Chapter 140: Questions

Chapter 140: Chapter 140: Questions

Marian had attended six social gatherings in nine days.

This was deeply concerning.

Not because the gatherings themselves were unusual.

As the former fiancée of the Crown Prince, attending social functions had been part of her life for years.

No.

The concerning part was that she had attended every single one voluntarily.

The realization was alarming.

Worse, she knew exactly why.

The Season had become unexpectedly useful.

People talked.

People gossiped.

People shared stories.

And for reasons Marian preferred not to examine too closely, an astonishing number of those stories involved Cassian.

Which meant she kept attending.

A development she found both embarrassing and difficult to regret.

The luncheon that afternoon took place at a countess’s townhouse.

By now Marian recognized most of the guests.

The atmosphere was pleasant.

Relaxed.

Entirely harmless.

Which should have made her suspicious.

It did not.

This proved to be a mistake.

The conversation drifted naturally from one subject to another.

Fashion.

The Season.

Several recent engagements.

A scandal involving an earl’s youngest son.

Then, inevitably—

Ashford.

Marian looked up immediately.

The reaction was automatic.

Unfortunately, she did not notice several ladies smiling.

"The Duke of Ashford was quite terrifying when he was younger."

Marian blinked.

Terrifying?

That was not the word she would have chosen.

"What do you mean?"

The question escaped before she could stop it.

A countess laughed softly.

"Oh, nothing scandalous."

That seemed disappointing.

"Simply very popular."

Marian frowned.

Popular?

Cassian?

The duchess nodded.

"Handsome young dukes tend to attract attention."

That part was admittedly reasonable.

Another lady joined the discussion.

"Lady Renwick’s daughter pursued him for nearly a year."

Marian nearly dropped her teacup.

"A year?"

"Perhaps longer."

The woman looked thoughtful.

"I remember there was a great deal of crying afterward."

Marian stared.

"Crying?"

"After the rejection."

The table erupted into knowing laughter.

Marian sat frozen.

Rejected?

The conversation continued.

Apparently Lady Renwick’s daughter had not been unique.

A marquis’s niece.

A viscount’s daughter.

The granddaughter of a count.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

The list became increasingly ridiculous.

Marian listened in growing disbelief.

Every story ended exactly the same way.

Polite.

Courteous.

Entirely uninterested.

By the seventh story she was confused.

By the tenth she could no longer contain herself.

"Then where did the playboy reputation come from?"

Silence.

Several women stared.

Then laughter exploded around the table.

Marian immediately regretted speaking.

The duchess dabbed delicately at her eyes.

"My dear."

The tone alone made Marian nervous.

"The Duke was popular with women."

A pause.

"That is not the same thing as being interested in women."

Another pause.

"Oh."

The word escaped before she could stop it.

More laughter followed.

Marian felt heat creeping into her face.

Because she suddenly realized something deeply unfortunate.

She had believed exactly the same thing.

For months.

Perhaps years.

The realization was humiliating.

One lady smiled.

"Surely you knew?"

Marian absolutely had not.

This information would have been useful much earlier.

A great many misunderstandings might have been avoided.

The conversation continued.

Stories followed.

Some were amusing.

Some were absurd.

One involved a noblewoman arranging six accidental encounters in a single week.

Marian privately felt that after the fourth encounter, the accidents should have become suspicious.

The most surprising part was Cassian’s consistency.

Not once did the stories vary.

Not once.

Every ending was the same.

Respectful.

Polite.

Unmoved.

It was strangely difficult to imagine.

And strangely comforting.

The realization bothered her enough that she spent several minutes pretending to pay attention to another conversation.

Unfortunately, another lady immediately mentioned Ashford again.

Marian looked up before she could stop herself.

A countess hid a smile behind her teacup.

The conversation continued.

Another story.

Another question.

Another answer.

It was only later, when a friend quietly pulled her aside, that Marian finally discovered the problem.

"What happened?"

Her friend stared.

"What happened?"

"Yes."

"You spent half the afternoon asking questions about Duke Ashford."

Marian frowned.

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"Those were normal questions."

"They were not normal questions."

Marian opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Then opened it again.

"...they weren’t?"

Her friend looked at her with profound pity.

"No."

A terrible feeling began forming in Marian’s stomach.

"Do you know why everyone keeps bringing him up?"

Marian hesitated.

"Because he is Duke Ashford?"

Her friend laughed.

"No."

That seemed unlikely.

"Then why?"

The look she received was devastating.

"Because every time someone mentions him, you immediately start paying attention."

Silence.

A long silence.

An awful silence.

Marian suddenly remembered the previous week.

The questions.

The stories.

The conversations.

The number of times she had asked for details.

The way everyone always seemed delighted to continue.

"Oh."

Her friend nodded.

"Oh indeed."

"Am I being obvious?"

"Painfully."

Marian briefly considered throwing herself into the nearest river.

Her friend patted her shoulder.

Unhelpfully.

"It isn’t that bad."

That sounded suspiciously like a lie.

"The entire capital doesn’t know."

Marian stared.

"The entire capital doesn’t know yet."

That was somehow worse.

The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of embarrassment.

Every smile suddenly felt suspicious.

Every glance seemed knowing.

Every mention of Ashford felt deliberate.

By the time Marian returned home, she was convinced she would never attend another social gathering again.

This conviction lasted until she remembered there might be more stories about Cassian.

Then it became less certain.

Which was another deeply embarrassing realization.

That evening she sat at her desk.

A fresh sheet of paper before her.

The familiar stack of letters at her side.

Marian dipped her pen into ink.

Then began writing.

The first page was sensible.

The second considerably less so.

By the third page she had abandoned all pretense of restraint.

Apparently she had a great many things to say.

Near the middle of the letter she paused.

Then wrote:

I owe you an apology.

Apparently I have spent the past week being painfully obvious.

This information was delivered to me today by a friend who seemed to believe I should have noticed sooner.

Unfortunately, she appears to be correct.

It has been explained to me that every time someone mentions your name, I immediately begin asking questions.

I attempted to deny this accusation.

The attempt was unsuccessful.

Marian stared at the paragraph.

Then sighed.

Because it was entirely true.

She continued writing.

I was also informed that your reputation appears to have been greatly exaggerated.

The evidence presented today suggests that an alarming number of women pursued you.

You, however, seem to have spent years rejecting all of them.

I confess this was not what I expected to learn.

Although I suspect I should feel slightly pleased.

A smile appeared despite herself.

Then another thought occurred to her.

A more serious one.

Her pen hovered above the paper.

For several moments she simply stared.

Thinking.

Then she wrote:

Which raises a rather important question.

Why did you choose me?

Marian looked at the sentence for a long time.

Longer than necessary.

Longer than was reasonable.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

Carefully folding the letter, she placed it atop the others waiting to be sent in the morning.

A reply would take days.

The realization was unfortunate.

Because for perhaps the first time since Cassian had left for Ashford—

Marian found herself genuinely impatient.