Page 14 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
“Y-You can’t possibly think—” Marianne spluttered.
Wilhelmina shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. I am bored, but at the same time, I know that seeking any kind of happiness in this family would undoubtedly be punished by our father,” she said, sobering a little.
“The real question here is would the lord tell Father about the incident,” Elizabeth volunteered, looking worried. “He’d seen you out there in the woods, Marianne. He also saw Victoria. None of us was supposed to be there.”
Elizabeth was right. Marianne’s blood ran cold at the thought of the lord complaining about the Grisham sisters frolicking in the woods. He would have been especially annoyed by the fact that she had interrupted his shot.
“Oh, no,” Wilhelmina blurted. “The lord must not have been too happy about missing the stag. Perhaps youshouldhave kissed him in exchange for his silence!”
“Wilhelmina! Seeing how loyal these men are to Father, or anyone of their own sex, you’d think he would keep eventhata secret? He’d probably say it was my idea,” Marianne protested.
Even if such a thing had occurred, Marianne would deny everything, but her father would never believe her. Of course, he’d take the side of his fellow noblemen.
“Then what if this lord tells Father about you and Victoria?” Elizabeth demanded to know. She often needed reassurance.
“Even if he does, I will handle Father,” Marianne promised.
Elizabeth nodded uncertainly while Wilhelmina looked down at the floor. Serafina was content nuzzling Marianne’s feet.
“If he must take his frustrations out on me, then so be it,” Marianne said quietly, her voice steady. “But I won’t allow him to hurt any of you again.”
Chapter Seven
“Let things be all right,” Marianne muttered as she gave herself one last look in the mirror.
It had been the longest day of her life. It began with enduring the whispers and sharp words of theton’syoung ladies, followed by an unexpected chase through the woods, saving a deer, and changing into fresh clothes to avoid suspicion.
And now, it was far from over.
Her father had a dinner planned for his guests—guests who would never know how little he cared for her.
Once, he hadn’t been a terrible man—at least in her memories from childhood. But that was before her mother’s death. Before the bitterness grew with the birth of her brother Daniel. The Marquess had blamed his son for his late wife’s passing, and over the years, that blame had morphed into something worse.
Now, as she sat at Grisham Manor’s glittering dining table, surrounded by expensive crystal and polished silver, Marianne felt more out of place than ever. The ladies in their gleaming silk gowns, the soft flicker of candlelight—it all seemed like an elaborate facade.
Her stomach turned when her gaze fell on the centerpiece: the stag, now roasted and seasoned to perfection by her father’s chef. It seemed like a mockery of everything the day had meant.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth whispered from beside her.
“I am,” Marianne lied.
She watched as the guests admired the stag, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Servants moved swiftly between them, pouring wine and setting down slices of meat garnished with sauces and wild mushrooms, all with a precision that made it seem like part of a well-rehearsed dance.
Marianne sat with her back straight, her pale green gown and carefully arranged hair giving her the air of the host’s perfect daughter. She kept her face impassive, though her thoughts were anything but composed. Her gaze flickered over the guests as they dug into the stag with evident pleasure.
But no matter what, she did not touch the venison on her plate.
At first, no one seemed to notice. The room was filled with the hum of polite conversation—talk of the weather, the hunt, theton, and the latest gossip. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for those who weren’t in attendance, now the subject of idle chatter. But as dinner progressed and the hare was served, more eyes began to settle on her untouched plate.
“Is there something wrong with your meat, Lady Marianne?” Lady Adelaide asked, looking amused.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I simply don’t eat venison,” Marianne replied firmly.
Giggles erupted from Lady Adelaide’s section of the table, and for some reason, Lord Bertram Cray felt compelled to join in.
“Is this decision not to partake a matter of principle or palate?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.
“I suppose both,” Marianne answered without blinking.
