Page 109 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
Inside the Grisham townhouse, a quieter trouble was brewing. It combined with a searing melancholy that had already been in the family for decades.
“We’ve already tucked the twins in,” Elizabeth informed Marianne as she smoothed the folds of her dress. “They, as you saw, were very restless. Daphne was distraught on your behalf, and Victoria was angry.”
The fire in the hearth was dwindling, poorly illuminating the parlor. It didn’t matter. It was already late, and soon, they would have no need for light.
Marianne was seated on a velvet settee. She was trained to behave a certain way. So, her back was ramrod-straight. She seemed serene, but her mind was anything but. Elizabeth and Wilhelmina sat on either side of her.
“Victoria may have eavesdropped, but even if she hadn’t, they would still have sensed the tension. For some reason, children are good at that. Then, they absorb everything within themselves. Some of them even keep the things they heard inside for years,” Wilhelmina explained, sounding more serious than she’d ever been.
Her brow was furrowed, making the sixteen-year-old look more mature. Sadder.
“Thank you both. I came here for some comfort. Father might not be able to give it to me, or even offer protection, but the two of you are here,” Marianne mused. “I don’t regret coming here, even though Father would still?—”
“Choose any man over us,” Elizabeth finished for her.
The three young women smiled at each other. It was a sad smile, but still a sign of their sisterhood. Their peace did not last long, however.
A not-so-distant sound interrupted their moment. They could hear a carriage trundling toward the townhouse. Their smiles faded into scowls. Tight lips. Furrowed brows. Heavier breathing.
“Father’s home,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice full of apprehension.
“Both of you should go to your chambers. He’d expect that you two are asleep already, anyway,” Marianne advised, rising and smoothing the skirt of her dress.
“We want to stay with you, Marianne. Isn’t that understandable, too? Sisters miss each other and simply want to spend more time together,” Wilhelmina reasoned.
“Please, girls,” Marianne urged gently. “I can handle Father, especially now that I am a duchess.”
It was true. Somehow, she had gained a title that made her seem better than she used to be. It wouldn’t make him pleasant to her, but at least he would think twice about his words and actions around her from now on.
Elizabeth and Wilhelmina acquiesced. As they ascended the staircase, they kept glancing back over their shoulders.
Marianne soon returned to the parlor. There were some things still left unsaid. She wanted her father to at least care about what could happen to their family if they continued their partnership with Linpool.
As expected, the front door to the parlor creaked open. Footsteps followed. It sounded like someone was dragging their feet, by the uneven thuds.
Sure enough, Lord Grisham entered with an unsteady gait that had Marianne worried he would fall on his face in the middle ofthe room. Then, it registered—the scent of alcohol. It was strong and completely explained the way he was walking. His eyes were glassy.
It didn’t look like she’d be able to pull anything from him. Apology. Understanding. Even when the man was sober, he didn’t seem capable of those.
“Marianne,” he slurred, a faint grin spreading across his face. It was the best expression his father had ever directed at her, but it was done when he was this drunk. “I didn’t expect you would still be here.”
“Of course, I’d still be here, Father. We didn’t get to talk properly. You let Linpool rot your brain with his lies and charm,” she said, trying to remain composed.
“Always so proper—or pretending to be proper,” he rasped as he stumbled forward, reaching out to grasp her arm. It was tight—a squeeze—and it aggravated her bruise from the accident. “Just like your mother.”
His voice had softened, revealing some deep regret. But it was only for a brief moment, and his face suddenly darkened again. As if recognizing who he was holding onto, he glared at her.
“Father, perhaps you should rest,” Marianne soothed, even though her arm throbbed in his grip.
She tried to pull away as gently as possible, but the drunk, older man was inexplicably strong.
Lord Grisham’s grip on her tightened for a moment. Then, the pressure eased right before he swayed and collapsed on the floor. He was immediately unconscious.
Marianne knelt beside him, checking his pulse. He was alive but inebriated.She summoned some servants to help her carry him to his bedchambers, and they helped put him in his bed.
“Thank you,” she told the maid. “You may all retire for the night. I am so sorry I had to summon you this late. I will try to monitor his condition myself.”
The maid hesitated, glancing at the snoring Marquess. “Are you certain, Your Grace?”
