren seemed to know more than he was letting on.

"That much I understand. What eludes me is what killed him." Anthony scrubbed a hand over his face. "The theories that I have come up with …"

"You will come to learn, as all sons must, that our sires are not beyond reproach. In Edward's case, his only sin was his pride." Warren looked Anthony straight in the eye.

"There are a host of illnesses a man might seek to keep secret from his family because admitting the origin of the sickness would dishonour him. Such is not the case for Edward. He was honourable until the end. Whatever took him from us was unpreventable and undeserved. You must try to take comfort in that."

"I will," Anthony let out a shaky breath, "for what little comfort that provides. Yet he gave you reason to believe that he was sicker than he was letting on?"

Warren sighed, waving the servant back over to them as they continued their walk—with Anthony's heart a little lighter.

"I knew Edward for the better part of my life," Warren continued, "which means I knew when he was lying. He put on a brave face to be certain, but there were matters he began to discuss: the future—your future. So yes, I assumed he knew that he was dying and wanted to prepare for his passing."

"And yet you agreed to the race regardless." Anthony let the accusation hang in the air. Warren didn't seem inclined to comment—too full of pride, just like his father. "These matters you mentioned … What were they?"

"Oh, there are more than I could list. He expressed a desire to sell off some unentailed properties, to mend some bridges he had once thought burnt." Warren steered Anthony between the trees onto a well-trodden path. "And, of course, we spoke at length about you. He had many hopes for you, not solely concerning the title, but your personal ambitions and your art."

Anthony recalled the painting he had destroyed, intended for his father's birthday. His heart panged with guilt.

"And naturally, there were discussions about your role as the duke …"

Warren put a hand out to stop Anthony. He looked up, seeing they had arrived in a clearing within the forest. A small stream cut through the woods, swelling into a larger pool just out of sight. The susurrus of the water could barely be heard over the patter of the rain atop it. Anthony admired the scene momentarily, scared to ask Warren what his father had planned for him.

"Did he envision much for me?"

"Many things." Warren called the servant over, asking for one of his rifles. "I had hoped to broach the topic under different circumstances, but as I said, we have scarcely had a moment of privacy since you all arrived …"

Anthony watched Warren prepare his rifle, taking his time to load it as the rain subsided. It was an objectively beautiful instrument, even though Anthony had never enjoyed hunting for sport like most of his peers.

"You know what I'm going to say," Warren suggested as Anthony focused on the bullet between his fingers. "Edward wanted to see you with Eliana almost as much as I did."

He had expected that from the tone of Warren's voice, but the news met its target with devastating force all the same.

"My father never stressed the issue when he was alive," Anthony countered. "He wanted me to select my own bride when the time came, even if he had his preferences."

"Yet in those months leading up to his death, he endorsed her most passionately. You know I would not lie about this. I have always wanted both you and Eliana to forge your own paths—though I agreed with Edward in the end. A match between you would be the most secure, sensible option. It would not take much to convince Eliana. In fact, I have reason to believe that your absence made her heart grow fonder."

Bile tickled at the back of Anthony's throat. He had always known that he and Eliana would be miserable together. But his dead father's words carried just enough weight to make him doubt himself.

"She would be a perfect duchess," Warren said, finally done loading the rifle. He practiced aiming towards the stream, then dropped the gun and set his sights on Anthony. "And I believe you would be content with her in time. The marriage between your own parents was arranged by their families—and were they not deliriously happy all this time? It was Edward's wish that we bring this up to you upon your return. With him gone, I alone am tasked with passing on his blessing."

Anthony barely knew what to think. Warren was right. He had never lied to Anthony and had only ever wanted the best for him. If his father genuinely believed that Anthony could find happiness alongside Eliana, it was only natural for him to consider her as a prospect for marriage …

If only for a second, until he collected his thoughts. Imagining himself tied to Eliana for eternity, seeing her every day, producing an heir with her, made his stomach turn. In that darkness, he saw another face and heard another voice. Marianne trusted that Anthony could balance his duties with his desire. And more than anything, he wanted to believe her.

He opened his mouth to deny Warren outright, but the man stopped him by speaking first.

"You needn't decide now, Anthony. I only ask that you consider the option carefully before making your decision. It is what Edward wanted for you. You should not allow your preexisting biases against Eliana—valid though they may be—to colour your judgement before you've given the matter proper thought. Return home, sit with the idea a while, and we will reconvene at a later date to make a formal decision."

He clapped Anthony on the shoulder and started stalking towards the stream.

"And I think you will find your mind much clearer once you are done acting as guardian for Marianne." Warren glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow. "You were good to take her onto the lake yesterday, but not everyone perceives your actions as the innocent charity I know them to be. But don't you worry," he said smiling, "I have invited someone to the house whom I believe could be of use to you."

"Whoever do you mean?" Anthony started, struggling to get a word in edgewise.

"Have some patience, dear boy. You'll see when we return to the manor. For now, let us shoot down that deer …"

Marianne glowered at her embroidery, wondering whether Eliana had been joking when she had suggested this as their entertainment that morning. To Marianne, this was work.

But at least, she thought, I can embroider rings around these other ladies. Finally, something that I am good at.

She thrust the needle through the fabric, working on a collection of French knots to complete her floral design. She could feel the eyes of the other women boring into her, looking at her work over her shoulder.

They asked hungrily how Marianne had become so talented at needlework—with frequent and intrusive questions that she began to wonder whether this had been Eliana's plan. By virtue of being a seamstress, Marianne was much more naturally talented than the others. And that singled her out.

"Do you think this looks right?" Lady Jane asked from beside her, tilting her embroidery for Marianne to see. "I'm not sure a feather stitch was right for the border. Oh, but yours looks so much better than mine. I really am useless."

"Your work is lovely," Marianne assured her, lying through her teeth. She glanced up, unsurprised to find Eliana watching her from the other side of the drawing room. "Does Eliana usually have the ladies embroider at your gatherings?"

"Not usually," Jane replied, scowling at her design. She licked her lips in concentration. "But what with the weather, one has to imagine she was all out of ideas. Are you not enjoying yourself? We could ask to do something else."

"You're kind to ask, but I assure you, I'm fine." Marianne sent a smile Eliana's way, and Eliana quickly looked away. "I am certain Lady Eliana knows what she is doing …"

Marianne let her smile drop. She had been a fool to think that Eliana had genuinely wanted to be friends with her. Anthony's warning had brought things into sharp relief. The marquess' daughter was merely playing with Marianne. Maybe she had genuinely wanted to befriend Marianne for her own selfish gains. But upon seeing how well Marianne got on with Anthony, she likely changed her mind.

With a sigh, Marianne gazed out of the nearby window, wondering where Anthony had gone. The rain had mostly abated, but a light drizzle still fell over the grounds, and an angry grey sky lingered overhead. More storms were coming. She just didn't know when.

Suddenly, Marianne felt a shadow loom over her. She gasped and turned around, almost impaling her thumb with the embroidery needle. A liveried footman had appeared beside her, and he leaned down to say something only she could hear.

"Your presence has been requested in the great hall, My Lady."

"Oh?" Marianne felt her hackles rise. She looked towards Eliana for answers, but the woman was locked in conversation with her friends. This interruption, at least, could not be blamed on her host.

With a tepid smile at Lady Jane, Marianne deposited her needlework on the sofa and followed the footman into the entrance hall. Rain pattered against the windows, competing with the sound of her anxious steps. She was initially grateful for the reprieve until she saw who awaited her. She stopped in her tracks, and her heart fell into her stomach.

"But … Gideon?"

Her cousin turned around, having been staring at a tapestry depicting some sort of biblical battle. He greeted Marianne with a nod, watching the footman as he regained his station by the stairs. His hair was damp in places, though he wasn't wearing an outdoor coat like he had just come in from outside and made himself at home.

Gideon didn't look particularly pleased to see Marianne either, eyeing her up with the same enthusiasm that Marianne approached a chore that needed completing.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked, forgetting her manners in her shock. She crossed the hall to greet him, dropping into a curtsy. "Has something happened?"

"Yes and no." Gideon looked her up and down, and Marianne wrapped her arms around herself on instinct. "You must be surprised to see me. I did not mean to alarm you."

"Alarm is not the right word. I am merely …" She paused, not knowing what she was if anything at all. "Well, yours was not a presence that I anticipated."

"Rightfully so," Gideon replied. He glanced at the footmen suspiciously. "I would suggest we take a walk to speak, but I fear the weather has contained you all inside. I received a letter from Lord Hindborough yesterday enquiring about my well-being, for I had not attended the hunting party."

"I see." Marianne furrowed her brow. "I had not known you were invited."

"That makes two of us." Gideon lowered his voice. "In his message, he claimed I had been sent an invitation months ago. Yet I am certain that no such letter was ever sent to me. I initially did not understand Hindborough's intentions, but upon remembering that you and His Grace were in attendance …" His jaw ticked. "I believe he invited me as an extension of you, either out of curiosity, amusement, or something else entirely …"

So, Lady Eliana was not the only one playing games at Hagram Park. Marianne didn't know enough about Lord Hindborough to guess his motivations properly. Anthony seemed to trust him. But perhaps he only trusted the marquess like a groomed and abused dog trusted its master.

"Another man might have graciously declined the offer. No one much likes being a second thought," Gideon continued, sweeping back his damp golden hair. "But there have been some developments … with the search for evidence to prove your legitimacy …" He paused, scoffing. "We really should not be speaking of this here. Come, we will request a room to discuss things in private."

Without stopping to ask Marianne her opinion, Gideon did just that. Not five minutes later, a befuddled Marianne found herself sitting in one of the secondary parlours of the manor, a footman positioned just outside the open door to act as chaperone.

Gideon remained standing, hovering by an empty hearth, halfway turned from her.

"The documents that the Duchess of Westden sought to retrieve from Brittany were finally delivered to her estate. She called me around not three days ago to show me the evidence of your christening, after which I travelled to the parish of Costessey to review the marriage record of your mother and father." He nodded, admitting defeat.

"It seems everything is in order. You are Lady Marianne Chambers, the legitimate daughter of Nicholas Chambers, the would-have-been Earl of Foxburn."

Marianne was unmoved, but she gave a smile for Gideon's benefit. "I expect you thought I would be whooping for joy, but I did not require the documents to prove my heritage to myself. My mother's words were enough. Still, I am grateful that you saw the task to its end and are willing to accept me—if you are willing to accept me."

"It seems we have little choice, do we?" Gideon did not look displeased by the news. In fact, it was the first time Marianne had even seen him look halfway happy. "You and I shall travel down to London in the coming months to ensure everything is in order with the courts. I have already contacted a solicitor here on your behalf to get things moving along … But I must ask, what are your plans once the party here is concluded?"

"They are extremely vague," Marianne admitted, clamping a hand over her relieved heart. "I expected to return to Moorhaven Manor, and yes, a trip to London was in the future, too, for that reason precisely."

"I would prefer it if you came to live with us at Saltsman House. Frankly, Lavinia would not forgive me if I returned without you."

Marianne bit her lower lip, overwhelmed by the offer. She wasn't sure whether she was ready to leave Catherine and Anthony yet—even though it was only logical for her to join her own relatives at their estate instead. But blood accounted for only so much. She and Gideon were still strangers, while the Collines had started to feel like family.

"I will need some time to think about this," she replied.

Gideon was dumbstruck. "If you must. With all this considered, you will understand why I have decided to remain at the house party for the next few days until it is over. My sister encouraged me to get to know you while I was here. For her sake, I should like to try."

As part of his initial efforts, Gideon left the hearth and settled on the sofa opposite Marianne instead. She took a moment to observe him, wondering what he expected from her now that she was officially a member of his family. He didn't strike her as the sort of man who easily made friends. His manner was cold and uninviting. Like Lavinia had suggested, it would take some time to uncover the man beneath.

"If there is anything you wish to know about me, I will do my best to answer your questions," Marianne said, sincere in the offer. "We are cousins, but I would also like to be friends. In time, I want to know everything about you, especially regarding our family."

"Friends." Gideon kept his gaze on the floor. "Certainly. We could try."

"Well …" Marianne cleared her throat, buying herself some time. "We don't need to try right now. We will have our whole lives to get to know one another."

Her cousin smirked. "That's a little presumptuous."

"Heavens. I didn't mean …" Marianne laughed nervously, glad that Gideon actually had a sense of humour if nothing else. "Not in that way. But since we are family, it seems we are stuck with one another." She smiled. "I'm glad to be stuck with you—to have cousins to be stuck with. That's all I meant."

Gideon leaned forward, looking to continue their conversation. Almost as soon as his lips parted, his breath hitched instead, and he swivelled towards the door.

Marianne started, shooting into a panicked stand by his sudden change of demeanour. She soon understood why. There, standing in the doorway, was Anthony. He was wet from head to toe, face set in anger, a blood stain on the arm of his jacket …

"Your Grace! Are you hurt?" Marianne exclaimed, rushing over to him. She stopped a few steps away, recalling some of her manners. "What happened?"

Anthony blinked hard, finally tearing his gaze from Gideon. Marianne could only imagine his surprise at finding them together. A drop of rain fell from his hair onto his cheek, and he wiped it away on his shoulder. He pinched the blood-stained fabric on the other arm, shaking his head.

"This isn't my blood. The marquess …" He turned suddenly pale. "He shot a stag in the forest. It bled on me as I helped load it into the cart on the way back." He frowned and turned to Gideon. "Why are you here, Foxburn?"

"I shall let Marianne fill you in," Gideon replied. He made his way to the door, side-stepping around Anthony, giving the duke a wide berth. "I'm overdue a rest after the journey here. If you'll excuse me …"

He was excused, slipping out of the room and leaving Marianne to deal with Anthony alone. She leaned in, looking at the blood on his jacket.

"Do you not think I would tell you if it was mine?" Anthony sighed, angling his shoulder away from her. He pushed open the door behind him for propriety's sake but remained standing at the entrance, blocking her way out. "What the devil was Gideon Manners doing here? And why were you unchaperoned?"

"He was invited here by the marquess. And there was a footman at the door," Marianne protested.

"Not when I arrived. You are lucky I was the one to discover you and not someone else. We have just come back from the hunting." Anthony shook his head, tutting. "And I fear Foxburn is not the only one in need of a rest." He turned to leave, then stopped, piquing Marianne's anxiety. "What were the two of you discussing?"

"Nothing that warrants that sort of tone from you, Your Grace." Marianne scowled, failing to understand why Anthony was so upset with her. "He relayed that your mother acquired all the documents necessary for my legitimization before the courts. Lord Hindborough invited him separately. But two birds, one stone …" She placed a hand on her hip. "I thought you would be happy. Gideon's presence here will only improve my chances of being taken seriously by everyone else. Was that not the point of our coming?"

Anthony let out a long breath. "I am happy. It's not your fault. The hunting was taxing in more ways than one …" He leaned back, knocking his head against the doorframe. "Be careful, Marianne. That's all I ask."

"You keep warning me about things, but I've yet to encounter any real danger." She tried to smile reassuringly. "At the very least, I have encountered nothing I cannot handle."

"It's your new unflagging confidence that worries me the most."

"You told me to be confident," Marianne reminded him.

"Yes, but you needn't flip from one extreme to the other." Anthony's gaze softened, and Marianne melted in response, forgetting her anger. "You must be on your guard, even around Gideon. You are about as likely to form real friendships in the ton as you are to sprout wings and fly away—even with your blood relatives."

"Stranger things have happened." She smiled, but Anthony was implacable. Marianne narrowed her gaze. "What exactly happened in the woods?"

He laughed miserably. "Nothing you need concern yourself with. Now go," he waved her out, "before someone catches us the way I caught you and Foxburn and starts to get the wrong idea."