Page 7 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
They offered Elizabeth a few hurried curtsies before retreating, their dignity trailing behind them.
“Thank you, Marianne,” Elizabeth whispered. “There are moments when I wish to speak, truly. But my voice fails me. It’s as though the words catch in my throat.”
“Some people have quiet courage. We don’t always have to speak,” Marianne reassured her, touching her arm gently. “You’ll find the right moment for your courage to spring out. Not all battles are worth fighting.”
“Oh—oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Marianne looked down to see Serafina, her grey tabby, twining around Elizabeth’s ankles as if to comfort her.
“Serafina,” Elizabeth cooed softly, bending to pet her.
The cat sauntered toward Marianne, rubbing against her skirt, taking away some of the heaviness in her chest.
“I wish I could be like Serafina,” Elizabeth murmured fondly. “She’s beautiful, but also unafraid.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think you’d want to be like her,” Marianne said with a wry smile. “She’s spoiled, demanding, and entirely too pleased with herself. In short—utterly delightful. You’re like that, dearest. Only with far worse manners.”
“It makes me think. Why do the men have to hunt?” Elizabeth asked. “Why must they chase an innocent animal to catch and kill it?”
“You know precisely why,” Marianne replied, her tone edged with bitterness. “Because they can. These diversions feed some illusion of power. It’s all in their heads, of course—butfrightening, nonetheless, how easily the men of thetonare raised to believe that the world was made to indulge them.”
Suddenly, she heard a discreet cough behind her. Turning around, she saw one of the young maids, Helena, standing only a few feet away.
“My lady, my apologies for interrupting your conversation,” Helena began breathlessly, as if she had been running. “B-But we cannot find Lady Victoria.”
“What?” Marianne asked, bewildered.
“Someone saw her slip out the side gate. She might be headed for the woods—perhaps to see the hunt up close.”
Oh no.
God help Victoria.
Not only might she land herself in all manner of trouble attempting to spy on a hunt—where men rode armed and mounted—but if, by some miracle, she survived the ordeal, their father would surely see to it that she never stepped foot beyond the threshold again.
Marianne could hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears.
“Did anyone else see her sneak out?”
“No, my lady. Just Maria. Then, she told me, and I thought you should know first.”
“You did the right thing, Helena,” she murmured, even though she could barely breathe now. “Thank you.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Stay here. If Father asks where I’ve gone, tell him that I had a headache and had to get some fresh air.”
“Y-You’ll find her?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide.
“I’ll bring her back. I promise,” Marianne said, before slipping out of the house and hiking up her skirts slightly to gain some speed.
She hurried through the least-used passages until she reached the same side door her sister had used to recklessly sneak out.
The woods felt darker today, more expansive, as panic set in. The trees loomed like silent conspirators, their limbs bending toward one another as if in counsel. The leaves, still wet with morning dew, clung to her skirts and hair.
It would have been easier, faster, to call out Victoria’s name, but Marianne dared not raise her voice. Not with the risk of their father hearing.
No. She would not give him any reason to bring his cane down upon Victoria. The child had run off without permission, and quite possibly into the very paths his esteemed guests now rode through with their rifles.
If not Victoria, then someone else would be punished in her stead. Lord Grisham’s retribution did not always strike the one who erred—it struck where it pleased him.
Marianne’s boots squelched against the damp earth, but she spared no thought for mud-soaked hems or soiled leather. That was a worry for another time.
