Page 15 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
Two other ladies exchanged a look upon hearing her answer. One of them raised her eyebrow and did not even bother lowering her voice when she commented, “How quaint.”
Another lord seemed to think it was appropriate to give his own opinion, saying, “Such delicate sensibilities. What would have happened if she were there when the stag fell?”
Others laughed politely, perhaps afraid not to be in fashion. It seemed that the order of the night was to make fun of Marianne’s decision not to eat venison.
Somehow, she’d expected this. Her belief that animals should not be hunted for sport was unpopular among theton.
“It is, indeed, curious,” Lord Bertram said, making sure he sliced his venison extra slowly for Marianne. Then, he chewed on the meat with fervor, clearly to mock her further. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused the pheasant next.”
“Or the fish!” Lady Adelaide added with a smirk.
The laughter grew louder, sharper this time, tinged with malice. Though the mockery was squarely aimed at her, Marianne maintained an outward calm. She had long perfected the art of keeping her expression neutral. Inside, however, she was as tense as ever, her fingers gripping the stem of her goblet. But she didn’t dare let her composure slip.
Then, a clear, youthful voice cut through the noise from the children’s table at the far end of the room. Heads turned toward the sound, and Marianne immediately recognized Wilhelmina’s voice.
“Why should it matter what she chooses to eat? Some of us prefer to nourish ourselves thoughtfully rather than what’s served on a platter for the sake of status. But of course, I suppose not everyone has the luxury of considering such things.”
The room fell into a tense silence. Eyes turned toward Wilhelmina, curious to see how she would stand her ground. Surrounded by younger guests and still not fully presented to Society, her boldness was unexpected.
Marianne knew that their father would be furious at her.
“My dear, it is hardly fitting for one not yet out in Society to offer her opinions on adult matters,” Lady Honora remarked with a thin smile, her tone as sharp as it was measured.
“Pardon me, my lady. I was merely under the impression thateveryone, regardless of age or sex, was expected to display proper manners.”
There were gasps. There were also coughs, presumably to hide laughter.
“Your mother has clearly failed to teach you those manners you speak of, young lady,” Lady Honora chided, her eyes narrowed. “Then again, she is not here to do so.”
Marianne winced as Wilhelmina’s face paled. She knew it was not due to the insult to her manners but from the implication about her mother. Lady Grisham—Marianne’s stepmother, and Wilhelmina’s, Victoria’s, and Daphne’s real mother—was a sensitive subject.
Fury sparked in her eyes, and her lips parted. Marianne, sensing the danger of letting her sister speak, cleared her throat deliberately, the sound cutting through the rising tension and halting the scandalized murmurs.
She met her half-sister’s eyes and gave her a silent warning.It’s not worth it.
Throughout it all, their father watched in silence. Marianne noted how his expression hardened when Wilhelmina spoke, but there was something more when Lady Honora mentioned his wife.
His face was now set in stone, save for the twitching muscle in his jaw. His eyes flicked from Wilhelmina to Marianne, and in that brief, piercing glance, she felt the unmistakable warning only his daughters could interpret.
Do not make a scene. Or else…
Marianne could almost hear the cane thudding on the floor once more, and she tried her best not to flinch. Again, none of the guests could elicit such a reaction from her. Nothing came close to Lord Grisham’s vitriol.
Wilhelmina bowed her head, her fists in her lap. However, Marianne knew her sister well enough to understand that it wasn’t a display of surrender. The girl looked angry, her shoulders stiff and tense.
Meanwhile, Lady Honora, believing she had silenced her, returned to her venison with an air of triumph, savoring each bite as if she had secured a great victory.
“My sister was right,” Marianne said in a deceptively soft voice. She was quiet enough so her father could not hear. “There is no obligation to partake in what one does not find agreeable. Such should be the rule in any civilized gathering. As should true manners—manners that extend beyond what theolder generation may deem proper. Manners that are instead grounded in decency and genuine kindness.”
“Ah, well, of course, my lady,” Lord Bertram began awkwardly. “I did not mean anything by it.”
At least he apologized, which Marianne appreciated. The rest simply went back to their conversations.
The mood at dinner struggled to return to its former zest. Still, Marianne could detect a shift. Some began to avoid her gaze, while others peered at her curiously. She could even imagine that some of them had begun looking at her with some respect.
So, she ate her buttered vegetables slowly and delicately. Why not? She was accused of being too delicate. Even so, she would not give them everything they wanted.
Later, she found solace in the glazed fruit and sweet wine, their delicate flavors offering a quiet reprieve from the evening’s tension.
