Page 81 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
No, not even that. It was just hiding now. She no longer had the energy to seek. She couldn’t imagine enduring Dominic in London either. He remembered his responsibilities only when it suited him.
“I know this isn’t a grand affair, just a garden party with tarts and lemonade, but it still frazzles my nerves,” Elizabeth confessed.
“It takes practice, love,” Marianne reassured her gently. “Eventually, you’ll realize that you’ve been among crowds so often that it no longer feels frightening.”
She studied her sister for a moment. It was astonishing that someone so lovely could doubt herself.
Elizabeth, with her spun-gold hair and enviable figure—slender and buxom—should have no shortage of suitors. Then again, perhaps their father’s looming presence warded them off. A man seeking peace wouldn’t want Lord Grisham as a father-in-law.
And then there was her own husband. Dominic had surprised her by choosing her over Elizabeth.
Why would a man like him choose someone who would fight back and complicate his life? And why willingly tether himself to Lord Grisham?
“What are you thinking about, Marianne?” Elizabeth asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Oh, just feeling a little light-headed. I’ve been cooped up at the estate for so long that this sudden bustle is… a change. And look who’s headed our way.”
Elizabeth groaned under her breath.
Lady Adelaide Vaughn.
What could she possibly want now? Marianne was married—shouldn’t that make her boring and irrelevant to such women?
And right behind Lady Adelaide trailed Miss Lily Farwell.
Perfect. Not.
“We haven’t seen you in weeks, Your Grace!” Lady Adelaide gushed. “We thought perhaps you were with child and too delicate to travel.” Her gaze skimmed over Marianne’s waist with faux concern. “Well, you do look plump enough. Congratulations to you and the Duke!” she continued. “What do you think, Lily?”
Miss Farwell tittered as her eyes swept over Marianne. “It does look like it. Congratulations, Your Grace!” she squealed, clapping her hands together.
Thosehens. No, hens were much more pleasant than those two. Even if Marianne were indeed pregnant, it would take at least three months for her to show!
“I’m sorry to disappoint you both, but I’m not with child,” she said evenly, her voice calm despite the temptation to snap.
She held herself in check with the knowledge that things could be worse if she let them.
“Oh. Why?” Lady Adelaide asked, widening her eyes in feigned sympathy. “Are you and the Duke… taking your time?”
“I believe that’s not something discussed in polite society,” Marianne replied smoothly.
“Will you tell us next time, then?” Miss Farwell asked with mock sweetness. “We are in desperate need of something to celebrate.”
“No engagements yet?” Marianne asked, her tone cool.
“No, I’m afraid. Much like your sister, Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Adelaide replied, letting her mask slip for just a moment.
“Well, she’s younger than you,” Marianne stated flatly.
She was learning from Dominic, it seemed—quietly poised, unreadable, untouchable.
“Weren’t you two-and-twenty, far beyond your third Season, when you married the Duke?” Miss Farwell then added with a too-sweet smile, “Your Grace.”
The belated honorific was deliberate, but Marianne couldn’t bring herself to care. They were still girls, no matter how grownthey pretended to be—catty, petty, and likely deemed as such by theton.
Still, this was Society. Titles and fortunes would eventually see them wed.
Marianne knew better than most. She had never tried to please, yet she had married.
