Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” I smiled at them, feeling Evander slip from my side as quickly as possible.
“And your gown. It is the finest I have ever seen. Is it from London?” another asked.
“Yes. I am pleased you like it, for I was unsure of the color.” I laughed for them, but my eyes followed Marcella.
“It is so splendid to be able to speak with Your Grace. Many of us were wondering if you only preferred the company of the townsfolk.” The shortest of the women snickered.
“My company is quite varied, but I do hope to know all of you ladies, too.”
“Oh yes, we must spend more time together. I would love to invite you and the duke to my home for dinner next week.”
“I—”
“If you are having dinner with her, you must have one with me.”
“I shall see to my schedule,” I replied. They all kept speaking around me quickly, joyfully, drunkenly.
I smiled, nodded, and laughed along with them. I was so occupied with the conversation that I barely heard a short gasp, followed by the breaking of glass. When I looked to my right, Marcella stood with a stain upon her dress from the champagne she had spilled. Using this chance, I rushed to her side.
“No need to worry,” I said, linking arms with her. “We can have it cleaned quickly.”
“Thank you. I do not know what has come over me.” She giggled, petting her dress. Before I could move, another hand was on her as well.
“My dear, it is not so bad that you must trouble the duchess,” Fitzwilliam said to her, holding her arm. Once more, she was rigid.
“You men never know the importance of a dress. If it is not cleaned, it shall surely set,” I replied, trying to take her with me. “Worry not, I shall bring her back in one piece.”
“I will accompany you both,” Datura said, coming up beside me.
Was Marcella his wife or a prisoner? Not wishing to fight, I smiled and nodded. It was only then that he saw fit to let go of her arm. I was unsure of what to do, but I glanced around and met the eyes of Verity, who was observing us curiously. I did not know what look I gave her, but I hoped it was as desperate as I felt. We’d nearly reached the stairs into the estate, and I was losing faith that I would be able to rid myself of Datura when suddenly, Verity’s voice rose loudly.
“Dowager, we have not spoken in some time,” she said. “I feel as though you are ignoring me, I hope I am mistaken?”
“I beg your pardon?” Datura looked at her as if she were insane.
“I have written to you several times, and you seem never to reply,” she said even louder, causing some guests to turn to her.
“I have gotten no such letters.”
“How is that so?” Verity frowned.
“We shall leave you both to speak,” I said quickly and took Marcella inside with me.
Datura called out, but I pretended not to hear her.
The footmen had barely closed the doors after we entered the drawing room when she collapsed in my arms.
“Marcella!”
She broke down crying, gripping me tightly. “Please…please help me!”
“Breathe. All right. Breathe,” I said, trying to lift her to her feet, but she was still shaking and trembling, sobbing on me. “Marcella, you must walk. We cannot be here like this.”
“I cannot.”
“What do you mean you cannot?”
She only sobbed more.
“Marcella!”
“My…legs.”
I did not understand, so I lifted the hem of her dress. Her legs were purple and bruised. “What…what in God’s name?”
“I should not have run,” she sobbed.
“You were running,” I whispered. I knew it, had felt it but had not wished to believe it. “You were running from him?”
She cried, holding on to me tightly.
“Did he do this to you?” I asked as I looked at her legs.
“He…it is my…fault. I was mad at him…I am to blame…”
“Shh,” I said, hugging her and patting her back, trying to contain my rage.
Oh…oh…that no-good pugilistic-bully, slug-a-bed-faced, death’s head upon a mopstick, white-livered, vile creature of man!
“We need to get you away from him—”
“He is my husband—”
“He is a monster,” I snapped. I did not realize my eyes were wet until this very moment.
“He was not like this in the beginning,” she tried to tell me. “It’s me…I made him angry—”
“Listen to me.” I held her face. “It was never you. Never. Come. I have you. I will fix this. I will help you.”
“You cannot. Forgive me. I must go back,” she muttered, trying to get up.
“You can barely stand, and you wish to return to him? Marcella, you cannot. He is hurting you.”
“What will you have me do?” she cried out. “He is my husband. My family will not speak to me. They are too angry about what I have done. I have no one else! I must go back!”