"Listen to me. Really listen. I have spent my entire adult life meeting their expectations. I was miserable. Then you crashed into my life with pies and flour and suddenly I was alive. Really alive. Do you think I'd trade that for their approval?"
"But your duty..."
"My duty is to be a good landlord to my tenants, a responsible member of Parliament when necessary, and a good man. None of that requires me to live up to society's expectations of what a duke should be."
"They'll make your life difficult."
"Let them try. I have something they don't."
"What?"
"You."
Before Marianne could respond, Lady Bethany appeared in the doorway. "There you are. It's time for the dinner. Come, you're seated at my table."
The dining room was another exercise in overwhelming grandeur. The table settings were indeed complex—multiple forks, spoons, glasses. Marianne felt panic rising.
"Just follow my lead," Alaric murmured, seated beside her.
The dinner was a careful dance of conversation and cutlery. Marianne watched Alaric, mimicking his choices, managing to get through the first courses without disaster. The conversation was equally challenging—politics she didn't understand, gossip about people she didn't know, references to events she'd never attended.
But then Lord Browne mentioned something about grain prices, and Marianne found herself contributing. She knew about grain; prices, quality, the impact of weather on harvests. Soon she was in a genuine discussion with several lords about agricultural matters, her practical knowledge surprising them.
"You actually understand farming," Lord Rhodes (Alaric's uncle) said with delight. "Do you know how rare that is at these tables?"
"I understand bread," Marianne said simply. "And bread starts with grain."
"Practical knowledge," he approved. "Bethany, I like her."
"I haven't decided yet," Lady Bethany said, but there was something softer in her expression.
As the evening progressed, Marianne began to relax slightly. Indeed, some people were horrible, but others were kind. The Drummond twins were hilarious, constantly confusing people by switching seats. Lady Carmichael, the gossip, was actually warm and funny. Even some of the younger ladies, once away from Sarah's influence, were friendly.
"You're enjoying yourself," Alaric observed as they returned to the ballroom.
"I'm surviving."
"You're conquering."
"I'm faking very well."
"No, you're being yourself, and they're responding to it. Look...even Aunt Bethany is almost smiling."
It was time for the final dance of the evening—traditionally, partners for this dance were significant. Alaric bowed to Marianne.
"May I have this honour?"
"Always," she replied.
As they took their position, Marianne became aware that the floor was surprisingly empty. Most couples were standing on the sides, watching.
"Why aren't they dancing?" she whispered.
"Because we are," Alaric replied. "This is their way of acknowledging us. Acknowledging you."
"That's terrifying."
"That's acceptance."
