As he led her onto the floor, she caught Adrian moving toward the card room—but not before she saw him position himself where he could watch her through the doorway. Even in a crowded ballroom with no real threat, he couldn’t help but guard her.
“Your Grace,” Lord Harrison said as they began to dance, “I truly do apologise. My wife can be... difficult.”
“We all have our moments, Lord Harrison.”
“Yes, but she was deliberately unkind, and after what you did for the Thornton girl...” He shook his head. “It was badly done.”
“Let us think no more of it,” Marianne said diplomatically.
“You are more gracious than she deserves.” He guided her through a neat turn—surprisingly light on his feet. “May I offer a word of advice?”
“Please.”
“Society forgets scandal quickly, but it remembers strength. What you did tonight—standing your ground—will last. You have proved you are not a simpering miss who chanced upon a title. You are a duchess in truth.”
“That is kind of you to say.”
“It is practical of me to say.” His smile was crooked. “I have three daughters to bring out. I would rather they look to you than to the Venetia Carlisles of the world.”
The music ended. He returned her to Adrian, who emerged from the card room with suspicious punctuality.
“Harrowmere.” Lord Harrison bowed. “Your duchess is a credit to your house.”
“I am aware,” Adrian said simply, his hand settling at Marianne’s waist with quiet possession.
As Harrison departed, Adrian bent close. “What did he want?”
“To apologise for his wife and offer political alliance, I think.”
“Clever man. His wife made an enemy; he would prefer not to be one.”
“Should I have refused the dance?”
“No. You handled it perfectly.” His thumb traced her waist through silk and stays. “You have handled everything perfectly.”
“The night is not over.”
“No,” he agreed, his voice dropping to that velvet register that undid her. “It is not.”
Before she could answer, Catherine appeared, radiant. “Adrian, did you see? Lord Timothy asked to call on the morrow!”
“I was present, Catherine. I gave permission.”
“Yes, but—you do not mind? Truly?”
Adrian’s expression softened in a way Marianne had rarely seen. “If you are happy, and he comports himself as a gentleman ought, then no, I do not mind.”
Catherine flung her arms about him—an impropriety that startled several nearby—and Adrian froze, then carefully returned the embrace.
“Thank you,” she whispered, just loud enough for Marianne to hear. “For letting me try to be normal again.”
“You were never anything else,” Adrian said gruffly. “Only… temporarily displaced.”
Catherine laughed, pulling back with tears in her eyes. “I love you too, brother.”
The remainder of the evening blurred into conversations, dances, and the pleasant machinery of politics. After midnight, they departed, victorious and—at last—at ease.
In the carriage, Catherine dozed, spent. Adrian drew Marianne close, his arm around her shoulders—scandalous in public, perfect in the soft dark.
