"Will test you. She'll ask probing questions, make observations designed to unsettle you, try to determine if you're 'suitable.'"
"And if she decides I'm not?"
"Then she's wrong, and I'll tell her so."
"You'd defy your aunt for me?"
"I'd defy anyone for you."
That night, Marianne barely slept. She could hear Alaric pacing in the adjacent room, apparently equally restless. When morning came, they were both tired but determined.
The approach to London was overwhelming. Marianne had read about the city, heard descriptions, but nothing had prepared her for the reality; the size, the noise, the sheer number of people and buildings and vehicles.
"It's enormous," she breathed, pressed against the carriage window.
"It's overwhelming," Alaric agreed. "I forget sometimes, having grown up with it. Seeing it through your eyes... it's rather terrible, isn't it?"
"It's magnificent and terrible simultaneously."
"Like many things in life."
His townhouse was on a square that spoke of quiet wealth and established privilege. The buildings were uniform in their elegance, the small park in the center manicured to perfection.
"This is where you live?"
"Where I stay when in London. It's never been home."
"It's very..."
"Imposing? Cold? Excessively formal?"
"I was going to say clean. No flour anywhere."
"A tragic lack of flour. We'll have to remedy that."
The staff was lined up in the entrance hall; butler, housekeeper, footmen, maids, all in perfect formation. Marianne felt like she'd stepped into another world entirely.
"Your Grace," the butler intoned with a bow that managed to be both respectful and questioning. "We were not expecting you."
"Plans changed, Robertson. This is Mrs. Whitby. She'll be staying for three days and attending the Winterbourne Ball with me."
If the butler was surprised, he showed it only in a slight widening of his eyes. "Very good, Your Grace. Shall I prepare the blue room?"
"Yes. And send word to Madame Laurent that I require her immediate attendance. We need a ball gown by tomorrow evening."
"Tomorrow evening, Your Grace?"
"Is that a problem?"
"Not at all, Your Grace. Madame Laurent appreciates challenges."
Marianne stood frozen as the staff dispersed, feeling completely out of place in the entrance hall with its paintings of stern-looking ancestors.
"Marianne?" Alaric touched her arm gently.
"They're all judging me."
"They're all curious. There's a difference."
