Page 39 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

Philip seemed to be embarrassed by her praise, looking away. “I am just me.”

“And you are magnificent.”

He seemed agitated at receiving her admiration, squirming in his seat. “Are you glad we are headed home?” His attempt to change the conversation was transparent.

“Oh, no, My Grace, we will talk for a moment about how much I appreciate you. Thank you for putting the baron in his place. And for restoring his pride after.”

“There is an intelligent young doctor from Filminster who will never respect me again after witnessing me make an utter cake of myself. Twice.” Philip rubbed his face at recalling the appalling night before. “As we are on the subject, why do you always call him the baron?”

It was Annabel’s turn to feel nervous as she looked away out the sunlit window at the passing hedgerows. Philip had shared his pain with her in the recent past. She supposed she owed him an answer.

“I do not think of him as my father. When I was little, I spent my time with my mother, who was wonderful and taught me all kinds of things. She was a voracious reader, and she knew about many interesting subjects. She taught me some Latin, read me romantic poetry, educated me on subjects that girls should never be taught. When she died … when she died, I felt the world had ended. That is when Mrs. Harris took me under her wing. I would follow her around on her duties, and she taught me practical things to fill my time and prevent me from brooding. The baron … my father … he had no time for me. Weeks or months would pass where I would hardly glimpse him, despite living in the same home. When I was sixteen, he deemed me old enough to join him at the dinner table instead of taking meals in my room. I did not take meals in my room, though. I took them in the kitchen with the servants. Mrs. Harris made them accept me belowstairs. But, lucky me, I got to join the baron when I was sixteen, at which point he would mock me about my appearance, my manner of speaking, anything in which I differed from him. The constant belittling did little for my confidence. How my parents ended up married is a mystery for the ages. I will probably never know what brought them together. This past month with you, I felt my self-confidence growing, now that I am no longer living under his influence.” Annabel exhaled. “Until now, I have felt more connected to the servants and the tenants than to the baron, if I tell the truth. I hope hearing that is not disappointing to you, considering I am to fulfill the role of your duchess?”

“Sweet, you are going to be a great duchess. They will publish stories about you, and legends will form around your future escapades. You are beautiful, strong, and intelligent. You can do anything you set your mind to, including mastering silly rules of address, precedent, and etiquette. I am not worried in the slightest.”

She beamed back at him. “There you go, being wonderful.”

“Come here, my sweet.”

Annabel joined him on his bench, burrowing into his side as he put his arm around her to tuck her against his warm body. She rested her head on his hard chest with a contented sigh. As her lids grew heavy from the long evening, short duration of sleep, and early morning departure, she realized it was all going to work out. She would have the marriage she had dreamed of if they kept growing together this way. It was inevitable. It had to be, because her heart was wholly devoted to Philip now and she did not know how to turn back. He would grow to love her over time—to believe otherwise was too devastating to consider.

Chapter Fifteen

“How dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow."

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

The following day found Annabel in the library. She had read and reread the entry in the old copy of Debrett’s again and again. An hour must have passed with her eyes glued to the page in front of her. She was struggling to comprehend the words she read, a bedlam of implications unfurling in every direction as her mind tried to come to terms with the information.

She had just begun to read Debrett’s from the beginning, quite amused at first how the publisher of the venerated texts had not seen fit to update their printing plates; the antiquated text used old typefaces with ‘f’ sprinkled throughout to stand in for the soft ‘s’ sounds.

About fifty pages into the first volume, she had stumbled upon an entry that she wished she could now unread. She had a terrible feeling of disquiet as she stared at the entry and wished she, indeed, had the ability to return in time and go for that walk she had considered earlier in the morning rather than having chosen to read in the library.

Annabel tried to push her uneasiness aside, but it pushed right back and refused to be ignored. If Philip had married her out of revenge, how would he feel when he discovered there may not have been any revenge to take? How would it change the dynamics of their fledgling marriage if he knew Richard was innocent of the allegations that he had flung at his cousin three years earlier?

Annabel read the entry again.

EDWARD MARLEY, Earl of ROWBRIDGE, and Viscount of MARLEY … by whom he had iffue 1.—Richard, Viscount Marley, born March 27, 1796 2.—Jane, born March 27, 1796 …

The key part of the entry that Annabel was having difficulty assimilating was that Jane Marley … was a twin? And her brother’s name was … Richard? Annabel recollected Philip’s account of his late wife’s illness and death. Could the duchess have been calling for her twin in her state of delirium? But, if that was the case, would Philip not be aware that Jane could have been calling for Richard Marley and not Richard Balfour?

Stuff! This cannot be possible!

Where was this Richard Marley?

Why had Philip not factored the brother into the events that unfolded?

Annabel leafed through the volume to the front page, desperate for an explanation.

Just how old was this copy of Debrett’s?

1802?

Why was she reading a copy of Debrett’s that was sixteen years out of date?

What had happened to Richard Marley?