“So explain to me, please, how the Duchess is… well, a duchess. Merely by being the sister of the Duke?” Harriet asked as they passed through the countryside, holding their bonnets closer to their faces to shield them from the sun.
“No, she is married to Lord Wallace, the Duke of Lasconia,” Marjorie answered patiently.
“Lasconia? I’ve not heard of it?”
“Ah, her husband is from France,” her sister clarified. “They’ve been married since before you and I were born. Perhaps since before Mother was born, but not Father, I should think.”
Harriet frowned and pressed a hand to her chest. “The poor woman. Is her husband deceased?”
“Not the last I heard,” Marjorie answered, flicking the reins slightly to urge the horses on. “She lives here with her brother to maintain a tight-fisted control over what she sees as her real property.”
“Do you think that’s why the Duke has never married?” Harriet said in a whisper. She looked around for a moment, as though someone out in the open might actually hear them gossiping.
“I suppose it could be. I’ve only ever seen her at others’ events and never actually been introduced, but she does seem like a somewhat sour woman. Never smiling, always sits herself in a chair and watches the room as though taking inventory of what’s before her!”
When they pulled up to the house, Harriet gasped again with a mixture of awe and fear. “Sister! This is to be your home?”
“Make no mistake, Harriet. When women marry, this does not become theirs. They’re temporary guests permitted to stay at the whim—and good health—of the lord and master.”
She looked around at the estate herself, taking in the sweeping hillsides behind the overly ornate house, envisioning the hours she would spend away from this prison while riding Valiant. It was the only way she could stomach what lay before her.
“Please see that they have water and their tresses are loosened,” she said to the finely liveried groomsmen who met them at the gate, handing over the team. Inside, Marjorie handed the butler their cards, and he returned presently with Her Grace’s card on a small silver tray. The butler led Marjorie and Harriet to a large sitting room where a warm fireplace awaited them.
Harriet clung to Marjorie’s elbow as she looked around the room. Paintings and portraits covered one wall, with scarcely any of the wall covering showing through. Oil lamps rested on tables scattered throughout the space, and a harpsichord stood prominently off to one side at the far end of the room.
No sooner had they sat down than a side door opened, and the Duke’s sister entered. Marjorie and Harriet rose to await her greeting, curtseying when she approached.
“Your Grace,” Marjorie said, “it is an extreme pleasure to meet you finally.”
“Ah yes, Lady Marjorie, Lady Harriet. You are well met. I’ve seen you from afar at various events this season and have always taken notice that you carry yourselves well. You only associate with suitable young ladies, I’m pleased to say,” the much older woman replied. “To be honest, I’ve rarely even heard your names, which is to say that no one has seen fit to tell any gossip about you. You are to be commended for that, you and your father alike.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Marjorie said, sitting back down as the older woman took her seat. She gestured for Harriet to do likewise.
“But that does not mean I am pleased about my brother marrying you.”
The woman pinned Marjorie back with a fierce glare, waiting for her to respond. Unruffled, Marjorie didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead she stared back, smiling, feeling rather like a simpleton for it but refusing to alter her expression.
Let the old biddy be the first to crack, Marjorie thought firmly.The one who gives in first has shown weakness, whether it’s an unbroken horse or an outdated noblewoman.
“I see you are not one to be trifled with, young lady. Do you not care why I object? Or are you not surprised by my statement?” the woman asked. Marjorie looked directly in her eye as she spoke.
“I should say, perhaps I do care somewhat about your reason, only in that I might care if someone said they had never once bothered to have poached eggs for breakfast.” She held her head high and continued. “But I’m sure you also know how little choice I was given in the subject. In fact, the papers were signed while I was not at home. I’ve had the good fortune of laying eyes on His Grace perhaps twice in my entire life. I am probably just as displeased as you are, to be quite honest, regardless of my reasons. Unfortunately, no one has asked either of us how we feel about it.”
“Well then. I wasn’t aware my brother was marrying such an impudent child,” the Duchess said, “but your response is not at all what I expected. Any young lady in the region—nay, the empire—would do well to have a match such as Gregory!”
“Obviously, you must know that I agree as I am not fallen prostrate before you, rending my garments and tearing my hair in anguish at the match. It is simply a business deal between the Duke and my father, and nothing more. My opinion on the matter was unwelcomed and unnecessary, and likewise, anyone else’s opinion on the match… well, is the same.”
Marjorie continued to look at the Duchess coldly. She could feel Harriet beside her starting to tremble, unaccustomed to this kind of disagreement.
“Then perhaps I shall speak to my brother and inform him that you are not overly enamored of the betrothal. I dare say that would cause you to change your attitude!” Lady Lasconia threatened, waiting for Marjorie to flinch. She was disappointed.
“Is that why you invited us here today? First to tell me that you disapprove of the marriage, then to threaten to interfere in a way that would break the engagement? Because if that is indeed the case, I’ve taken more than enough of your time. My sister is missing her lessons and I’m now very late for my daily ride.”
Lady Lasconia stared at Marjorie for a long moment, watching her face as if trying to decide what to say next. It was written plainly on her face, so Marjorie could see that her plans to reduce the young lady to a sniveling mess—all in an effort to ensure that she herself still pulled the strings of the Fenworth family—had gone horribly awry.When had this younger generation become so uncaring, so rude? Indeed!Marjorie could simply imagine Her Grace thinking.
“I see now that you may very well be suited to be my brother’s wife. After all, it takes a strong hand to control him, especially when he’s been drinking.”
There, let that little wench mull over that for a moment, Lady Lasconia’s smirk seemed to say. Of course, her dropped morsel of gossip wasn’t the least bit true, and Marjorie knew it was simply intended to put a measure of fear in her.