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.
