"Because..."
Marianne had to clamp down on her lower lip again to stop it from trembling. Lud, what was happening to her? She wasnevera watering pot, and yet the events of the past days had eroded her famed self-composure. Hidden floodgates opened inside her. She felt things she was not accustomed to feeling. She yearned for things she was afraid to want.
"You can tell me, Marianne. After all, you saw me through my troubles with Harteford." Her friend reached for her hand. "Can I not offer you the same comfort when it comes to matters of the heart?"
Marianne returned the squeeze. "Of course you can, Helena. The truth of it is... I am most wretchedly in love with Ambrose." Saying the words aloud was like pulling on a loose thread. Her emotions unraveled with stunning speed. "He's everything I could hope for. He's loyal and steady, strong yet tender. And after everything he's done for me..."
Her cheeks flushed as she realized how much she'd taken Ambrose for granted. He'd been there when she needed him, saving her and her daughter and vanquishing Coyner once and for all. In the week since the villain's demise, Ambrose had provided a shoulder for her and a calm, kind presence for her daughter. Yet he had made no demands of her. At night, he'd retired to the guest bedchamber, and given her preoccupation with Rosie, she'd given little thought to his needs.
It wasn't until he'd quietly announced his intention to return his family to Chudleigh Crest that she realized the unsettled nature of their relationship. Feelings came crashing over her, intense and confusing. She wanted him so badly, and she was... terrified.
"It's clear that Mr. Kent loves you," Helena said. "I don't see what the problem is."
"What have I to offer him in return? I've made so many mistakes..." Swallowing, Marianne forced herself to speak her fears. "How can I expect him to take on... damaged goods?"
Helena stared at her. "I cannot believe you just referred to yourself in those terms."
"It's true, isn't it?" Marianne lifted her chin. "I've always called a spade a spade. I have a bastard, I've done things no lady should have done. And then there's my debt to Black, what he may want..." Shuddering, she couldn't make herself give voice to the vile possibilities. "Can you in all honesty say that I am the sort of woman a decent man would want for a wife—to bring home to his family, to be the mother of his children?"
"I begin to think I do not know you as well as I believed." Blinking, Helena said, "All these years, I thought you were the one with the confidence."
"Self-possession is an excellent mask for insecurity," Marianne said wryly.
"Be that as it may, how can you doubt Mr. Kent's devotion to you? You yourself have said that he's protected you time and again. And the way he looks at you…" Helena gave a heartfelt sigh. "As for the Kents, they adore both you and Primrose. When I see all of you together, I see no mismatch. No inequality. What I see is…"
"Yes?"
"A family," Helena said gently.
Dash it, there were those blasted tears again.
"Truly?" Marianne dabbed at her eyes. "You aren't saying these things just to make me feel better?"
"Not at all. But I do agree that a significant barrier remains to your happiness."
"Black." Shivering, Marianne said, "I have to go to him, Helena. I have to discharge myself from his debt before I am free to go to Ambrose."
"You are certain you cannot tell Mr. Kent about this?" Helena frowned.
Marianne shook her head adamantly. "Black hates the law and Charleys in particular. I can't endanger Ambrose in that fashion. Besides, there's nothing he can do in this situation, and if he tries to challenge Black..." She refused to have Ambrose hurt again because of her. "I gave Black my pledge, and I must honor it."
"You have a point. Male bravado can unnecessarily complicate things." Helena chewed on her lip. "Let us go together, then, and find out what this Mr. Black wants."
"You'll come with me?"
"Of course. After all," the marchioness said with a glint of mischief in her eyes, "it wouldn't be the first time you and I shared an adventure together, would it?"
* * *
With Helena at her side, Marianne entered Black's domain. This time, he was waiting for them in a sumptuous breakfast room.
He rose from the end of the long table, wiping his mouth on a napkin. Today his stout figure was swathed in an old-fashioned banyan made of green silk; in lieu of his usual periwig, a small yellow turban was perched on his shorn head.
His eyes narrowed. "Wasn't expecting company this early else I'd 'ave dressed for the occasion."
"I am sorry to intrude, Mr. Black," Marianne said, "but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you."
"That's a familiar tune, ain't it?" Snorting, Black's gaze shifted to Helena. "Who's she?"
