Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Marjorie spun, her arms akimbo on her waist, and glanced over her room, which now looked like a ravaged wasteland—papers strewn about, closet doors open, dresses scattered here and there.

She couldn't find anything. Nothing helpful, anyhow. She had found a mask from that first evening when Percy had attempted to kiss her, and she revealed her secret. But what would it prove? She needed something irrefutable.

"Where is it? Where is it?" she muttered to herself. Hearing something in the hallway, she poked her head out.

Her mother, all tall elegance and easy charm, spun around as her cherished spaniel danced around her feet. "Oh, I didn't know you had returned. I'm glad I caught you." She adjusted her bonnet, revealing beautifully lush chestnut hair and large, amber eyes. "Your father and I are leaving. We'll be spending a few months in Scotland. We will return for Christmastide and see you and your sister then."

Marjorie forced a smile, closing the door tighter behind her so her mother couldn't see the mess inside. "Lovely."

"And your plans?" her mother asked after a moment of silence. Regina Merryweather, charismatic, flighty, and clueless about her daughters.

"I've returned for a literary event," Marjorie said, which wasn't a complete lie. "But I promised Emily I'd return to the country soon."

"Very well." Her mother clucked at the dog tripping over her skirts, before bending down and scooping the poor beast into her arms. "Keep out of trouble. Don't forget to bring your lady's maid with you wherever you go. Your father and I have agreed to a new production in the spring. It wouldn't do to have a scandal."

"Right, of course," Marjorie said. "We understand the rules, Re—Mother."

Marjorie winced, nearly slipping. Emily preferred to call her by her Christian name instead of something familiar like Mother.

"Goodbye, darling."

She waited as the older woman slowly strolled down the hallway. Once her mother was out of sight, Marjorie dove back into her room, slammed the door shut, and fell to her knees to try to stuff herself under her bed to see if something had fallen underneath.

In all her years of writing, there had always been proof of her drafts, notes, and scribbled pages. She had saved everything, which was why she had had that manuscript to begin with. It needed at least another pass of revisions, and she had put it aside, not ready to work on it yet. Her current project had held her interest far more. But the basket where she had stored the draft was empty.

She worried he had also obtained her notes somehow.

She crawled out from under the bed, sat on the floor, crossing her knees, and blew out a deep breath. For the one hundredth time that day, Alfie crossed her mind, but she couldn't afford to think of him now.

Her hands fell against her lips as she remembered him kissing her—soft and searching. Their time together had been so brief. She hated driving away, watching him remain there, stuck, but she had been furious with him too. He hadn't said a word to his mother, keeping her instead as a secret just as Percy had done. She hated feeling as though she didn't belong.

She stood up and slowly righted her room, searching through the stacks of papers for one book and another, furious she couldn't find any notes. She had searched everywhere. Within an hour, her room was somewhat more presentable, but she was no closer to proving Percy had stolen her work.

What was she to do? Break into his home and try to find the original manuscript herself? No, that was ridiculous, and she didn't have time. She had to think.

She drummed her fingers on her lips and studied her room before a rush of excitement coursed through her. There was one other place. She stormed toward her bed and lifted the mattress, but it was too heavy. It collapsed before she could get a peek of what was underneath. Determined, she shoved against it, pushing it off the base to reveal a collection of notebooks—journals she had kept growing up, filled with scribbles and poetry.

She collected the notebooks and sat on the floor, slowly going through each until finally, at last, she stumbled upon notes for that manuscript. This would bring her justice, would bring about the end of Percy claiming her work as his. He couldn't deny it. She had proof.

The mattress was too heavy, so she left it as it was, stored the notebooks in a basket in the back of her wardrobe, and carried the one with the notes with her to a carriage outside.

Almost an hour later, the carriage arrived in front of his publisher's office.

Notebook in hand, she approached the small building, its windows wavy and dark. Marjorie attempted to open the door but realized it was locked. She knocked on the door next, but there was no answer. She leaned closer, cupping her hand over her eyes and leaning in until she could see the dark interior of the shop.

Strange, no one was there.

"Damn," she said. If she could prove the novel was hers, she had hoped the publisher would stop running the presses. She stayed in front of the building for the remainder of the afternoon, first walking back and forth in front of the shop, and then waiting in the carriage, lying down, and sitting up, always moving to keep her mind busy.

But after several hours, she knew there was only one more option.

Marjorie needed to find Percy and confront him.

* * *

It had been nearly six days, and Alfie couldn't remain in the country any longer.

"What are you doing?"

His mother burst through the open door to his bedchamber as he helped his valet pack.

"Leaving."

"You only just left your room. How can you go to London? Stay here a little longer with me where you will feel safe."

"No," he said simply.

Since her return, his mother had driven him mad, going on about this and that—improvements to the house, trips she wanted to take, gowns she wanted to order. All of which he had zero interest in. His mind was only ever on Marjorie. He had remained behind, watching her leave, and felt like the biggest failure. He wouldn't do it any longer.

"Alfred, you can't leave."

He spun to face his mother. "You threatened me with a doctor if I didn't leave my room, and now you wish for me to stay? Which is it, Mother?"

"Why the rush to London?"

He debated whether he should tell her the truth. And in his hesitation, he realized he no longer cared about her opinion. Let her say what she wished; at the end of the day, he was duke. His father had passed, his brother was now buried. He couldn't remain living in the ghost of one life because he was too afraid to step into the new one.

"Aren't you leaving?" he said. "You returned and told me that you were going to Percy's event."

"Yes, I was planning on leaving tomorrow. Why don't you wait, and we'll go together?"

"I don't have time."

His mother collapsed dramatically at the edge of the chaise, clearly exasperated. "You have all the time in the world. You are duke, darling. The world works for you ."

He shook his head, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at the floor. He hated how he felt—how panic coursed through him… and rage. He was furious with himself.

"I love Marjorie, Mother." He held up his hand before she could counter. "You can have your opinion, but she will be my wife, and she needs me. Remaining here is failing her. I cannot let her go to London and face what she must face alone."

"Face what?" his mother asked.

"Percy stole from Marjorie."

"Stole?" she asked. "Stole what?"

It felt wrong to tell the truth. It felt like it was Marjorie's story to share.

"Percy stole a manuscript."

"Marjorie has a manuscript?" His mother scoffed. "That makes sense. Even the on-dits know she's always writing or has her nose in a book."

"Yes, well, she's published, Mother. She uses a pen name but is very successful."

"A published author! Of course. She's always been a scandal. First her parents, now her. The entire family wishes for all the attention of London."

"You could help sway that opinion," he said.

She lifted her nose in the air. It was answer enough.

"You can, or you don't have to. It doesn't change the fact that when I return we will be engaged, and you will be moving into Leebrook Cottage."

"There's no need to talk to me that way, Alfred."

"I almost remained in this room, locked away, while you were in Bath. Leaving my heart here, ignoring everything I wanted because I wished to make you and Father happy. But I realized something," he said, and he held his hands out, his voice shaking. "Father is no longer here. And I will never make you happy."

"That's not true," she interjected.

He shook his head, continuing, "I don't know what you want. You made up your mind about Marjorie Merryweather a long time ago. And if that is what you want to believe, then so be it. But she is the only woman I've ever loved. And I'm leaving for London today. Not tomorrow, right now, because I have to. I don't care about the challenges of getting to her, I'll damn well crawl the whole way if it means I can hold her once more. She doesn't deserve to be taken advantage of just because the rest of the ton thinks she is a strange and quiet wallflower. The praise Percy is receiving belongs to Marjorie."

"Well," his mother said, "if that is how you feel..."

Alfie marched out of the room. "Goodbye, Mother."

He wouldn't waste his time any longer. He stood at the front of the carriage in the drive, collapsing his hands onto his knees and steadying his breath even when he felt as though he might be sick.

His valet handed him a small vial. "Try this, Your Grace. It will help."

Alfie stood up, glancing at his valet. "Help with what?"

"Your nerves, Your Grace."

He grabbed it from his valet, not caring about what others would say, only that he knew he must reach Marjorie. And soon.

Alfie would stand beside her to ensure she received the recognition she deserved because, above all else, he was proud of her. She didn't deserve to be silenced, or pushed aside, or disregarded as a scandal because of her parents and their occupation. She was not something to be lumped into a group. She had worth all her own.

He grabbed the vial and tossed it back before jumping into the carriage and slamming his eyes shut, fighting back the waves of nausea as that day returned—the memory of his own carriage accident and the painful months of recovery which followed.

He would reach Marjorie. No matter what.