"Mixed with a healthy dose of public humiliation and flour warfare."
"The best recipes always have unexpected ingredients."
They were laughing when Grimsby entered, looking apologetic but carrying a silver tray with a letter that bore an all-too-familiar seal.
"I apologize for the interruption, Your Grace, but this just arrived by express messenger from London. The rider insisted it required immediate attention."
Alaric's hands stilled on the dough. He recognized the seal; his aunt, Lady Rhodes, who used express messengers the way other people used casual conversation, with aggressive frequency and dramatic flair.
"What do you think it is?" Marianne asked, noting his sudden tension.
"Nothing good ever comes from my aunt via express messenger. The last one informed me that I was a disappointment to the family name for missing her birthday soirée."
"You have an aunt?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Lady Rhodes, my father's sister. She considers herself the guardian of family dignity and social standing, despite having married a merchant who made his fortune in soap."
"Soap is very dignified."
"Not for my father. He never liked his sister’s match."
"Now I desperately want to know about the details."
"Later. First, let's see what catastrophe Aunt Bethany is predicting now." He wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron and broke the seal, reading quickly. His expression grew increasingly grim with each line.
"Bad news?" Marianne asked, concerned.
"She's hosting the Winterbourne Ball in three days."
"And?"
"And my attendance is not merely requested but absolutely required on pain of social excommunication and familial estrangement."
"She can't actually disown you. You're a duke."
"She can make my life monumentally uncomfortable. She knows everyone in society, and by everyone, I mean everyone who matters in terms of politics, finances, and social standing. If she decides to make my life difficult, she has the connections to do so."
"What's the Winterbourne Ball?"
"Only the most significant social event of the winter season. It marks the unofficial beginning of the new social year. Everyone who matters attends."
"And you matter?"
"According to Aunt Bethany, I matter primarily as an unmarried duke who should be looking for a suitable duchess, not 'playing house with a provincial nobody'...her words, not mine," he added quickly, seeing Marianne's expression.
"She knows about me?"
"Apparently, news travels. She mentions hearing 'absolutely shocking rumours about your recent behaviour' and demands I attend to 'dispel these unfortunate stories before they become entrenched.'"
Marianne turned back to her bread, kneading with sudden violence. "Well, you should go then. Dispel the stories. Find a suitable duchess. Someone who knows which fork to use and doesn't smell permanently of yeast."
"Marianne..."
"It's fine. We knew this would happen eventually. Your world and mine, they don't..."
He spun her around, flour flying, and kissed her thoroughly until she stopped protesting and melted against him.
"Come with me," he said when they finally broke apart.
