Page 21

“Which you have.”

“Only for a little while.”

Her mother helped her settle her cloak about her shoulders while Sophia fetched her gloves. Luna, apparently sensing that something interesting was happening, abandoned her chair and followed them toward the door.

Outside, the carriage had come to a halt, and the coachman stood ready to assist her.

Anna caught Marina’s hand before she stepped away.

“Remember what you have always wanted, darling. Children. A family of your own. I am not saying that this gentleman is necessarily the answer, but perhaps you ought to meet the little girl before deciding that he is not.”

“I intend to,” Marina replied.

Sophia embraced her next. “And remember that you are allowed to say no, however grand his title.”

“I shall remember both pieces of advice.”

“And if he behaves like a beast, come straight home.”

Marina smiled. “I believe I can manage one ill-tempered duke.”

She embraced them both once more, then made her way toward the waiting carriage. As the coachman helped her inside, she looked back at her cottage, its windows glowing warmly in the gathering darkness. Her mother and sister stood together in the doorway, with Luna winding around Sophia’s ankles.

This had been her entire world. It was not the life she had once imagined, but it was familiar, peaceful, and entirely her own.

She was not ready to surrender it.

Yet as the carriage began to move, her thoughts returned to the duke’s dark eyes, the unexpected warmth of his laughter, and the little girl waiting somewhere within Griffin Manor.

She wanted to meet Emma. Of that much, at least, she was certain.

Whether she could trust Ambrose Hunt with the life she had built for herself was another question altogether.

Seven

Griffin Manor was precisely the sort of place Marina had imagined a beast would inhabit.

It rose beyond the snow-covered drive in a formidable arrangement of dark stone, narrow windows, and towers that seemed determined to discourage the approach of anyone with sensible intentions. Even the trees surrounding the house appeared to have been instructed to stand at attention, their bare branches stretching toward a winter sky that had begun to surrender its light.

Marina sat a little straighter as the carriage drew to a halt. She had spent much of the forty minute journey reminding herself that she was merely visiting a gentleman’s home to meet his niece, not entering a fortress from which she might never emerge. Unfortunately, the distinction seemed rather less convincing now that the fortress stood before her.

She had also spent an unreasonable amount of time considering her gown. It was a simple blue wool dress, entirely appropriate for a winter visit, yet she had changed twice before leaving the cottage. Luna had watched the proceedings from the bed with an expression of such profound disapproval that Marina had eventually informed her she was welcome to make herself useful or remain silent.

Marina wished she had brought her along. Luna, at least, would have had no difficulty expressing her opinion of the manor.

Before the footman attending the carriage could reach the entrance, the great front door opened. An older gentleman stood beneath the portico, dressed in the sober elegance of a senior servant. His silvering hair was neatly arranged, and his posture possessed the effortless dignity of a man who had spent decades ensuring that other people observed the proper rules of conduct.

“Lady Whitmore,” he said with a respectful bow. “Welcome to Griffin Manor. I am Mr. Ernest, His Grace’s butler.”

“Mr. Ernest.” Marina offered him a smile as she stepped from the carriage. “How very kind of you to meet me.”

“It is my pleasure, my lady. His Grace is expecting you.”

“Well,” she said, “that is encouraging. I should hate to have dressed for the occasion only to discover that I had come to the wrong castle.”

“Manor, my lady.”

“Of course. Though I must confess it has a rather castle-like disposition.”