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“He was raised strictly, and so he became strict himself,” she replied, somewhat hesitant, as if this was not something she was supposed to say. “Always very disciplined, though he was not always without happiness. In his youth, certainly while he was a student at university, he was a much cheerier sort of fellow. I think that was probably the last time he was able to be at ease.”

The admission brought a pinch of pity to Marina’s chest. Despite her misfortunes, she knew she had been so very lucky in many ways, to have parents who had raised her gently, with great affection, and then to be raised by an uncle who had encouraged her to be whoever she wished to be.

“William will know joy,” Marina promised. “That is not to say that I will raise him to be wild, but he will get no strictness from me. I doubt I would know how to be strict.”

Harriet smiled. “I knew there was something special about you, Marina. I do not think I would have been able to trust my great-grandson—nor my grandson, in truth—with anyone else.”

Once again, Marina did not quite know what to say to that, a faint sort of pride swelling in her chest. But, as it turned out, she did not have to respond to the sweet compliment, for Harriet offered a parting nod of gratitude and swiftly exited the room.

I really must take some herbs for my heart, Marina told herself as she returned her attention to her reflection, for the steady beat that thudded against her palm did not at all match the fluttery feeling within.

The long line of carriages waiting to deposit guests at the gates of Kensington Palace Gardens was enough of a reminder as to why Marina could not stand the city. There in the back of the carriage, the evening warmth turning it into a suffocating box, she wished she was back at Knotgill taking a restorative walk in the gardens.

In the end, Harriet had not come along, choosing to stay behind at the townhouse with William. A change of heart that Marina did not quite trust, though she could not explain why.

Does she fear it might reflect badly on her, to stand with me? Is she worried I might embarrass the family?

Even Anthony did not seem to want to be stuck in the same carriage with her, for he had chosen to ride alongside. Although, he had been acting strangely ever since the game of hide and seek, mostly avoiding her unless it was to dine.

Just then, the carriage moved forward, and a footman in resplendent livery opened the door.

“Good evening.” He bowed his head. “Who am I to announce?”

Marina gulped, dreading everything that came next: the crowds, the stares, the pageantry, the pressure of it all.

“The Duke and Duchess of Knotgill,” came Anthony’s voice, as he appeared in the doorway, his very presence pushing the footman aside.

He offered his hand to Marina, who took it as if it were a rope tossed in stormy seas to save her life. She gripped his fingers tightly, hoping that her clammy palms could not be felt through the silk of her gloves.

“We do not have to stay long,” Anthony promised, leading her away from the carriage and through the tall iron gates, into the gardens.

Music drifted through towering boxwood hedges, the lilt of lively chatter seeming to sway the border flowers. Torches illuminated the path to where the outdoor ball was taking place, flickering wildly despite the airless evening, and Marina could not help but feel like she was walking toward her doom.

Rounding a corner onto an expansive terrace, her heart dropped: there were too many guests to count, as if the entirety of polite society had gathered for the event. A swarm of ladies in fine gowns and well-tailored gentlemen, buzzing about.

She knew it was probably just her imagination, but Marina could have sworn that the volume of the chatter and music dipped as she entered with her husband.

What was I thinking when I agreed to this? I cannot do this. I cannot.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Anthony’s hand came to rest on the middle of her back, a light pressure of reassurance. “You are a duchess, Marina,” he said quietly. “Behave as such.”

It was not a chiding or a cold remark, but something like encouragement.

Swallowing thickly, Marina did her best to hold her head up and pull her shoulders back.

Why did you choose such a dress for me, Harriet?

The gown had not been revealed to Marina until they had already reached London, and it was too late to find something else. It was beautiful, certainly. Perhaps the most beautiful gown that Marina had ever seen, which was exactly why it was not right for her.

The deep claret silk was too much, too hard to ignore, as was the gold beading and the gauzy outer layer that swept backward in a small train, painstakingly embroidered with golden thread and glittering spangles. It was a dress for someone who wanted to be noticed, not someone who very much wanted to hide.

Already, beneath the babble of conversation, she heard the whispers. Behind fans, young ladies stared and leaned in to their friends, sharp giggles jangling in Marina’s ears.

“Would you like a refreshment?” Anthony asked, ushering her toward a large banquet table on the other side of the terrace.

Marina nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

More judgmental stares bored into her, small groups peeling away from the table as she arrived, pulling faces as they left. In truth, she doubted she would ever understand why people saw scars like hers and acted as if they were a contagion. Short of her waving a torch around in a wild fury, they were perfectly safe from ending up with her affliction.