Chapter Three
“Married? I thought we just prevented my getting married, now you’ve changed your mind?”
“We did nothing,” Duncan pointed out sternly, sitting as he was in the chair beside her in the sitting room adjacent to the bedchamber she had been using. “And you do not get to claim that your illicit attempt at elopement compares with this plan.”
Marianne stared at her brother in abject horror, slowly shaking her head. “I apologized to you for my blindness and my rash behavior, Duncan, and you said…”
“I said I would find a solution,” her brother overrode, his expression not at all comforting. “And I have.”
She did not appreciate the finality in his tone. She folded her arms and glared back. “And your brilliant solution is to marry me off?”
The storm brewing in her brother’s face should have warned her, but she had never been particularly adept at obeying unspoken warnings.
“What a novel concept!” she said, mocking amazement. “A girl causes trouble, and the only plausible solution a group of men can come up with is to get her married.”
“That’s enough.”
“This is a punishment, isn’t it?” Marianne cried, getting to her feet. “You’ve been warning me again and again that I was going too far, that my actions would someday prove to be my downfall, and you did not know how to save me. Is this your idea of saving me, Duncan? Selling me off like a common animal?”
Her voice broke on the last word and her emotions got the better of her, which was almost unheard of for her. She was a consummate actress by now, and never showed emotion at all, except, it seemed, for her brother.
“Marianne,” Duncan said softly, surprising her with a gentle tone and more gentle expression.
She had expected thunderbolts and roaring and the power of Zeus to rain down upon her head. She had provoked him, goaded him intentionally because a fight was far more comfortable for her than this. And Duncan never backed down from a fight, particularly not with her. They’d had some perfect rows in their past, and the apologies came after, as did the solutions.
She was not sure how to do this without a fight.
She met her brother’s eyes and the fight went out of her, the dam in her chest bursting into tears that she could not contain. She sank to the floor beneath her, and put her face into her hands, crying rather pitifully.
Duncan was soon sitting on the floor next to her, pulling her tightly against his side. “Oh, minnow,” he sighed, handing her a handkerchief, “I wish I could have spared you this.”
“Then don’t make me do it!” she begged, leaning her head on his shoulder and wiping at her eyes.
She felt him shake his head. “There is no choice, Marianne. You have run away from London without the knowledge or consent of your family, and even Mrs. Gordon, try as she might, cannot keep that from getting out. Your own popularity will be the rope they hang you by, I am afraid.”
She pushed at his chest a little, not quite willing to remove his comforting arm, but disturbed by the picture he had painted. “That was unnecessary,” she protested stubbornly.
He looked down at her with a quizzical brow. “Was it? You know Society, Marianne. You have seen what they do to others in your situation, and you know how bad it can get.”
That was secretly what terrified Marianne. She did know. She had been part of the throng that had called for the metaphorical blood of those who had behaved as she had, without any sort of sympathy or pity. She had furthered rumors of such things, had possibly been one of the chief causes for some rather painful falls from Society’s good graces, all without batting an eyelash.
But surely, with the influence of others in the rooms downstairs, there could be something better than marrying her off…
“If you were anyone else,” Duncan said, reading her thoughts with perfect clarity, “then there might have been something we could do that was less drastic. Between Colin and Derek alone, they have enough influence to change someone’s fate. But you, my dear sister, are the height of Society, and everyone cares about where you go and what you do.”
Her heart sunk deep into the pit of her stomach as the reality of her situation set in.
“You don’t have a choice, Marianne,” Duncan continued softly. “Not even I can save you from this.”
And as wrong as it felt, she knew he was right. Her own willful nature had been her undoing, and there was no alternative but for her to marry, if she had any hope of retaining a shred of respectability. Or living in seclusion at Brockleton House or, more likely, some cottage on its expansive lands. Shropshire was full of expansive lands, and nobody asked questions there.
But she would be miserable in seclusion.
“What if I went to stay with Graeme?” she suggested in a small voice.
Duncan gave her a look. “You want to go to MacLaine Keep and stay with our cousins for the rest of your life?”
Marianne winced, her nose wrinkling up. As much as she loved her cousins, and she did love them, they had a rather harsh life, and they thrived in it. They would never be properly behaved for the London Society, but they could be passable. They were generous and kind, loyal to anyone with family ties, and would protect her from everyone and everything that could potentially harm her. They would not even judge her for her actions. Others might, but never her cousins. Of course, they lived in an old castle that was practically medieval in its design and construction, which was all well and good for visiting. But to live with them…
“And you would still have to marry someday,” Duncan added with a soft nudge. “Even Graeme wouldn’t be able to sustain you forever.”
Marianne groaned and rubbed at her head. “I’m sorry,” she murmured for what felt like the thousandth time.
“I know.”
She glanced up at her brother’s face, and saw that, to her astonishment, he did seem to know. He accepted her apology. Not many would have.
Her brother knew her better than anyone in the world, which she could not always have said. Someone else once held that position of prestige.
No more.
Not for years.
But her brother knew her, good and bad, and loved her in spite of it all.
She leaned against him more fully, sagging a little, forgoing her usually perfect posture. “Then I will do it. I mean, I have to do it, obviously, but I agree to it.”
He patted her back softly. “Thank you, minnow.” He pressed a soft kiss to her hair and got to his feet. “I will see to the arrangements.”
She frowned, confused. “Arrangements?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him as he headed for the door. “What do you mean?”
He raised a brow. “For your wedding, of course.”
Marianne turned herself on the floor to face him completely and gave him an exasperated look. “My wedding? What wedding?” Her eyes went wide and her heart stopped. “You don’t mean you’ve found a husband for me already?”
Duncan tilted his head as if he were concerned for her welfare. “Yes,” he said slowly, “which is why I came up here to tell you about it.”
Marianne’s mouth was suddenly dry and it was several seconds before she could speak. “Who?” she eventually managed.
Duncan seemed to take a breath, held it, then said, “Kit Gerrard.”
Her entire world stopped spinning on those words and she was completely frozen, immoveable, unable to breathe or think or blink.
From bad to worse, the absolute and very worst.
This was a nightmare.
This was her nightmare.
“No,” she squeaked, her voice sounding as if it came from a great distance. She cleared her throat, though the powerful pulsing in her ears would not clear. “No,” she said again, more firmly. “No, no, absolutely not.”
Duncan frowned and his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. No?”
Marianne wanted to laugh, but there was absolutely nothing in this to laugh about, not even in mockery. “No,” she said again, her voice and her panic rising. She scrambled to her feet. “Not Kit, no. No, Duncan, please. Anyone else, quite literally, anyone. But not Kit.”
Her brother’s frown grew and he folded his arms across his broad chest, looking rather disgruntled. “What is wrong with Kit Gerrard?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but what could she say? Nothing was wrong with Kit. Anyone else in England, or the entire world, could marry Kit Gerrard, and they were welcome to him. He was a fine gentleman, with a vast fortune, a good family, and well respected by those who were not idiots. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him.
Except he hated her.
No, he himself was not the problem. They would be. Together.
He would make her miserable, and love every minute of it. And she would no doubt make him miserable, just by being his wife. They had once been friends, and back then, they might have suited, but that was ages ago. After what had passed between them, what they had once been, and what fracture had come to that… and after experiencing his bitterness firsthand when he’d finally returned to England, when she had not expected it, she knew they could never be friends again.
But how could she possibly have known that he would have taken a refused proposal so personally?
And how could she ever explain that to her brother?
“Marianne?” Duncan prodded without patience.
“I don’t love him!” she thought up quickly. And it was true, she didn’t. She could not stand the man any more than he could stand her.
Their reasons were different, but the facts were the same. There was no love between them.
Duncan gave an odd sort of snort. “You were expecting to find love in the short time we have? You didn’t even love the man you ran away with, Marianne. Love was never going to come into this arrangement, and you know that. But love can grow.”
Love could grow? With Kit? The idea was laughable. Some people might be that fortunate in their marriage of convenience, but it was certainly rare, and would not happen here. The best she could hope for was a silent marriage of avoidance.
“Surely you don’t wish me to be unhappy in my marriage,” she protested, folding her arms to match him.
He had no doubt been spending too much time with Derek, for one brow slowly rose rather imperiously. “Why should a marriage to Kit make you unhappy?”
Why, indeed.
Marianne whirled away, covering her face and groaning. “I can’t marry him, Duncan. I can’t.”
“Why?”
She could never tell him how or why or what reasons there were for this, not if she wanted him to love and trust her. This was one detail of her life she had never shared with him, and never would. After what had passed between them, she knew that six years was not long enough to deaden the sting of her behavior, not for Kit, and not for her. Rumors had swirled about them from that day on, but she had never said anything.
And Kit… He would…
“Why?” Duncan asked again. “Is there something about Kit Gerrard that makes him unfit to be a husband?”
She swallowed hard. “No,” she whispered honestly.
“Does he squander money or mistreat people?”
Her aside? She shook her head. “No.”
Duncan pushed off of the door and came to stand just a few feet behind her. “Is he an honorable man?”
He knew the answer to all of these questions, and she could not answer any differently. “Yes, of course, he is,” she said impatiently. “In fact, I doubt a man has ever been more so, unless he was Geoffrey Harris.”
Duncan put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her back to face him. “Then why should you, in your situation, not marry a man like that?”
A man like that was not the problem.
It was that particular man that was the problem.
She looked into her brother’s eyes and saw that he was waiting for an answer. One she could not give. “It is personal,” she murmured, averting her eyes.
Duncan made a small noise of disapproval. He waited for her to look at him once more. “And does Kit know these personal matters?”
She looked down at the buttons on his weskit, and nodded once.
“Then it is settled.”
Her head shot up and she looked at him in horror as he stepped away, again heading for the door. “What?” she cried.
He glanced at her without concern. “Kit is willing to marry you, knowing the reasons why you should not. If he suggested it, despite those matters, then I have no concerns about it.”
Suggested? Surely he was not saying that…
There was no possible way that Christopher Gerrard would suggest himself as a candidate for marriage to her. Not after what she had just done, and not after what had happened before.
“What?” she said again. “Kit suggested it?”
“It was his idea,” Duncan said with a nod. “I wouldn’t have thought of it, and it really is much simpler this way. You marry Kit here, and we all go to London without a fuss, rumors are at a minimum, and you are taken care of. I asked Kit if he was sure, it seemed so illogical, but he was determined.” Duncan shrugged, still watching her carefully, despite his apparent nonchalance. “He will marry you.”
Marianne had to reach out and grip the chair next to her for balance. Kit Gerrard had volunteered to marry her. He had not been forced, he certainly had not felt duty-bound, and there was no hint of sentimentality in it. Before the scandal had ever really touched any of them, he had put himself on the chopping block for her.
Her mind whirled in confusion. She could still hear his chilling voice from that day at Tibby’s musicale, could feel the icy glare of his blue eyes disapproving of everything about her, as he said the words she would never forget: “I do not tolerate heartless creatures who care only for themselves. Go back to your menagerie and leave me in peace.”
They had not spoken since.
She had taken great pains to avoid him, and he had done the same, it seemed.
Now he would marry her?
An apprehensive shiver raced across her skin and she resisted the urge to rub her arms against the chill.
Her future was bleak indeed. His sentiments could not have changed so, not when he continually looked at her with the same expression of disgust and superiority. She would be in a shell of a marriage to protect her from scandal, when the partner in her marriage had the power to give her more misery than the scandal itself.
They thought this would stem the rumors? It would enflame them.
And Kit had to know that.
Still he said he would marry her?
Very well, she would accept. And she would give London something to talk about.
And perhaps then her would-be husband would think twice about his superiority.
“All right,” Marianne said stiffly, folding her arms yet again. “If he has no objections, then so be it. I will marry him. But I shall not like it.”
Duncan gave her an incredulous look. “Did you expect to like it? You would not like marrying anybody.”
She sniffed, no longer feeling emotional or distressed. Merely enraged. “And I like nothing less than the idea of Kit Gerrard as my husband.”
Duncan rolled his eyes and wrenched open the door. “Your opinion on the subject is noted.”
“And ignored,” she pointed out.
He turned and she saw his jaw tightening. “You have lost the right to choose here.”
Slight tremors of fury started in her fingers and toes and made their way through her limbs. “I don’t love him.”
“Well, you had better get over that, or start trying to, Marianne,” Duncan barked, “because no one else will have you. Do you even know what he is sacrificing by marrying you?”
“No more than I sacrifice by marrying him. Believe me, Duncan, if anything works out in this sham marriage, it will be in spite of Kit Gerrard, not because of him.”
The door slammed behind her brother and Marianne whirled to the toilette, picking up various objects and throwing them against her bed, grinding her teeth together to keep from screaming.
Marriage to Kit Gerrard? She was sick at the very thought of it.
Why must a woman be so helpless and voiceless? Why could she not return to London as herself, wiser and only slightly soiled, and continue on without ramifications?
Why had she been stupid enough to think that a salacious elopement with a scoundrel would be a brilliant addition to her reputation?
She grabbed a pillow and screeched into it until her frame shook with exhaustion. She flung it, and herself, on the bed and seethed until she fell into a fitful sleep.