“I see. He must not be much of a caring sort if he would leave his sister to find her own way home. Where do you live, if I may ask?”
“Just a ways up there.” Marjorie pointed in the general direction of her home. “It’s not far now.”
“Not far? I find that very hard to believe. There’s not a house around in any direction for a good while.”
Marjorie’s blood froze in her veins. What was he hinting at? Although the man’s tone was caring, she liked not what his message might imply.
“I’m pleased I happened to chance by then,” he answered. “You’re perhaps more lost than you know. Come, we’ll hurry up apace if your horse is able, and get you back to your brother soon!”
He darted ahead of her, leaving Marjorie to sigh with relief. She clucked softly to Valiant to spur him on, and kept a fair bit of distance between herself and this kind stranger.
When they finally reached the top of the glen and she was able to spy her home in the distance, Marjorie stopped short. She smiled at the person who had safely escorted her, and said her thanks.
“Might I inquire your name, sir? My father will be very grateful for the service you offered,” she said, knowing quite well that she had no intention of informing her father about this excursion.
“Ah, no thanks are needed, Miss! But my name is… Sedgewick.” He faltered for only a minute in giving his name, and Marjorie looked at him strangely.
“Well, Sedgewick, thank you for your assistance. I am most grateful to you.” She nodded and turned to go but he called after her.
“But I do not know your name, Miss!”
Marjorie called out over her shoulder, but she couldn’t be sure if he heard her. She was already riding at a full run, intent on getting home before anyone could notice her absence.
* * *
“There you are, dear sister!” Harriet cried in a falsely-joyful tone as Marjorie finally entered the drawing room some time later. The younger girl cast her eyes quickly towards the corner where her father was engaged in a discussion with a man Marjorie had only seen in the ton a few times.
“I tried to cover for you as best I could,” Harriet whispered as she stood and gave her sister a peck on the cheek. “Make your excuses and leave quickly.”
Marjorie pulled back and frowned at her sister in consternation, but Harriet’s eyes widened. She reached out and took Marjorie’s hand, pinching her ring finger gently. Marjorie’s heart sank. Another suitor? So early in the day? It simply wasn’t done, no one came to call at this morning hour.
Of course, neither her father nor the other gentleman—and a gentleman he must be, judging from the cut of his coat and the servant waiting silently behind him—had even looked up when Marjorie entered the room. Could Harriet be wrong? Could this be any other business transaction and not a negotiation for a bride?
“Ah, there’s our young mistress now,” her father said, rising to come to her. His smile was not genuine, and there was a hard glint in his eye. It was almost a warning. “Daughter, it is my honor to present His Grace the Duke of Fenworth, Gregory Balfour.”
Marjorie eyed the older man while fighting to suppress an air of contempt, but her expression softened slightly when she saw the polite smile play across his face. He was far older than she, to be sure, and certainly not a man that even the most nearsighted fool could ever call handsome. But he had a kindly, grandfatherly air about him that was present even before he spoke.
As if on instinct of her extensive tutelage, she dropped into a polite curtsey and answered somberly, “Your Grace. It is a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance. I’ve seen you at some events last season but have never had the good fortune of receiving an introduction.”
“My Lady,” the Duke replied, bowing only slightly but dropping his gaze for a moment. “The pleasure is all mine. I, too, have taken notice of you before—most recently at the Lady Pitoria’s luncheon, I believe it was—but never wanted to interrupt your conversation or steal you away from the dancing to bother you with a simple hello.”
“Oh, Your Grace. I would be far more flattered to have your attention for even a few minutes than to enjoy all the dances in an evening!” Marjorie said dutifully, encouraging their guest while seething inside at her father’s manipulations.
“Lady Marjorie is quite the avid horsewoman and has already been out in the stables this morning,” her father explained, “otherwise, her appearance would be far more suitable.”
My appearance?Marjorie thought bitterly as she instinctively reached to smooth her day dress. It wasn’t as though she was still wearing her mother’s things.What’s wrong with my appearance?
“Don’t be silly, Mortham, she is a radiant flower, if I may be so bold,” the Duke replied, immediately succumbing to a slight blush at being so familiar with someone he’d only just met.
“Not at all, Fenworth!” her father answered with an eager laugh, and Marjorie turned to stare, only remembering at the last moment to close her mouth. Had it only been a few hours ago that her father had chastised an elderly employee for being “too bold” in saying she was an excellent horse rider?
“Lady Marjorie,” her father continued, addressing her formally for the Duke’s benefit, “His Grace the Duke has agreed to a marriage contract.”
“Oh, what wonderful news, Your Grace! I’m delighted to learn that you’ll be marrying soon. Tell me, is it someone I’ve met? Perhaps Lady Bernice McGrath from Kent? I saw her speaking with you at a dinner recently, and you two seemed to have much to discuss.”
The Duke looked even more embarrassed than before, and Marjorie’s father looked furious. She knew better than to hint that the Duke marry the old countess dowager—moreover, she knew thanks to Harriet’s whispered warning that the Duke was there to seek her hand—but she couldn’t help insinuating that theirs would not be an even match, neither in age nor in title.
“Daughter,” her father said through gritted teeth, “His Grace is seekingyourhand. I’ve already signed the papers.”
