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“I realize it would not be as modern as some medicines, but there is a reason that certain herbs and roots and plants show up again and again throughout written history,” she said. “We could have healers again, men and women, instead of just physicians that not everyone can afford.”

Bernard nodded. “I rather like your view of what the world could be, dear niece.”

“I shall never understand why they removed women from positions of healing,” she continued, stoked up. “Women are healers. Indeed, how many children would not be alive right now if it were not for the wisdom of midwives? And do not get me started on the notion of witches, sentenced to punishment or death because they could heal, knew endless herbs and how to make medicine, knew⁠—”

The rest of her complaint died upon her lips as two familiar faces came off a branching path, almost causing a collision. Clearly, they had expected Marina and her uncle to move out of their way, but the odd pair had been too deep in conversation to notice.

“Lord Stadley, is that you?” cried the Dowager Duchess of Knotgill, her hand flying to her chest.

The sharp old woman was certainly more pleased to see Marina’s uncle than she had been to see Marina herself the other week.

Bernard blinked, confusion puckering his mouth, before a look of realization dawned across his ruddy face. “Your Grace! Goodness, I cannot remember the last time we crossed paths!” He scratched his temple. “When was it? Might it have been that ball at Kensington Gardens? Mercy, that was… now, let me think…”

“You were a young man,” the dowager said with a surprisingly merry chuckle. “It must be twenty years at least, but I never forget a face.”

Bernard shook his head. “It cannot be so long.”

“I am afraid so,” the dowager replied, her expression so warm that Marina wondered if the woman had been replaced by a cheerier twin. “You were there with your brother, if I am not mistaken. He was teasing you, asking if I knew of any eligible young ladies for you to marry. Such a charming gentleman, with such a beautiful wife. I was sorry to hear of their passing.”

The commiserations struck Marina like a horse kick to the chest, her heart faltering for a moment. Of course, she had known how wonderful her parents were, but, being so reclusive, she had forgotten that they were known among society.

Bittersweetly, she had not expected anyone to remember them after twelve years.

“I never did marry,” Bernard said, patting Marina’s arm gently, knowing she would need the comfort. “I had a niece to raise instead.”

The dowager finally met Marina’s eye, a twitch of stiff disapproval at the corner of her mouth. “Lovely to see you again, Miss Longman.”

“And you, Your Grace.” Marina attempted an awkward curtsey, her legs tangling.

Oh goodness, she knows. She must know, must she not?

She did not dare to search the old woman’s face for confirmation, but it was there in the dowager’s clipped tone: of course, she knew that Marina had refused her grandson. She had to. There was no way that the duke had not told her of the grave insult.

“Let us talk of old times, Viscount,” the dowager insisted, taking Bernard’s arm and pulling him bodily away from his niece. “We have twenty years to catch up on.”

Frozen on the spot, Marina watched her uncle happily walk off with the dowager, leaving her practically alone with the second familiar figure. The one whose gaze she had been avoiding most determinedly.

She glanced at the duke and quickly dropped her gaze again, setting off in pursuit of her uncle, staring at the path instead of the pleasant greenery.

It did not, however, escape her notice that the duke fell in step with her, walking silently at her side. Her right side, far from the scarring of her left, which was one positive: at least she did not have to keep worrying over how her shielding locks of hair were falling.

They walked together for what felt like an eternity, some infernal, perpetual punishment, in complete and deeply uncomfortable silence.

“How long have you been in London?” The duke finally broke the quiet, somewhat abruptly.

Marina cleared her throat. “About four hours.”

“Ah…” He nodded as if that somehow made sense.

Another twenty paces passed without a word.

“Did you enjoy the rest of the garden party?” he spoke again, as they wandered beneath the dappled shade of some plane trees.

She cast him a wary, sideways glance. Is he teasing?

“I left soon after the dance,” she replied stiffly.

“You should not make a habit of leaving gatherings early, now that you are in the city for the Season. It is frowned upon,” he said, though she had not asked for advice. “In truth, I am curious about something…”