Chapter 23

"I haven't felt this nervous since I received your mother's letter," Marianne confessed, hesitantly glancing at the Westminster Hall's grand entrance. She squinted against the sunlight as it beat down on the dirt courtyard. "It's so imposing ... You come here all the time for matters of parliament?"

"Not yet," Anthony said, arms crossed as he looked up at the palace. "But my father did every season, as I will when the next is upon us. It shan't be too long now, which is why it's important I get my own summons executed this afternoon."

"A big day for both of us," Marianne murmured, biting her lip.

Anthony wished he could console her. She had put on a brave face since their arrival in London a day prior. But she had been unusually quiet, not smiling as much as usual. Anthony knew she would feel better once the hearing was over—when she stepped out of the grand doors of Westminster Hall not as Marianne Buller but as Lady Marianne Chambers.

The Court of Chancery waited within, where the Lord Chancellor would determine whether there was any truth to Marianne's claims of legitimacy. His own meeting with parliament was in a few short hours in the House of Lords. Already, Anthony recognized some faces in the courtyard.

Lords who had once postured alongside his Tory father. Anthony leaned the other way politically, a grave break in tradition that he was glad his father was not around to witness. When he became the duke, he would live life as he saw fit.

His gaze fell to Marianne's hand, twisting the beaded strap of her reticule. Catherine's words resonated in his mind. She had not objected to a match between them, yet she had the same fears as Anthony about Marianne's potential reaction to a proposal.

Foxbury's presence did little to help Anthony continue seeing things rationally. He had been courteous enough during their trip, having travelled with them in the carriage before departing for his own manor in Mayfair—a stone's throw from Colline House. Anthony had felt the earl's presence weighing on him as he had navigated London.

As though he had summoned Foxbury with his thoughts, he turned to find him approaching them, crossing the courtyard with a determined gait.

"Good morning," Foxbury said to Marianne, bowing slightly for Anthony. "I trust you slept well, Marianne. Not as well as you might have slept with us on Grosvenor Square, but one understands arrangements were already made for you with His Grace."

"There will be time for me to visit your home later," Marianne said placatingly. "And I am looking forward to it. It shall be my first time staying somewhere my father once lived."

"Of course," Foxbury replied, nodding. He turned to Anthony. "Will you be seeing us inside, Your Grace? Your presence could not harm the chances of a happy verdict."

"There is nowhere else I would rather be," Anthony replied, looking directly at Marianne. Foxbury brought out the worst in him, making him jealous and petulant. "We are to be called in at eleven o'clock, so perhaps we might ..."

The words ended in a strangled mess. Anthony froze as his eyes fixed on a familiar figure. He stopped breathing as though every breath hastened his acceptance of the truth. There could be no denying what he had seen.

The Marquess of Hindborough stood at the doors to Westminster Hall.

He was accompanied by another gentleman, dressed like a judge of the courts, speaking and laughing with him like two friends reuniting. Anthony felt sick to his stomach at the sight. There was no rational explanation for Warren's presence in London. The houses were not yet in session. Only a handful of London-based lords were seeing Anthony that afternoon. Nothing organic would have brought him down from Norfolk. Warren was here for a reason.

Marianne must have seen what he did. She sidled up beside him, her voice tinged with fear. "What is he doing here?" she asked. "Did he know we were coming?"

"He must have," Anthony muttered, unable to blink, let alone think.

And when he did start thinking again, his thoughts turned to the worst. Had Warren come to attend Anthony's summons? Or had he come to intervene with Marianne's hearing?

Anthony yanked his pocket watch free. Only fifteen minutes remained until they were needed inside. He looked miserably towards Marianne, but she already knew what needed to be done.

"I don't want to abandon you now, in your hour of need," he said, forgetting all about Foxbury, about the sea of lords and judges around them. "I wanted to aid you in this."

"You can help me more by speaking with the marquess and figuring out why he's here," she replied, imbuing him with confidence. "Gideon will be with me. I'll be fine. We will meet again at the house if you do not return before then."

With a nod, Anthony stepped back. If he looked at Marianne, he would stay. His heart broke more with every step he took in Warren's direction, burning with anger as his face came into view.

The marquess noticed Anthony on the bottom step, looking down at him with devilish satisfaction. He whispered something to the judge, who entered Westminster Hall, leaving Anthony and Warren alone.

"My dear boy," Warren exclaimed, taking the steps eagerly. "What the deuce has brought you here this morning? I had no idea you had left Moorhaven."

Anthony could hear the lie in his voice now that he knew to be on the lookout for it.

"Is that so?" He smiled mirthlessly, putting on his own performance. The mere sight of Warren repulsed him. "Then what a tremendous coincidence this is. Let me present the question to you first. Why are you here?"

Warren smirked, letting his facade fall. "I wondered how long it would take you to reveal your true colours to me—like with my daughter. But perhaps these are things better discussed elsewhere. Come with me to the houses. We will speak in the peers' rooms."

*

It felt like walking into a trap. Probably because it was a trap. Anthony stared at the face of his watch as the minutes ticked well past eleven. Marianne would now be before the Lord Chancellor, with only Gideon to advise her. Anthony would make Warren pay for forcing him to abandon her, growing more convinced by the second that it had been his plan all along.

The peers' lounge room in the House of Lords was mercifully quiet. They were alone for now, with some lords taking lunch in the dining room beside them. The benefit of coming to London during the off-season. Yet even that had not stopped Warren from tracking Anthony down.

"Who told you we would be here?" Anthony asked, tucking his watch back into his trouser pocket. "I have to assume you did not land in London through any natural means."

"Are we to speak so candidly so soon?" Warren frowned, slurping his coffee. "Edward was much more tactful in matters of business. Like many of his qualities, you have failed to inherit his fluency in diplomacy."

"What use is there in trading barbs when we both know why you are here?" Anthony ground his teeth. "I have other places I should be at present."

"Besides the bastard in court, yes ..." Warren shrugged. "Another lapse in judgement. What is it about Nicholas' spawn that you find so intriguing? For she cannot be worth sacrificing your good name and standing. Green as you are, can you even comprehend the generational labour that has made you what you are?"

Again, with his obsession with tradition. Anthony's heart fell into his stomach. There was nothing traditional about Warren's good friend De Laurier. Where was the tradition, the honour, in stealing and lying from one's friends? In making deals with a devil wearing physician's clothes?

"I should be beholden to men I have never known and never will?" Anthony scoffed. "I suppose you count yourself among them. I owe you nothing. I owe Eliana nothing."

"Despite what she saw?" Warren tilted his head to the side, mockingly. "Before you think her a most duplicitous little thing, she kept your dirty secret long enough until a friend of mine heard you were going to London. We soon deduced the reason for your hasty departure. It did not take long to discover the time of Marianne's hearing. And you're to attend a summons of your own this afternoon."

"What is it you're seeking from me? What did you come here seeking?" Anthony snarled in disgust, leaning forward. "My mere compliance? A betrothal for your daughter? How could you want that life for her?" He leaned back, thinking hard.

"No, it cannot be about Eliana. Flawed as you are, I do not believe you would make a sacrificial lamb of her unless you felt you had no other choice. What is the Westden friendship worth to you? The Westden silence ...?"

Warren fell silent, staring at Anthony with dark, soulless eyes. This was water he did not want to tread. Which meant Anthony needed to press forward.

"I know many things that you do not," Anthony said.

"I have no doubt you think you do." Warren laughed, raising his cup to his lips. "Like virtue and honour? Like true love?"

"No ..." Anthony frowned. He could not believe this was the man he had looked up to for his entire life. "Like your visits to Doctor De Laurier."

Warren's cup clattered against the saucer, and Anthony jerked back at the sound, knowing he was on the right path. Vindication was far from his mind. Because if his suspicions were correct, Warren and his father were involved in something dreadful.

"I visited him," Anthony continued, watching Warren unravel. "And I found his notes. You and Father were his patients, which meant you lied to me when you said you had no idea who De Laurier was. You lied about the painting, too—the Velasquez hanging in your gallery.

You lied about Father's wish to see me marry Eliana. I do not believe you have ever fed me anything but lies my entire life. Was my father the same way, or did you genuinely love him—"

"You know nothing of what you speak!" Warren shot into a stand, clattering the service. His fist came down on the table. "Edward was a brother to me. And I will not stand to be accused of betraying him by you. You, who has done nothing in your fleeting existence to justify your arrogance."

"Arrogance did not lead me down this path." Anthony rose, pointing at Warren. "You did. What did De Laurier do to my father?"

"Everything he did was at your father's bequest! And I am as sorry as you are that it killed him, but—"

"Killed him ...?"

Anthony reeled back like he'd been punched in the gut. He had been right all along. His father's death had not been natural. He couldn't breathe, trying to preserve his fragile hold on his emotions as Warren kept talking and would not stop—defending what remained of his own innocence.

"He found the doctor through his own means, desperate to cling on to his youth. A friend of a friend introduced them, and of course, he told me. No matter what you may think of me, my loyalty to your father was true and unwavering." Warren looked out the window beside them, his fist unfurling on the table.

"The treatments De Laurier gave him were all supposed to be harmless. Cutting-edge medicine to bolster one's mental and physical faculties. Edward wanted more, and his pride fed into De Laurier's pride, and before long, the treatments made him sicker than he would have been without them."

"I don't believe this." Anthony shook his head, pushing down his rising nausea. "All of this is farcical. You're lying. You're still lying."

"Would that I was." Warren slumped into his seat, and it ground against the floor. "He introduced me to De Laurier a few months into his own treatment. I accepted for a time, but I could not meet the cost as long as Edward. I made excuses and pled with him to abandon De Laurier like I had. Edward was too far gone. I told you. His only sin was his pride."

That part, at least, was credible. Anthony had heard as much from his mother, and she had no reason to deceive him. He tried to picture his father—level-headed, pragmatic, honourable Edward Colline—being seduced by the prospect of a longer life by a mad physician. Had he not seen De Laurier's notes with his own eyes, he might not have believed it.

"But the painting?" Anthony asked. "What you said about my father wishing me to marry Eliana? Those were lies. You used my father's death as a means of advancement. How can you have done all that and still present yourself as his fiercest ally?"

He watched Warren carefully for a response. The marquess remained silent. He had said many things about his father's pride, but Warren was just as much a slave to his own ego.

"The cost ..." Anthony thought back on Warren's words. "Was this all for money? You wanted me to marry Eliana because you wanted access to my father's wealth?"

Again, Warren said nothing, only proving to Anthony that he was right. The Webbs were not nearly as affluent as the Colline family, and perhaps that had been a cause of underlying tension between them. Warren was proud to a fault. He might have loved Edward like a brother, all while being deathly jealous of him.

These men that Anthony had looked up to for his entire life had spent years chasing honour and glory—only running further from all that was good in the process. And with that knowledge, there was nothing more Anthony could learn from Warren or his father. He supposed he should be glad. He felt only resentment instead. And that, too, was liberating.

"What do you plan to do with all this new knowledge?" Warren's tone was damning, still smug after everything Anthony had discovered. "It changes nothing."

"You may not be so confident in that belief once the ton learns of your association with De Laurier. I will bring the man to justice. Whether my father's death was the result of his own hubris or not, his blood is still partly on De Laurier's hands. And the other things I saw, the sketches of bodies ..."

Anthony inhaled sharply. "None of this was done above board. If it had been, you would not have been so reluctant to tell me the reason for my father's death when I first asked. Use my mistake at Hagram Park to blackmail me, and I will see that you are buried in a shallow grave with your own secrets."

"An eye for an eye?" Warren laughed. "Where was the honour you were touting earlier?"

"I believe I left it behind in your gallery," Anthony quipped. "With a great many other things that I am better off without."

"But not her?" The marquess shifted in his seat. He knew he had lost, wanting to get in a final blow before Anthony left with his victory. "You cannot intimidate the ton into accepting Marianne. You cannot bully your way into a position of power with her at your side. When you wake forty years from now and find yourself at the age your father was when he died, you will look back on your devotion to her as the greatest mistake of your life."

"A pity you could not afford the rest of De Laurier's treatments. Had you continued with them, you might have grown old enough to see how wrong you are." Anthony extracted a sovereign from his pocket, leaving it on the table. "I believe our business here is done."