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She knocked on his study door, but did not wait for a response as she strode in.

Anthony sat behind his desk in a state of disarray: his hair mussed, dark circles beneath his eyes, wearing no waistcoat or tailcoat, his shirt open at the collar. Judging by the half-empty decanter of liquor on the desk beside him, he had not been doing much work.

“So, you have returned,” he said, raising his glassy gaze.

“I said I would,” she replied. “However, I will need to depart again, to stay at Stadley with my uncle for a while. He has⁠—”

“Then, why did you bother to come back?” he interrupted. “You could have written and saved yourself the effort.”

He did not sound angry, but she could see the fire in his eyes, his expression tense, his jaw clenching.

“What I mean to say is, you are not beholden to me,” he continued, turning his head away. “You do not have to return here at all if you do not want to. As you said yourself, you are used to being independent, to doing things your own way. And this marriage was never something you actually wanted.”

His words shocked the explanation off her tongue. Was he truly so willing to just send her away? Had she disappointed him that much that he no longer saw a need for her?

“What about William?” she said, floundering. “I have a duty to him.”

Was that why he was so angry, because she had been neglecting those duties? After all, she could not say that she had behaved like a true mother to the boy since finding out about her uncle’s illness.

“No, I have a duty to him,” he replied with a sigh. “I delegated that to you, and I should not have done. You wanted freedom, and I do not think I truly understood that, or your reasoning, until recently. So, go on, live with your uncle, live as if nothing has changed.”

“I am still capable of caring for William,” she insisted. “It is just that I need to be with my uncle for… I do not know, a few weeks. He needs my help, and though I know William needs me too, it will only be a short time in the grander scheme of things. I could even bring William with me, if⁠—”

“My son will stay here,” Anthony said sharply. “Marina, I should have accepted your first refusal. I have put you in a situation you did not want to be in, and I am letting you go.”

He does not think I am upholding my end of the bargain… and I cannot deny that I am not. Her heart weighed heavy, for she did not know how to fix this, or how to prove that she was still dedicated to being a mother to William and a wife to Anthony.

“But I do not want to leave forever,” she argued, her throat choked, her eyes prickling. “It is, as I say, just for a short while. I am testing a medicine and I have to see if it works, and I must be there with other remedies in case there are adverse reactions. Please, Anthony, understand that my desire is not to leave at all. You see, the truth is, my uncle is not well, and I⁠—”

“Then go to him,” Anthony said, more sternly. “Be where you are needed. Be where you want to be. We shall manage perfectly well without you.”

She stared at him, unable to believe his coldness. She had just told him that her uncle was unwell, and that was his response?

A dull pain ached in her heart, her hand reaching to press a palm to the sore spot, circling to try and ease the discomfort. Clearly, there was something wrong with her, but all of her best remedies for heart troubles were at Stadley.

“Send for your things once you are settled,” Anthony said, no warmth in his voice or his face whatsoever.

Any desire to stay and fight for her place in this house, or to explain herself more thoroughly, evaporated as she met his blank, cold gaze. He had made his decision to be rid of her, and she could tell that nothing would change his mind.

Indeed, if he could not show a sliver of empathy for the fact her uncle was sick, then perhaps she did not want to be the duchess of this place after all.

“You know where I am if you realize how unkind you have been,” she said curtly, not giving him the chance to respond as she turned on her heel and left.

She is just like Emilia. How easily the lies trip off her tongue.

There was no way her uncle was unwell, for Anthony had written to Bernard a week or so ago about the dowry and received no word of sickness in the reply. Indeed, the reply had been cheerful.

Moreover, the man was a recluse; he never went to London. Everyone knew that. Anthony had forgotten that before, but the last few days had reminded him keenly. Indeed, he doubted Bernard had been in London while Marina was at all.

She was just there to see her beloved. The man who has her heart instead of me.

He winced and touched his chest, his heart cracking. It pained him to watch Marina go, to speak to her with no warmth, but what else could he do? He had to protect himself and his family, and she could not be trusted now. The evidence was clear.

His other hand reached for the small, crumpled ball of paper on his desk and smoothed it out. Amidst the creases, he read the note that had confirmed everything, the note that meant he could no longer keep Marina here, regardless of how he felt for her.

I have what you desire. Come to me tomorrow afternoon. You know where.

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