Chapter 20 #2
"A few? How many people attend this ball?"
"About three hundred."
Marianne sat down abruptly on a flour sack. "Three hundred aristocrats. Judging me. At once."
"Not all at once. They'll take turns."
"That's not helpful!"
"Some of them will be too drunk to judge properly?"
"Still not helpful!"
Thomas, ever practical, said, "you'll need to leave today if you want time to prepare properly. London's a full day's journey, and you'll need at least a day for dress fitting and learning which fork is which."
"Today?" Marianne squeaked.
"Thomas's right," Alaric agreed. "We should leave this afternoon. That gives you the morning to arrange things here."
"I can't just leave! The bakery..."
"I can manage for three days," her mother said firmly. "Heaven knows I did it for thirty years before you took over."
"But..."
"No arguments. My daughter's been invited to the Winterbourne Ball by a duke. You're going if I have to tie you to the carriage myself."
"Mother!"
"Don't ignore me. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Not just to attend a fancy ball, but to show those London snobs that our Marianne is worth a dozen of their painted peacocks."
"Painted peacocks?" Alaric asked, amused.
"That's what your mother called them once. She said London ladies were all feathers and no substance."
"My mother said that?"
"She said many things during her visits here. She was lonely, I think. She needed someone to talk to who wouldn't report back to society."
"What else did she say?"
"That's between her and my memories. But she would have loved seeing you with Marianne. She always said you needed someone who could make you laugh and forget to be dignified."
"Marianne excels at destroying my dignity."
"It needed destroying," Marianne said, recovering slightly from her panic. "It was excessive."
"My dignity was perfectly calibrated."
"Your dignity was a fortress. I just happened to have siege equipment."
"Siege equipment made of flour and mince pies."
"The best kind."
They smiled at each other, and Mrs. Whitby senior cleared her throat. "Right, enough mooning. Marianne, go pack. Your Grace, make whatever arrangements you need. Thomas, run and tell Mrs. Morrison that Marianne's going to a fancy ball. The entire village will want to know."
"The entire village doesn't need to know!" Marianne protested.
"The entire village will know within the hour regardless. Might as well control the narrative."
Within an hour, not only did the entire village know, but half of them had gathered in the bakery to offer advice, assistance, and warnings.
"Remember, duchesses never smile," Mrs. Morrison instructed seriously. "They smirk mysteriously."
"That's complete nonsense," Mrs. Ironwell countered. "Duchesses smile constantly to show they're benevolent."
"Neither of you have ever met a duchess," Marianne pointed out.
"I've seen pictures," Mrs. Morrison said defensively.
"Pictures don't smile or smirk!"
"You can tell from their expressions!"
"Ladies, please," the vicar interrupted. "What Marianne needs is spiritual fortification, not duchess-based speculation."
"What I need," Marianne said, looking increasingly overwhelmed, "is everyone to stop helping before I lose my nerve entirely."
"You can't lose your nerve!" Thomas protested. "I've already started a betting pool on whether you'll charm everyone or cause a scandal!"
"Thomas!"
"What? It's good odds either way!"
Alaric finally intervened, gently but firmly ushering everyone out except Marianne's mother. "Thank you all for your... enthusiasm. Marianne appreciates your support, but we really must prepare to leave."
When they were finally alone, Marianne looked at him with wide eyes. "This is insane. I can't go to a ball. I don't even own gloves without holes in them!"
"Marianne..."
"And my hair! It permanently smells like yeast! And I have exactly one piece of jewelry—my mother's ring on a chain. That's not exactly duchess-level adornment!"
"Marianne..."
"And what if I use the wrong fork? Or curtsy wrong? Or accidentally insult someone important? What if I embarrass you?"
"Marianne!" He caught her shoulders, making her look at him. "You could never embarrass me. You might occasionally cover me in flour or make me fall off ladders or force me to eat experimental savory gingerbread, but embarrass me? Never."
"This is different. This is your world."
"No. My world is here now, with you. London is just a place I have to visit occasionally for duty. And this duty will be infinitely more bearable with you beside me."
"What if they hate me?"
"Then we'll leave."
"You can't just leave your aunt's ball!"
"Watch me. Marianne, I need you to understand something. You matter more than their opinions. Your comfort matters more than their traditions. If at any point you want to leave, we leave. No questions, no hesitation."
"You mean that."
"Completely."
She took a deep breath. "All right. I'll come. But if I accidentally start a war with the wrong fork usage, you're taking responsibility."
"Gladly."
The preparations for departure were chaotic. Marianne packed and repacked three times, each time declaring she had nothing suitable and shouldn't go. Her mother finally took over, packing practical things while ignoring Marianne's protests.
Grimsby arranged for the ducal traveling carriage, the impressive one with the coat of arms that Marianne stared at with trepidation.
"I can't travel in that. Everyone will stare."
"That's rather the point," Grimsby said. "Your Grace needs to arrive properly if the introduction is to be successful."
"Your Grace?" Marianne repeated faintly. "He means you, doesn't he? I forget sometimes, when you're covered in flour and failing at bread. You're actually a duke."
"I'm actually yours," Alaric corrected. "The duke part is just an inconvenient addition."
"An inconvenient addition with a traveling carriage that costs more than most houses."
"Would you prefer to walk to London?"
"I'd prefer to hide in the bakery until this whole ball thing goes away."
"The ball won't go away. But I'll be with you every moment."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
The farewell committee was enormous. It seemed the entire village had gathered to see Marianne off to her grand adventure.
There were tears (from Mrs. Morrison), advice (from everyone), and Thomas presenting Marianne with what he called a "good luck charm" but which appeared to be a slightly squashed gingerbread man.
"It's for if you get hungry," he explained. "Or if you need to throw something at snobbish aristocrats."
"I'm not throwing gingerbread at the Winterbourne Ball!"
"You might need to. Best to be prepared."
Finally, they were in the carriage, pulling away from Hollingford as Marianne pressed her face to the window, watching her familiar world disappear.
"Having second thoughts?" Alaric asked.
"Having all the thoughts. Second, third, fourth, and several I haven't numbered yet."
"We can turn back."
"No. If I'm going to be a duchess..."
"When you're going to be a duchess."
"...then I need to see what I'm getting into. Even if it terrifies me."
"For what it's worth, it terrifies me too."
"You were born to this!"
"I was born to the title. The actual dealing with society part has always been horrible. But with you there, maybe it will be bearable. Even enjoyable."
"You're putting a lot of faith in my ability to make things enjoyable."
"You made bread-making enjoyable, and I'm spectacularly bad at that."
"You're getting better. Your last loaf was almost edible."
"Almost edible. The highest praise."
They traveled through the afternoon, Marianne's wonder at the changing landscape mixed with growing anxiety. She'd never been further than the market town, and now she was heading to London, the greatest city in the world, to attend a ball with the highest echelons of society.
"Tell me about your aunt," she said, needing distraction.
"Lady Bethany Rhodes, née Montrose. My father's older sister, though she'll deny being older if asked. She married Harold Rhodes when she was eighteen, which was quite the scandal."
"Why?"
"He was in trade. Soap, specifically. Very successful soap, but still trade. My grandfather nearly disowned her, but Harold was charming and rich and eventually won everyone over. Well, everyone except my father, who never forgot the 'embarrassment' of having a merchant in the family."
"But he's Lord Rhodes now?"
"Harold made generous donations to the right causes, supported the right politicians, and eventually earned his title. He's actually quite wonderful; funny, clever, completely devoted to Bethany despite her tendency toward dramatics."
"She sounds intimidating."
"She is. But she's also fiercely protective of family. If she accepts you, and she will, because you're perfect, she'll defend you against anyone."
"And if she doesn't accept me?"
"Then we'll leave and never attend another ball again."
"You can't just abandon your social obligations!"
"I abandoned them for two years before meeting you. I can certainly abandon them again for better reasons."
As evening fell, they stopped at an inn for the night. Marianne was relieved to find it was a modest establishment, not the grand coaching inn she'd feared. But even here, the innkeeper's reaction to Alaric's name reminded her of the vast gulf between their worlds.
"Your Grace! Such an honour! Our best room, of course! Anything you require!"
"We require two rooms," Alaric said firmly. "Adjacent if possible."
"Of course, Your Grace!"
Marianne felt the weight of the innkeeper's curious gaze. A duke traveling with an unmarried woman—the gossip would spread even from here.
At dinner in their private parlor, Marianne picked at her food, nerves destroying her appetite.
"You need to eat," Alaric said gently. "You can't face London society on an empty stomach."
"I can't face London society at all. This was a terrible idea. What was I thinking?"