Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
" O h my goodness, Marina! You look lovely!"
For the first time in the forty minutes or so that she had been at the ball, Marina felt a genuine moment of happiness. She turned to face Lucy Dunn with a smile—the only member of the Dunn family that was worth smiling for, Marina thought sourly. Oh, very well, she amended mentally. The dowager duchess was all right, too.
"Lady Lucy," Marina said, offering a slightly exaggerated curtsey. Lucy was wearing a lovely gown of the palest pink, the proximity to white a nod to her debut in Society, however informal, the hint of color recognition of her age. "You are looking splendid. And allow me to be the first to welcome to, officially, to the London social Season."
Lucy laughed at Marina's antics. "A more dashing welcoming committee I could not hope to have," she said, pretending to flutter her fan at a blush. "The gentlemen should take lessons from you."
"My rates are outrageous," Marina shot back. As Lucy snickered, Marina felt like herself for the first time in days.
If Viscount Gloustoshire has his way , Marina thought, Lucy will be my cousin by marriage .
The idea was…moderately comforting, Marina supposed. Moderate comforts were better than nothing.
Not even two days into her resignation to the viscount's courtship, however, and Marina was having a hard time keeping her spirits up. Her family's relentless optimism wasn't helping, either. Julia's was one thing—she was just a young girl who had grown up on a steady diet of romantic tales, who had been promised the whirlwind courtship that came with a Season. She just wanted to believe that her older sister was getting to live out the dream that Julia hoped to have for herself, once she made her debut. But Martin and Marina's mother were another thing entirely.
Martin's attitude was both triumphant and self-satisfied. He acted as though, by getting Marina to agree, however tacitly, to a courtship, he had achieved some sort of victory over her. He was full of snide comments.
"Perhaps we shall have to entertain this Season, now that Marina finally has a suitor," he has said, just enough emphasis on finally to make Marina's low-level upset boil over into a stomach full of rage. "An engagement ball, I think."
He was also acting as though Marina's engagement and eventual marriage were an entirely settled affair, no matter that the viscount hadn't proposed, let alone had Marina accepted.
Simultaneously, Martin seemed to see the viscount's interest as signifying his business prowess and as having little to do with any charms Marina herself may have held.
The overall effect was almost unbearably insulting.
Marina didn't expect anything but bad behavior from Martin, so somehow harder to bear, however, was her mother's excitement. Ever since Viscount Gloustoshire had come to call, the dowager countess had been all atwitter, planning trips to the modiste, and agonizing over which social invitations to accept and which to decline. It was the kind of energy that Marina hadn't seen from her mother in years, and she couldn't help but resent that her mother hadn't managed even a fraction of this ability to accomplish things when Marina had needed it most.
"I plan to dance as often as I can," Lucy said, snapping Marina back to the present. "I have—what's a polite way to say 'bullied?' I have vehemently requested that my brother's friends make me look popular while making sure Percy doesn't come within ten feet of me. I do not need the overprotective brother act tonight, of all nights."
Percy . The mere mention of his name sent a twang of anticipation, of longing through Marina's stomach. It pulled her at once back to the garden as he told her about his fear of letting people in, to her bedchamber at Haddington Estate, as he'd explored her body with hands and mouth, and to that brutal, humiliating moment in the hallway where he'd sent her on her way.
"Is the duke in attendance tonight, then?" Marina asked, impressed with how light and carefree she managed to keep her voice. Nothing to see here! Certainly not heartbreak or embarrassment or disappointment!
Still, Lucy cut her a brief sideways glance as they both looked out over the crowded ballroom. The Season was starting to be in full swing, and Lady Weston's balls were always described as "a crush" the next morning in the gossip papers. The effect for tonight was grand, bustling, and humming with excitement.
"Of course," Lucy said. "This is my first big event, so naturally he wished to be here. I'm surprised he didn't mention it to you." As she said this last bit, she popped up on her toes to peer out over the heads of the gaggle of matrons that had stopped nearby. Lucy's tone was so innocent and airy that it made Marina's cheeks burn. She knew. She knew that something had been going on between Marina and her brother, which likely meant that she knew Marina had been put out to pasture like a lame old horse.
"How kind of him," Marina murmured, ignoring the rest. She resisted the urge to search for Percy in the crowd.
Somehow, it hadn't occurred to her that he'd be here tonight. Maybe it was because she knew—Lord, did she ever know—that he wasn't seeking a bride. For her, the Season and the marriage mart had always been inextricably linked. If she hadn't been receiving pressure from all sides to marry, then certainly Marina wouldn't have spent over an hour sitting while her maid crimped her hair with hot tongs, then stuffed herself into a too-tight corset and the kind of gown that forbade eating or even drinking more than a few dainty sips. If she were a man, not to mention a duke, she would be sitting home right now, manfully sulking into the fire, sipping something expensive and dreadful tasting, like whiskey. Marina supposed this was the masculine equivalent to what she wished to be doing right now, which was weeping into her pillow and drinking too-sweet tea.
Lucy made a short humming noise that Marina found herself at a loss to translate. "Is your cousin here tonight?" she asked.
"No." That was one small blessing, at least; Martin hated balls. "My mother is chaperoning, of course, but…" Marina took a breath to steady herself. Saying it out loud made it feel so woefully real . "Viscount Gloustoshire is escorting me."
Lucy's head whipped around so quickly that Marina feared she was going to hurt herself—or at least damage her coiffure. " Andrew?" she asked, voice pitched high with surprise.
Marina still would not be calling him that, but for the sake of clarity, she nodded. "He came to call yesterday, stating his intention to court me," she said. The words felt like broken glass in her throat. "I accepted," added Marina when Lucy continued to gape at her.
"Andrew Dunn ," she repeated. "My cousin, Andrew Dunn. That Viscount Gloustoshire?"
"I believe there's only the one," said Marina, trying to sound humorous about it. She envied Lucy, though, who was reacting the way that Marina felt about the situation.
"But what about—" Lucy cut herself off, for which Marina was eternally grateful. Lucy closed her eyes and tilted her head up towards the ceiling for a brief moment, before sighing through her nose heavily. She opened her eyes and looked at Marina. "Men," she said with feeling, "are idiots."
One middle-aged lady from the group standing in front of them looked over her shoulder to give Lucy a disapproving glare.
"This absolutely cannot be new information for you, madam," said Lucy archly. The woman turned back around with a huff, and Marina had to hide her giggles behind her fan.
No matter how this whole mess turned out—and Marina could not think the words Viscountess Gloustoshire without feeling a bit queasy—she would always be glad that she had met Lucy, no matter the heartbreak she had suffered along the way.
Their conversation turned more causal after that. Lucy was, apparently, the only person alive who genuinely liked ratafia, so Marina was left with no choice but to good naturedly tease her about that a bit.
"It's good!" Lucy insisted.
"It's sweet but also bitter," Marina said, making a very unladylike face. "It's disgusting."
"That's what makes it good," Lucy countered. "They sort of…cancel each other out."
"What if," Marina offered in return, "these events just served a beverage made of things that tasted good in the first place, no cancelling needed?"
They were enjoying some mild bickering about the different elements of balls—why always watery lemonade? Why couldn't the gentlemen carry the dance cards when their attire was far more likely to have pockets?—when the Duke of Culton and the Duke of Beaumont approached them.
"Reporting for duty, General!" the Duke of Beaumont said to Lucy, snapping his heels together and giving a version of a salute that no doubt would have had him drummed out of the army in an instant. Lucy rolled her eyes affectionately as the Duke of Culton offered a little half smile. Marina felt included by their intimacy, rather than left out of this bubble of what was clearly a long-lasting friendship. She tried to cling to that feeling with both hands.
Maybe she could find her way to some kind of happiness if she was able to spend time with people like this, she thought. Maybe marrying someone she didn't love—someone she didn't really like, actually, and possibly feared the smallest bit—wouldn't be so terrible. After all, the viscount had brought her to this ball, hadn't he? And though he'd instantly commandeered her dance card without asking her permission, putting his name down for the two dances that were socially acceptable for a courting couple, he hadn't spent the whole night hovering over her shoulder the way Martin would have.
Maybe she could be content, knowing she'd always have a roof over her head and food on the table. Maybe the stolen moments away with her friends could be enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
"My lady," said the Duke of Beaumont and, once again, Marina had to snap her focus back to the here and now. She was so distracted tonight. "Would you do me the honor?" The first notes of a waltz were beginning to sound out and the duke had his hand extended.
Marina smiled and truly meant it. "The honor would be mine, Your Grace."
The handsome duke was an extremely competent dancer. Marina was certain, as he swept her across the floor, never stumbling, that at least a dozen young ladies around the room were falling in love with him at this moment. How many romantic odes would be written this evening to the way his hair fell across his brow? Marina, secure in the knowledge that the duke had asked her to dance due to their mutual friendship with Lucy rather than any romantic overture, was free to enjoy his capability without anything worrisome like feelings creeping in.
Shortly after they'd made their first circuit of the ballroom, the Duke of Beaumont tugged Marina a little bit closer so they could speak more easily. His hold was still friendly and far from scandalous.
"I like you, Lady Marina," he said.
Marina blinked for a moment. That was kind of him, but also unexpected. "I, ah, thank you," she stammered. "I like you, too," she added, because she did, and also, it seemed polite.
He smiled down at her. It was an extraordinarily handsome smile and didn't affect Marina in the slightest, not the way the wicked smile of an entirely different duke did.
"Thank you, as well," he said. "Lucy sings your praises. She also says," he continued. He really was impressively good at conversing and dancing at the same time. "That you are refreshingly straightforward. I would like to do you the courtesy of being the same way."
"All right," said Marina, not certain where this was heading.
"Haddington is one of my oldest friends," he said, and Marina felt a pang. Percy. Of course, this was going to be about Percy. "But he is about as flexible as a rock." Marina did not respond to this. What would she even say?
"He gets these ideas in his head," the Duke of Beaumont continued, never missing a step, "and then becomes determined to see them through, no matter the cost."
"Being determined isn't a bad thing," said Marina. Despite herself, she could not stop wanting to defend Percy.
"It isn't," the duke agreed. "But it can become a hindrance when adherence to one course blinds you to the rest of the options available to you."
"That is true, I suppose," said Marina hesitantly, once again feeling unsure as to where all this was going.
"What I mean to say is," clarified the duke, "if his vision becomes too narrow, don't let it frighten you off. He'll see the whole playing field soon enough."
Ah. Marina understood now. She shook her head. "I can't wait," she said. "I don't have the luxury of time."
The Duke of Beaumont's gaze was piercing, serious. It was far from the lighthearted show he usually put forth and Marina was suddenly certain that there was more below the surface of his man than he typically allowed people to see. "Then make him open his eyes," he said.
How Marina wished she could. "I don't have that kind of power."
A smile came back to the duke's face, but this wasn't the wide, charming smile of before. This smile was knowing, and a little bit sad. "You have more power than you think," he said. And then he cast his eyes, subtly but purposefully, over to the side.
Marina followed his gaze…
And there was Percy.
He looked so handsome that Marina almost faltered in her steps and was only kept from stumbling by the Duke of Beaumont's secure arm around her.
He hadn't managed to become even more handsome in the past few days, had he? That was impossible, wasn't it? Yet looking at him felt at once drugging, like the laudanum the doctor had given her when she'd broken her arm as a child, and soothing, like slipping into a warm bath. Her heart began to race. Looking at him felt manageable during the moment that he was scowling at Beaumont—Lord help her, but he was even beautiful when he scowled—but became almost overwhelming when he turned his gaze to hers.
And yet, she couldn't look away.
The moment stretched out between them. It was, Marina thought with a pang as she remained pierced by the gaze of those green eyes, a brutal twist on their dance together, back at Haddington Estate. Then, she'd felt held in that moment with him, secure and protected and hopeful. Now she was trapped by his gaze, stuck with this reminder of what she could not have, of the man she had lost.
How often would she be forced to relive moments like this, she wondered. Her future moving about in Society, which just moments before had felt like a promise, rife with the possibility of friendship, now felt like a millstone around her neck. It seemed a punishment for having dared to hope for something better.
Marina could feel tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, but she still couldn't look away. She held his gaze until a turn in the dance forced her back to him, other couples filling in the space between them before she turned around again. She almost gasped; it was as if she hadn't been able to breathe properly.
When she looked back to the Duke of Beaumont, he was regarding her solemnly. The last notes played and the waltz slowed and stopped, they well-dressed members of the ton bowing and curtseying around them.
"Do you understand?" the duke asked intently.
Marina never got a chance to answer, however, not that she knew what her answer would be. In the instant after the dance ended, Viscount Gloustoshire appeared at her elbow.
"Marina," he said, and his use of her given name without her title felt like a weapon, given how sharply he cut his eyes at the Duke of Beaumont as he said it. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"It's a ball, Dunn," the duke commented dryly, and that certainly was an insult—using the viscount's last name instead of his title, as was customary among gentlemen of similar rank. A duke outranked a viscount, to be sure, but this particular duke was friends with the viscount's kinsman. "And it took you how long to look for her on the dance floor?"
The viscount sneered. Marina was shocked. It wasn't that she hadn't seen this expression from him before—he'd been nastier and more bullying in the corridor back at the house party—but she was astonished that he'd broken it out in public.
"You and my cousin both," he spat out. "You think that just because you've inherited dukedoms—that just because some random quirk of birth has given you so much—that you deserve everything? You think you are so high and mighty? That you're better than everyone?"
"I don't," the duke said, tone deceptively mild, "think I'm better than everyone. I do think, however, that I am better than some people." There was no doubt who he meant by this.
Viscount Gloustoshire's cruel expression became more pronounced. "Have your little quips then, Your Grace . See if it can ever cover up what stock you come from—what you really are."
Marina didn't understand this insult, but it seemed to land heavily on the duke. He took a half step backwards, almost without seeming to realize it, as a sudden, jarring rage flashed across his face.
The viscount saw this, too, and his expression grew smug. "See, Beaumont? Blood will win out in the end." He grabbed Marina by the arm, grip rather too tight. "Come along, Marina."
"My lady?" the Duke of Beaumont said inquisitively. He reached out a hand, as if he too were going to take Marina's arm, but lowered it before he made contact. Marina was grateful. She didn't particularly wish to be manhandled by Viscount Gloustoshire, but she wanted to be the prize in a game of tug of war between the two men even less.
"It's all right," she said to the duke, offering a reassuring smile. "The viscount is my escort tonight, so I'd best join him." The duke's eyebrows shot up at this, but he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Thank you for the dance, Your Grace."
"The pleasure was all mine," he said politely. He bowed to her and left, not sparing the viscount another glance.
Which was just as well, given that the viscount was more or less dragging Marina off the dance floor. "My lord," she protested, trying to keep her voice low. She didn't wish to attract attention. "Please, slow down!"
He did, but it was not necessarily a relief, as he used his grip on her arm to swing Marina around until she was cornered into a small alcove, most of the party blocked from view by a very sad looking potted tree.
"My lord!" Marina exclaimed as she stumbled to a stop.
"I told you to call me Andrew," he snapped. "I am tired of your attempts to keep me at arm's length, Marina. I have given you time. I have given you space. Did I not allow that pathetic little flirtation with my cousin, no matter that it made you look like a fool? I have been most indulgent, and you show me no gratitude, even though you are on the cusp of spinsterhood. Your dowry is paltry for a woman of your age and status—many men would scoff over it. Your cousin is practically shoving you out the door and you have no other options."
"My—" Marina cut herself off at the viscount's glare.
"And now you mock me by flirting with Beaumont and making eyes at my cousin, even after he's thrown you aside like you're trash?" This whole tirade had been insulting, but this blow actually landed. Marina's eyes widened and stung with tears. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression in check.
"I am telling you now: no more. No more of this pathetic flirting or mooning or sighing. You are not to be seen with those gentlemen again—nor the other two in their self-important little group. From this moment forward, you are going to conduct yourself with decorum. You are going to be my wife and I will not be embarrassed by you. This stops now."
Throughout this, the viscount's voice had not risen, not for a second. If anything, he'd become calmer as he had gone on, as if the words he'd spit forth had bled out his anger. Despite this, however, he had not become less menacing. Rather, the cool certainty in his tone as he had ordered Marina about as if she were already one of his possessions had made him even more frightening. He was a man, she realized, who was cruel even when he was calm.
And when he had said to her You will be my wife , all of Marina had ossified in a single reaction: no.
Because Viscount Gloustoshire was not a man who would be satisfied with a wife who stayed dutifully by his side when she was needed and then spent the remainder of her time pursuing a life of her own. Rather, he was the kind of man who would tighten his hold around her like one of those great jungle snakes, the loops of his control growing closer and closer around her until she realized she was choking, far too late to make an escape. He would squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, just because he could, until all the life was crushed out of Marina.
So she could not marry him. It scarcely even mattered what Martin would do—Martin wasn't creative enough to come up with a punishment worse than what Marina was now certain the viscount would dole out to a recalcitrant wife. Besides, Marina wasn't a girl anymore, scrimping over the household budgets and praying that her father would remember them before they starved. She had friends. They were new friends, to be certain, but she couldn't imagine that sweet Lucy, or the friendly and gregarious Duke of Beaumont, or even the quietly observant Duke of Culton would allow her to be cast out into the streets. Even Percy—he may not want her, but Marina didn't think he wished to see her destitute. He was too good a man and knew the threat of poverty all too well.
She had friends, which meant she had a place to land while she figured things out, should her cousin leave her without a home. And from there she could figure something out. Perhaps she could be a companion to an elderly lady, or even a governess. She was resourceful, hadn't her childhood proven that well enough?
She did not need to marry. Which meant that she did not need Viscount Gloustoshire, either.
Even now, stuck in a corner with the viscount, at this overcrowded ball where, somewhere, the man who broke her heart lingered, the sight of him threatening to break it again—even here, the thought felt like a ray of hope.
Marina regarded Viscount Gloustoshire as she thought through all this. He must have taken her silence as acquiescence—more fool him, Marina thought—because his stern expression melted into that condescending smile.
"I'm glad you understand," he said. His tone put Marina in mind of a man congratulating a puppy that had finally learned a new trick. "I don't wish to scold you, Marina. If you'll just remember to be a good girl—" that phrasing made Marina feel a bit sick "—we'll get along smashingly."
Still, Marina said nothing. The ray of hope was growing in her chest, turning into a beam that threatened to become a full sunburst. She was going to tell the viscount she declined his courtship. She was going to tell Martin to take his ultimatums and shove them. She was going to take charge of her own life.
She looked around at the crush of Society around them. Perhaps she wasn't going to end things with the viscount right here . No doubt he would have some choice words on the matter, and she didn't wish to make a scene. For all that Marina was going to begin plotting her own course, she didn't want to open herself up to the kind of scandal that would affect Julia the following Season.
"I don't wish to argue, either, my lord," she said, which was true, if not exactly what the viscount had described.
Though his mouth twitched at Marina's insistent use of the honorific—she was petty enough to enjoy that small victory—the viscount merely nodded. "Let's take a turn about the garden, shall we? Get some air?"
Oh , thought Marina. That was actually perfect . That would give her the chance to bid the viscount adieu without having to wait—and without an audience. Marina was starting a new life and she wanted to start it right now.
She even managed to give him a smile. "Very well, my lord," she said. "Lead the way."