“Yes,” Marianne said. “We must convince everybody that our marriage is real—that we have come to an understanding and married for the usual reasons. As soon as the ton becomes occupied with somebody else’s personal life, we shall quietly part ways. He will continue to raise his son on his own, and I will do as I please.”
“You cannot mean it,” Charlotte said. “And he cannot mean it. What a silly idea. He needs to get married to a woman who can help raise little Henry. Henry needs a mother.”
Marianne shifted slightly, uncomfortable now. “He assured me he does not need me to be a mother. He is perfectly capable of raising his son on his own. It is this attitude, Charlotte, that has made him want to make this arrangement in the first place—the constant pressure. I understand it well.”
Evelyn looked at her sister, head tilted to one side. “I think this is a mistake. What if you fall for him? What if he falls for you?”
Marianne shook her head, a stray curl bouncing off her chin. “That shall not happen. We feel nothing for one another other than gratitude for the opportunity to escape our obligations. I shall be free. He shall be free. Neither one of us is going to complicate matters by falling in love.”
“Even so,” Charlotte replied, “do you not think it is cruel? You are robbing Lucien of a chance to find a woman who will love him and who will love Henry, only so that you can escape what you deem society’s constraints.”
Marianne paused. She had not thought about this. But if he really wanted to find a woman again, what if it was simply too early for him? Perhaps he still grieved his wife and was not ready to marry again, but in a few years, he would? But no. This had been his idea. She had to take him at face value.
“If he ever wishes to, then we shall seek a?—”
“Divorce?” her sisters gasped in unison.
“But that would be a scandal!” Evelyn cried.
“And? This family has been through more than one scandal. Father left our reputation in tatters as it was. Evelyn, your first husband died on your wedding day, and he was old enough to be your great-grandfather. That was a scandal. And Charlotte, shall I remind you of the way you came to marry Rhys?”
Charlotte looked away. They all remembered that upon being told she was to marry a most unsuitable rake, she had made a spectacle of herself in one of London’s grand ballrooms, wearing a scarlet gown and declaring herself utterly unwilling to marry her intended. She and Rhys, who had undergone a scandal of his own, had made a marriage of convenience as well—though they had fallen in love.
“That is something different,” Charlotte said. “I was saving myself from a wretched marriage. And Rhys was saving himself from scandal.”
“And Lucien and I are saving ourselves from a future neither of us wants,” she insisted.
“Besides, it shall be wonderful. He will have his freedom. I will have my freedom. And my friend Juliet will join me.”
“Juliet? Your friend from the convent?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes. I have written to her and invited her to become my lady’s maid.”
“With no qualifications?” Evelyn said.
“I have no qualifications to be a countess either. In any case, you ought to be happy for me. After Father died, his title went to Cousin Morris in Dover—I am not even an earl’s daughter anymore, not in the eyes of society. I am not as desirable as I might have been before Father’s death.”
“Is that why you are marrying him? Marianne, you are the sister of two duchesses. Of course, you are desirable.”
She waved her hand. “I do not wish to argue with both of you any further. It is arranged. Now, perhaps over the next few weeks, you could help me put together my wedding trousseau. But I do not want anything too fanciful. Once this marriage is over, I think I shall travel. I shall take Juliet and travel the world. So I shall need attire that is suitable for that as well.”
Her sisters stared at her as though she had quite lost her mind, and as Marianne leaned back, a satisfied smile on her lips, she could not deny that in the back of her head, there were some things she was worried about. The way she had felt when Lucien first looked at her. And when they had shaken hands, there had been something. Warm... something like a jolt. What if they were right? What if she fell in love with him?
No, no, no—she could not even entertain such thoughts. That would be foolish.
No—the arrangement was solid. A few months of pretending to be happily married, and then she would be free at last.
CHAPTER 6
MARIANNE
Aunt Eugenia dabbed a handkerchief against her face to catch the tears – presumably happy in nature – but the process smudged the charcoal she’d dabbed around her eyes. Marianne took the handkerchief from her and shook her head.
“If you do not stop crying, you will look like a raccoon as I walk down the aisle. People will be looking at you more than me, wondering what the matter is.”
“Do not be silly,” her aunt said with a wave of her hand. “Nobody will notice me. You are so radiant and so—” She paused and pursed her lips, and Marianne braced herself for another well-meaning lecture. “I do wish you had allowed me to give you my pearls. They served your sister so well. She wore them on her wedding day, you know.”
“I know, but I do not need them.”
