Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" W e made it just in time!" Marianne exclaimed, relief flooding her voice as she smoothed down the skirts of her emerald-green dress adorned with delicate lace trimmings.

As the ornate doors to the garden of Stayton Manor swung open, Marianne Carter hurriedly stepped out onto the cobblestone path, her heart pounding in her chest. The crisp autumn air greeted her, carrying with it the distant strains of laughter and merriment from within. She cast a quick glance at her mother, Lady Hillsfolk, who followed closely behind, her elegant gown billowing around her as she hurried to keep pace with her daughter.

Veronica Carter, Countess of Hillsfolk offered a tight-lipped smile, her brow furrowing in concern. "We missed the ceremony, Marianne, I would not call that ‘in time'," she chided gently. "You know how important punctuality is, especially on such occasions."

Marianne's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she averted her gaze, suddenly acutely aware of the curious stares of passersby. "I-I'm sorry, Mother," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Lady Hillsfolk was not so easily appeased. With a pointed look, she continued, her tone tinged with reproach, "You really must learn to manage your time more effectively, my dear. After all, one day it will be your own wedding, and you wouldn't want to keep your groom waiting at the altar, would you?"

The mention of Marianne's hypothetical wedding sent a shiver down her spine, and she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Mother, please," she interjected, her voice tinged with frustration. "Let's not discuss such matters now. We're here to celebrate Harriet's special day, remember?"

Lady Hillsfolk's expression softened slightly, but the underlying worry remained etched in the lines of her face. "Of course, darling," she replied, her tone gentler now. "But you mustn't forget your own future, Marianne. Your grandmother's health is delicate, and she longs to see you settled before?—"

"I know, Mother," Marianne interrupted, her voice tinged with irritation. "But can't we focus on the present for once? Harriet deserves our attention today, not my hypothetical wedding."

Lady Hillsfolk fell silent, her lips pressed into a thin line as she regarded her daughter with a mixture of concern and resignation. She knew better than to push the issue further, at least for now.

As they made their way towards the grand entrance of the manor, the swishing of their dresses mingling with the soft rustle of autumn leaves in the breeze, Marianne couldn't help but feel a pang of regret at being late to the main event, but she pushed the feeling aside, determined to make the most of the celebration ahead.

The chapel was at the far end of the garden and as the duo reached the doors, they could hear the ceremony wrapping up. As discreetly as she possible, Marianne opened the door just a little, to slip inside. Only the blasted thing creaked, echoing around the mostly quiet church.

A sudden hush fell over the room, and she felt the weight of curious stares upon her. She glanced nervously at her mother, who offered her an impatient gesture and a waggle of eyebrows, completely unhelpful.

Marianne decided that a quick approach was the best. She walked in, head held high, and made her way to the right, behind the pews. If she thought craning their neck behind was going to stop the guests from staring her

Her eyes darted frantically around the grand hall, searching for any familiar faces amidst the sea of elegantly dressed guests. A wave of relief washed over her as she caught sight of Harriet, radiant in her wedding gown, exchanging vows with her groom at the altar.

But her hopes were dashed as a couple of heads turned momentarily in their direction, followed by whispers that rippled through the congregation like a sudden gust of wind.

She couldn't bear the thought of being the center of attention, especially not in this moment of supposed celebration.

Beside her, her mother offered a tight-lipped smile to the onlookers, her demeanor strained with the effort to keep up appearances. But Marianne could see the tension etched in the lines of her face, the worry creasing her brow like a furrowed storm cloud.

"It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn't it, Mother?" Marianne murmured.

Lady Hillsfolk nodded, her expression softening with emotion. "Indeed, my dear," she replied, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "Harriet looked positively radiant, didn't she?"

Marianne couldn't help but smile in agreement, her heart swelling with affection for her childhood friend. "Yes, she did," she agreed, her voice filled with admiration. "I'm so happy for her."

Lady Hillsfolk reached out and squeezed Marianne's hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "As am I, my dear," she said, her voice filled with pride. "But enough dawdling, Marianne. We mustn't be late for the wedding breakfast."

With a nod of understanding, Marianne turned and followed her mother out of the church and into the crisp autumn air. They hurried towards the grand reception hall, where the wedding breakfast was being held, Marianne's steps quickening with each passing moment.

Lady Hillsfolk guided Marianne through the throng with practiced ease, her posture regal and composed as she exchanged pleasantries with the various guests they encountered along the way. Marianne followed her lead, plastering a polite smile on her face as she greeted acquaintances with warm nods and courteous nods.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of navigating the crowded room, Lady Hillsfolk exclaimed, "There they are!" her voice tinged with satisfaction as she gestured towards the group. "Let's go and offer our congratulations."

Marianne nodded eagerly, her nerves momentarily forgotten as they made their way towards the happy couple. As they drew closer, she couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in atmosphere—the air around the happy couple seemed lighter, even brighter, if possible.

"Harriet, my dear, you look positively radiant!" Lady Hillsfolk exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth as she embraced her daughter's friend in a heartfelt hug. "Congratulations on your wedding. You make a truly stunning bride."

Lady Harriet beamed at the compliment, her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Thank you, Lady Hillsfolk," she replied. "I'm so glad you could make it—it wouldn't have been the same without you."

Marianne stepped forward and wrapped Harriet in a warm hug. After the bride reciprocated in kind, she pulled back to look at her friend, who suddenly looked touched. "Congratulations," Marianne offered. "You are a vision."

Lady Harriet smiled at Marianne, her eyes shining with joy. "Oh, you," she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you could make it."

A sheepish smile graced Marianne's lips. "I'm sorry we were late," she said, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep into her cheeks. "We got held up on the way here."

Harriet waved away the apology with a dismissive gesture. "Nonsense, my dear," she replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "I am just teasing a little. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

Marianne smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, Harriet," she murmured, pulling away. "Or should I say Lady Groverton?"

Harriet's smile widened, her eyes shining with happiness. "That is the proper title, now, is it not?" she returned. "Although it will take some getting used to."

"Harriet Dunn, the Marchioness of Groverton," Marianne sighed. "It has a nice ring to it, no?"

Harriet shoved her playfully. "Now you are just teasing me," she said, blushing.

"And you are loving it, darling."

Just as they began to chat, a familiar voice sounded from behind Marianne.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Lady Marianne Carter," the voice teased, tinged with mischief.

Marianne turned around to find none other than Andrew Scriven, the Duke of Stayton and Harriet's brother, standing before her with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Despite the years that had passed since they last crossed paths, he looked much the same as she remembered—tall, handsome, and entirely too charming for his own good. His coat was impeccably tailored, the deep navy fabric accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the sinewy lines of his figure.

Marianne felt a surge of annoyance prickling at her skin as she met his teasing gaze, her defenses rising instinctively.

"Your Grace," she replied, her tone clipped and defensive, "I see you haven't lost your talent for showing up at the most inconvenient moments."

His hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. "Some things never change, do they?" he quipped, taking a step closer until they were mere inches apart. "But I must say, you look positively radiant today, Lady Marianne. Almost as if you belong on the arm of a dashing gentleman."

"If only there were any here today."

"Oh, do not be quite so dismissive, my lady, I am sure at least one gentleman here is worth your attention."

"I am sure at least one is, but with my attention monopolized as it is, we will never find out, will we?"

"Are you asking me to leave, my lady?"

"As long as I never said the words, I have to say I did not, Your Grace"

"Lucky for me then, that I have the pleasure of extending my time in your company."

Marianne rolled her eyes at his flattery, refusing to let his smooth words sway her. "Save your charm for someone who actually believes it," she shot back. "I'm immune to your antics, Your Grace."

Lady Harriet interceded at that moment, her brow furrowed in mild annoyance. "Honestly, you two," she scolded, giving Andrew a playful shove. "Can't you go five minutes without bickering like children?"

Andrew and Marianne exchanged a look of mutual challenge, but Marianne held her tongue, unwilling to escalate the situation any further in front of Harriet. With a resigned sigh, she forced a smiled at Andrew, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface.

As Harriet excused herself to attend to her other guests, Andrew and Marianne were left alone.

"So," she began, her voice strained with forced cheer, "how have you been, Your Grace? It's been… quite some time since we last saw each other."

Andrew shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over her shoulder. "Oh, you know, same old, same old," he replied casually. "Busy with the duchy, trying to avoid matchmaking schemes—the usual."

Marianne couldn't help but laugh at his candor, grateful for the brief moment of levity amidst the awkwardness of their conversation. "Ah, yes, the joys of familial obligations," she mused, shaking her head in mock sympathy. "I suppose we all have our crosses to bear."

"You seem awfully sympathetic. You have demanding relatives too? Or a matchmaking aunt of some sort?"

"No, the pressures on me are much more… discreet. No the least bit lighter for it, though."

"I am guessing you are referring to marriage, no?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Isn't that one of your crosses as well, Your Grace?"

"It is, but I do carry it so elegantly, don't I?"

"I think that is an insult to me in some way."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, his smile growing impish. "But I know why I am not yet wed. What of your reasons, Lady Marianne?"

Marianne blinked, taken aback not just by the boldness of his words but by the jibe lurking behind his serious facade.

"And what business is it of yours, Your Grace, whether I choose to marry or not?" she asked, her voice steady but her eyes narrowing just slightly.

Andrew's lips curled into a mischievous smile, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Ah, let's call it a familial obligation, perhaps? I would not want my sister's friend to be overlooked, especially without a good reason."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and amusement. "Overlooked? I assure you, Your Grace, I am quite capable of drawing attention without soliciting it," she retorted, her tone laced with both challenge and a hint of playfulness.

"But, of course." Andrew chuckled, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Yet, one does wonder why such a capable lady would still roam the halls unclaimed. Could it be that none have met your lofty standards, or perhaps you enjoy your freedom too dearly?"

Marianne's amusement began to wane, replaced by a rising tide of exasperation. "You tread on dangerous ground, Your Grace. My personal choices are mine alone, not fodder for your amusement or speculation."

Andrew, sensing he had perhaps ventured too far, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough, Lady Marianne. But should you ever tire of your solitary freedom, it might be too late. Not all offers persist."

His grin was teasing, but his eyes hinted at something genuine beneath the jest.

The remark stung, sharper than she wished to admit.

With a cold look, Marianne straightened her posture. "I think, Your Grace, that you should take your own advice."

Andrew recoiled slightly at her outburst, his expression shifting from amusement to genuine contrition. "Lady Marianne, I… I didn't mean to upset you."

But Marianne cut him off with a curt shake of her head, unwilling to entertain any further apologies or excuses. She turned on her heel and stormed away, leaving him standing alone amidst the bustling crowd.