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After the events of the ball two days ago, she needed it more than ever. A moment to just clear her head and focus herself, otherwise she feared she would never come to a conclusion about why she became so feverish and dazed while in Anthony’s close company.

“I really cannot send you out without a chaperone, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, her tone almost apologetic.

“Just pretend you have not seen me,” Marina pleaded. “I shall not be long. It is a matter of no more than an hour there and back. Besides, I thought the entire point of marriage was that one did not need to be chaperoned anymore?”

The housekeeper laughed at that. “In truth, I cannot actually prevent you from venturing out without a chaperone. You are the duchess.” She hesitated. “But I cannot lie to His Grace either, if he should ask where you are. And he will, seeing as we are all departing at noon.”

“I will be back here before eleven o’clock, I swear it,” Marina promised, glancing at the clock on the wall: that gave her just over two hours, far more than she would need for such a simple excursion.

Perhaps sensing how desperately her mistress needed some time alone, Mrs. Havers gave a small, albeit reluctant, nod. “Very well, but if you are not, I shall have no choice but to send the footmen to find you.”

“Thank you.” Marina flashed the woman a bright smile and darted out of the house before any minds could be changed.

The mild morning air caressed Marina’s face, her head tilted up to enjoy the lovely sunshine. Indeed, it felt all the sweeter, knowing that she had at least two hours to do with as she pleased, not having to answer to anyone or anything but her own whims.

She knew that she was still an oddity to the Knotgill staff, and they did not always understand how to deal with her, but they were assuredly warming to her. The maids, most of all, who had become like friends to Marina, gossiping and chattering comfortably with her and in her presence.

It was, in truth, just the older members of staff who struggled with her lax behavior. Where they expected orders and instructions, Marina had a tendency to just do something herself.

By now, she had lost count of the times that the cook had had to excuse herself, presumably to calm down, after finding Marina in the kitchen preparing her own luncheon.

Humming a pleasant little ditty to herself, Marina wandered past the private park opposite Anthony’s townhouse, where two spaniels were locked in a barking duel.

It made her think of her uncle’s townhouse, now closed up for the summer, or perhaps indefinitely. Maybe, he would finally sell it, for who needed a London residence that they never used? Then again, he was very fond of letting it out to old friends and Marina’s aunt apparently made use of it with frivolous frequency.

She found herself walking in that direction anyway, ambling contentedly along the streets of Mayfair, happy in the knowledge that she would soon be back in the country.

Turning the corner onto her uncle’s street, crossing over to the oval park in the middle of the square, she let herself in through the gate. To her left was the bench where those awful ladies had said unkind things about her, but the memory did not sting as it once had.

I am above it, she told herself with a smile. My clever mind is above such things.

Her heart swelled as she remembered Anthony’s compliment, feeling as if she had been truly seen by him for the first time. Understood by him.

She had barely made it ten paces when a sight up ahead held her frozen: someone had just come out of her uncle’s townhouse.

Ducking into the shade of a hawthorn tree in case her aunt was there, and happened to see her, she peeked out from her hiding place.

But it was not her aunt.

Instead, the familiar figure of Doctor Stanforth stood on the top step of the porch. In the doorway of the house, the alarmingly pale and drawn face of her beloved uncle, his hand gripping the doorframe as the two men spoke.

Of course, she was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the demeanor of both men sent a shiver of unease down her spine. Doctor Stanforth had his hat in his hands, his head slightly bowed, as if he could not look Bernard in the eye. Meanwhile, Bernard seemed to be struggling for words… or breath; Marina could not tell which.

No more than a minute later, the doctor set his hat on his head and bowed to Bernard, before heading down the steps and turning right. Marina’s uncle waited in the doorway a few seconds longer, then stepped back and closed it.

What on earth?

Marina pushed away from the tree and walked slowly toward the townhouse, her heart on a pounding rampage in her chest.

Her uncle had written to her often throughout the month of her honeymoon, telling her about the garden and what he had recently been reading. Yet, he had said nothing of being in London or even traveling there. Just as he had said nothing about his health.

She quickened her pace, heading out of the park and across the street, taking the porch steps two at a time until she reached the front door of her uncle’s townhouse.

She did not hesitate, knocking hard.

A few moments later, the door opened.

“Did you forg—” Bernard’s eyes flew wide as he saw his niece standing there. “Marina? What are you doing here?”