Chapter Eleven
Kit walked briskly down the Mayfair streets the next morning, before many were up and about, which was just how he liked it. He’d slept fitfully at best last night, his mind whirling with questions and possible solutions for Marianne’s situation, unable to forget the sounds of her distress or the sight of her crumpled on the floor.
It had been far more unsettling than he had let on, seeing her that way.
Marianne was a woman of strength and determination, prone to emotion, it was true, but never like that. She was high-spirited, but she was not particularly inclined towards dramatics. That was a trick for her aunt. He had been helpless in the face of such distress and grief, and he had to help her.
He could not regret caring for her as he had done, nor sharing so much with her. And during the night, he had wondered if he ought to have done more. He could not change Society, and he would have been afraid of the attempt, knowing he would not come out unscathed. But he felt sick when he recalled what Marianne had heard when she had only meant to enjoy an evening out before the Season began. How she had managed to get home before letting her emotions free was beyond him.
He had to do something. So, he had made the decision sometime in the night to go to the person who knew Marianne as well or perhaps better than he did, and had a significant interest in her well-being.
Her brother.
He had not spoken with Duncan much since their return, and he was glad for it. As much as he liked the man, it was a relief to not have an overprotective brother watching the marriage over his shoulder.
He would not have liked what he had seen.
He reached the Bray family home and rang, having only to wait moments before being shown in. “Good morning,” he said to the smiling butler as he gave him his hat and gloves. “Is your master available?”
“Here, Kit,” came a soft call from the stairs.
Kit looked up to see Duncan descending the stairs, casually dressed in breeches and an open-collared linen shirt, no weskit or cravat in sight. Against his shoulder was his small daughter, her fair hair almost hidden by a blanket.
Duncan smiled at Kit’s perusal of him. “Tillie had a rough night,” he explained as he reached him. “Annalise is still sleeping, so I’ve got the little one.”
Kit had to smile at the soft gurgling sounds from the child in question. “Is she well?” he asked politely, indicating the baby.
Duncan grinned swiftly. “Well enough. Just teething. Annalise insists on getting up with her in the night, so this is the least I can do.” He patted her back a little when she fussed again. “What can I do for you?”
Kit sighed reluctantly. “Do you have a moment? There is something I need to discuss with you.”
Duncan’s eyes flashed briefly and his jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Of course. If you don’t mind Tillie joining us.”
“Not at all,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Good. I promise she will keep your confidence.”
“That is a relief. Takes after her mother, then.”
Duncan grinned swiftly. “Blessedly so, in all things. Come with me, the study is down here.” He turned and started down the hall. His daughter looked over his shoulder and her green eyes met Kit’s and he smiled a little, which earned him one in return.
A gentle tugging started somewhere in the middle of his chest, but he shook it free as they entered the study. Duncan situated himself near the fire, speaking softly to his daughter.
Kit remained standing for a moment, staring at his brother-in-law and wondering how to approach the subject.
“I’m sorry that I have not come by,” Duncan said suddenly, his mouth curving up in a smile. “Annalise advised me several times to go, but I always found a reason not to. I wasn’t entirely sure how Marianne would react, and I was hesitant to interfere.”
Kit nodded in understanding. “There is nothing to be sorry for. It has been a tumultuous time, and I think we may be settling into a semblance of normalcy now. Or at least, we were.”
That perked Duncan up and his smile faded. “Were?” he asked cautiously.
Kit nodded firmly once. “Marianne knows,” he told him.
“Knows… what?” Duncan inquired, though his eyes and expression showed a tension that spoke volumes.
“Everything.”
Duncan looked as though he would swear, but looked at the baby and bit it back. He closed his eyes and the tension in him increased momentarily, then seemed willed away. “How?” he asked in a barely controlled hiss.
Kit gave him the brief version of what had transpired at the masquerade without revealing any of the particulars. Knowing Duncan’s temper and defensiveness over his sister, it would not be wise to give him further excuse.
“How did she take it?” Duncan asked him in a hollow voice, his eyes still looking a bit murderous.
“Well…” Kit started to say slowly, which made Duncan get to his feet and start walking, then look down at his daughter in consternation.
Duncan looked absolutely miserable, and Kit could understand. If it were his sister in this situation, he would not want to sit still when hearing this. Against his inclination, he stepped forward and held out his hands for the baby.
Duncan gave him an odd look.
“You want to pace and rage and probably hit something,” Kit explained, gesturing in invitation. “Give her to me, and I’ll tell you the rest. I’ve come to terms with it, I can be calm.”
“She doesn’t really like strangers,” Duncan warned as he handed the infant over.
“I’m no stranger,” Kit informed him, and her. “I’m her uncle.”
Duncan watched for a moment as Tillie situated herself against Kit, then shook his head with a smile as Tillie yawned and began gnawing on Kit’s jacket buttons without a peep of distress.
Kit smiled and looked back at Duncan with a satisfied smirk. “You were saying?”
Duncan grunted and began to pace the room. “How did Marianne take the surprise?” he asked in a low growl, his thick brow furrowing.
Kit watched him pace, somehow seeming larger without the typical gentleman’s clothing. “Not well, as you can probably imagine. To her credit, she made it home before showing anything outwardly. It took quite some time to set her to rights.”
Duncan winced and rubbed at his forehead. “Tell me you were gentle with her,” he begged, his voice suddenly raw.
“I was,” Kit assured him, meeting his eyes calmly when Duncan looked over. “I might not be the husband Marianne wanted, or worth any sort of salt as a husband at all, but seeing her like that…” He trailed off, shaking his head as a surprising amount of emotion rose within him. “I was gentle,” he managed.
Duncan nodded his thanks.
Kit cleared his throat, patting the baby softly. “Once she was calm, we discussed it, and she seemed to handle it fairly well once the shock wore off. I think she will be all right.”
“Think?” Duncan asked sharply, folding his arms in his agitation.
Kit shrugged one shoulder. “Well, it was just last night, and I have not seen her this morning yet. I have no way of knowing how she truly is until I see her. Assuming she wishes to discuss it at all.”
Duncan rocked back on his heels for a moment, considering that. Then he released a slow breath. “So what do we do?” he asked, starting to pace once more. “I haven’t thrashed anyone lately, I may be out of practice.”
Kit shook his head and looked down at his niece. “I worry for you, my dear. When you want to start courting someone, come see your aunt and me.”
Duncan glowered at him. “That was a very Colin thing to say.”
“I am a Gerrard,” Kit said simply. “It is a non-exclusive trait.”
That earned him a brief flash of a grin. Then Duncan sobered. “What do we do, Kit?”
“Nothing, I think.” Kit sighed and tried to look encouraging. “If we pretend that they are only whispering about a poor choice in fashion or a social faux pas, then all of the fervor dies down at once. If we give them nothing to feed the fires with, why should they keep talking on the subject? You of all people know that the reason Marianne is such a subject for discussion is…”
“…is because she always gave them something to discuss,” Duncan finished, looking uneasy, but calmer. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned a little. “These were supposed to be her friends.”
“Friends and foes are all mixed together in London,” Kit sighed, patting Tillie gently for good measure. “It is a treacherous place.”
“I hate it.”
Kit shared his brother-in-law’s vehemence. “Trust me,” he said with a bland smile, “I know the feeling. Better than anyone.” He hesitated, then hesitantly asked, “Do you think Marianne would take to removing to the country?”
That shook Duncan out of his gloom and he barked a loud laugh that made his daughter jump. “Marianne in the country during the Season? Good lord, Kit, I hope it doesn’t come to that. You’d be dead or mad in a week.”
Kit failed to see the humor in that.
Mostly because he knew it was likely the truth.
He opened his mouth to say something about that when a soft throat clearing came from the door. They both turned to see Annalise standing there, looking as soft and welcoming as she always did, and she smiled curiously.
“Good morning, Kit,” she offered, taking in the sight of him holding her daughter with interest.
“Annalise,” he greeted with a nod.
Tillie stirred restlessly and her mother grinned and stepped forward to retrieve her. Then she gave Kit a rare teasing look. “Are you trying to be her favorite uncle? You’re far and away better with her than the rest.”
Kit grunted softly. “That’s because I am her uncle, unlike the rest.”
Duncan scoffed a light laugh and came to press a kiss to his wife’s brow, then wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Staying for breakfast, Kit?” Annalise asked as Duncan started to steer her out of the room.
To his surprise, Kit found himself shaking his head. “No, thank you. I think I had better go home and see to my wife.”
“Well,” Annalise said with a curious smile, “I think I need to tell you something before you do. About an incident that happened at Tibby’s party, if you don’t already know.”
Marianne was waiting for Kit at breakfast when he returned, properly dressed, and not altogether unwell. She could not smile when he came in, but neither was she particularly downcast.
She was just… there.
“I apologize,” he said rather stiffly as he took his seat. “I thought you would be sleeping later.”
She shrugged a little, her eyes almost meeting his, but not quite. “I did not sleep well. I mean to busy myself today and not dwell on it.”
He nodded soberly and tucked his serviette in. “If you think that is best, by all means do so.”
“I do,” she replied. “I can hardly wallow around forever.”
“No,” he allowed, as he started on his breakfast, “not forever. But you could certainly take a day or two, if you wanted. Though I hardly think you would wallow.”
She snorted and sipped her tea. “Have you met me, Kit? I would most certainly wallow, if I wished it.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Her head shot up, indignation rising, only to find him giving her a bit of a crooked smile.
She opened her mouth in a retort, then sighed and her lips curved into a smile. “You’re teasing me.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Over breakfast? I would never. It’s far too early.” He shook his head again and made a show of focusing on his meal at hand.
“Of course. My mistake.”
Marianne smiled to herself as she returned to her meal as well. Her husband was teasing her. Well, well, that was a pleasant surprise.
“What is on your agenda for today?” he asked politely. “Wallowing aside.”
She pursed her lips as she thought on it. “I hope to finish all of the drawing and receiving rooms, if I can. There is really not much else left on them. Then I really must take stock of the bedchambers, Mrs. Wilton has said some are in a sad state.” She paused for a bite of ham, then made a face. “And then I must decide what to do about Lady Cavendish’s card party tomorrow.”
Kit raised a surprised brow. “You still intend to go? You could easily cry off, feign an illness or some such. After last night, you need a respite.”
Marianne threw him a stubborn look. “I cannot cry off, and I am never ill,” she informed him with all of the haughtiness her aunt carried so well. “Lady Cavendish is one of the biggest busybodies in London.” She settled a little, her towering indignation exhausting her strength. “But I really don’t know that I can endure it. Particularly not after…” Her cheeks flushed and she focused on her food intently.
“You don’t have to,” Kit murmured softly.
Marianne’s cheeks burned at his gentleness, and she couldn’t find a response.
“I was wondering, Marianne…”
At his hesitation, Marianne chanced a glance up at him to find that he was watching her curiously. “Did you really scream at Lord Darlington at Tibby’s party and call him a duck?”
She gasped. “How did you hear about that?”
He grinned without reserve. “Your sister-in-law has a remarkable memory for gossip, it seems.”
Marianne blushed furiously and muttered, “I might have known. Traitor. You were never supposed to know.”
“But a duck?” he asked, grinning still.
She shrugged a shoulder. “He is rather duck-like. It was more a confirmation than an insult.”
Kit suddenly barked a laugh and sat back, covering his eyes as more laughter emerged. Surprised as she was, Marianne joined in with him, and they laughed until tears began to form in both of their eyes and rolled down their cheeks.
“Why would you do that?” Kit asked as his laughter began to fade, wiping at his eyes.
She shrugged, still grinning madly. “He was being repulsive and ridiculous and someone had to stop him. He just continued to carry on and on.”
Kit smiled and shook his head. “What about?”
She sobered and looked away quickly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing of great importance.”
“I doubt that,” Kit murmured, still sounding amused and curious. “Tell me.”
Marianne stared at her husband for a moment, wondering if she dared. She’d been so careful to ensure he never heard of it, and now… What would he think?
For the first time in a very great while, she felt unaccountably shy.
“Marianne…”
The surprisingly gentle timbre of his voice struck her and she exhaled slowly, all resistance suddenly fading.
Quietly, she began to tell him, and she could not help but become more and more animated as she described Lord Darlington’s rudeness and hateful words, his coldness and his ridiculous assertions, the memory raising her temper with surprising swiftness.
Kit stared at her steadily throughout, his smile gone, his eyes intense, everything about him still and unmoving.
When finally she was finished, and she still huffed with the remains of her rage, she looked up at him, wondering why he hadn’t responded.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Kit rose from his seat and came over to her. He took Marianne’s free hand and held it for a moment, his thumbs absently stroking her knuckles. Then he brought it to his lips and brushed a feather light kiss to the back of it once, then again.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the skin in a way that sent tingles all the way to Marianne’s toes.
“For what?” she half gasped, staring at his lowered head and finding herself somehow without the necessary air for thought.
Still he looked down at her hand and stood in silence for a long moment. “For thinking enough of me to defend me.”
She could not mistake the earnest nature of his words, nor the slight hollowness to them. As if he would never have expected her to do so. And that was something she absolutely could not bear.
“I have always thought very highly of you, Kit,” she told him quietly, “and I will always defend you. To anyone and everyone.”
That, at least, was something she had never told a single living soul.
Kit seemed a bit taken aback by her words and stared in disbelief. Then he carefully turned her palm over and gently kissed it, warming her entire body in an instant.
Before she could do more than exhale her surprise, he pulled a chair next to her, sat, and laced his fingers with hers. “What a mess,” he chuckled softly.
Marianne giggled and found herself settling rather comfortably against her chair, her fingers twining with his. She could not pretend this solved all of their problems, for she was still willful and he was too proud, but in this moment, they were friends again.
She sighed and looked at her hands, her nails still perfectly formed and pristine, despite her recent adventures. “I don’t think I was ready for London.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s quite different being at the center of the gossip, and not in a good way, and knowing what is truly being said… I don’t think I fully understood what it would be like.”
He exhaled and rubbed her arm a little. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded, and bit her lip, wondering if she dared to voice what she had been thinking all morning. “In fact…”
He stiffened at her hesitation. “Yes?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Can we go somewhere, Kit? I don’t want to be in London, and no one will miss me. Take me someplace that I can breathe.”
He pulled back, staring at her in shock, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open. Then his eyes narrowed and gave her a searching look. “What if I told you the only house open would be in Surrey?”
She resisted making a face and exhaled noisily. “At this point, I would even take Surrey over London…” She waited for a moment, then wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to go to Surrey?”
He chuckled and toyed with her fingers. “No, we don’t.”
She sighed heavily with her relief, for truly, Surrey might have been the worst.
Kit leaned back against the seat and pursed his lips a little, watching her. “How would you feel about Somerset?”
She looked up at him with a half smile. “You have a house in Somerset?”
“We have a house in Somerset,” he corrected with a nod, a hint of warmth flashing in his eyes. “Glendare Court. It’s a relic, though we’ve refinished it comfortably. No doubt you will enjoy getting your hands on it.”
Marianne grinned fully and gave him a speculative look. “You’d let me change things?”
His face was carefully composed, as ever, and he shrugged one shoulder as if he were carefree. “You’ve done a fine job with the house here, so I don’t see why I should fear for any of the other estates. Don’t prove me wrong, though.”
The offhand compliment warmed her and she grinned once more. “Tell me about Glendare. I’ve never been to Somerset, and I want to picture everything.”
“I am hardly the person to tell you,” he sighed a little sadly. “I’ve not been there often, just enough to keep it up. The only reason I’ve suggested it is because I have business with the estate manager there that needs my attention.”
“Ah, so we shall both find ourselves suitably occupied, is that it?” she asked with a bit of a laugh.
“Something like that,” he answered, his fingers gripping hers more securely. “But let me see if I can give you an idea of the place anyway. What I remember is the gardens seem to stretch from the back of the house to the front, as if the house were merely a fixture in the garden itself.”
Marianne found herself enraptured by him at the moment, as he used his hands to gesture, emphasizing the descriptions, and his voice was warm with fondness. Despite what he said about not knowing the estate well, his voice betrayed him. He was attached to this place, no matter how he tried to play otherwise. And she suddenly wanted to know everything about it.
“The gardener there is probably seventy if he’s a day and all he’s ever wanted is to take care of Glendare, and he does a masterful job of it. We’ll never get him to retire. Nor will we be rid of the cook. The kitchens are the most elaborate I’ve ever seen, including the brief glimpses I’ve had at Tibby’s kitchens, and those belonging to the Duke of Ashcombe.”
“When have you seen the kitchens of the Duke of Ashcombe?” Marianne asked on a laugh.
Kit sniffed dismissively. “I wasn’t always a stodgy, reserved man. And Derek had some very fine ideas for amusement when Colin and I were young.”
Marianne could well imagine that, but the idea of Kit participating was preposterous. Intriguing, curious, yes, but hardly realistic. Hardly Kit.
And yet…
“The grand hall is very grand,” Kit continued with resignation. “Marble everywhere and statues that I am desperate to be rid of, if you don’t mind…”
Marianne snickered. “I shall reserve judgment until I see them, but your opinion is noted.”
He sighed as if she had already forbidden their removal. “There is also a very fine staircase in the family wing that many a young lad would be tempted to slide on.”
She jerked her head up to look at him. “Did you?”
“Did I what?” he asked, mildly surprised.
She rolled her eyes. “Slide the banister.”
“Never,” he said very succinctly. His mouth quirked and a brow lifted. “Colin did, and almost broke an arm. After that, I saw no need to do so.”
Marianne laughed and fell back a little against her chair, her fingers sliding from his. “It sounds lovely.”
“It is,” he said on a swift exhale. “The grounds are vast, and partially border the seaside, so it is really quite picturesque in places.”
“And the nearest village?”
“Rifton. A few miles away. Two, perhaps three. You can partially see the main thoroughfare from the terrace sometimes in the evenings, all lit up and sometimes quite festive. It is small, but the people seem warm enough.”
Marianne nodded again, warming to the idea already. She bit her lip, hesitating. “I may not behave well, Kit. I’ve never done well in the country.”
He laughed softly. “Yes, Duncan warned me.”
“He was right to do so.” Really, they both ought to be nervous about it. Could she endure rustication and only Kit for company? Or would this be the proof they needed that this marriage was a foolish idea?
“I’m not sure I’ll behave either,” Kit finally said, “but we won’t know until we try.”
That, in the least, was very true.