The words hung in the air between them, dangerous and intoxicating.
"You must not say such things," Marie whispered, though she made no move to leave.
"Why not? Because society dictates I should marry the eldest? Because your father and mine arranged it so? What of the heart, Marie?"
"The heart has no place in marriages of our station," she replied, repeating the lesson she had been taught since childhood.
Charles leaned closer.
"Then why does mine race whenever you enter a room?"
Marie stood abruptly.
"This is madness. You are engaged to my sister."
"An engagement that can be broken," he suggested.
"At the cost of her reputation? Of our family's standing?"
"Some prices are worth paying."
Marie shook her head.
"You cannot mean this. We barely know each other."
"Then allow me to remedy that," Charles said, rising to stand before her. "Meet me again tomorrow."
Marie knew she should refuse, knew she should report this conversation to her father or to Anne. Instead, she heard herself say, "Same time. Same place."
As she hurried away, Marie told herself she would use tomorrow's meeting to discourage the Duke's inappropriate attention. Yet the seed of possibility had taken root, and with it, the dark satisfaction of finally stepping from her sister's shadow.
What began as a single clandestine meeting multiplied into weeks of secret encounters. What started as curiosity transformed into obsession, and what Marie initially justified as mere conversation evolved into forbidden touches and whispered promises.
The bitterness she had harbored for years found expression in her growing attachment to Charles, attachment that, to her surprise, seemed genuinely returned.
Three weeks before Anne's wedding, the scandal broke.
The Duke of Westmere publicly announced the termination of his engagement to Lady Anne Hobart and, in the same breath, declared his intention to marry her younger sister, Marie.
Society was aghast. The Hobart family was devastated, and Anne, gentle, trusting Anne, was shattered.
The drawing room of Hobart House had never felt so suffocating.
Anne sat rigidly on the settee, her face a mask of composure that belied the turmoil within. Opposite her, her father, Lord Edmund Hobart, paced furiously, his face flushed with rage and humiliation.
"A disgrace," he thundered. "An absolute disgrace. How could she do this to our family? To you?"
Lady Eleanor Hobart dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
"I never thought Marie capable of such treachery."
Anne stared at the intricate pattern of the Persian rug beneath her feet. Three days had passed since Charles had publicly broken their engagement. Three days of whispers and pitying glances. Three days of pretending she wasn't dying inside.
"What will become of you now?" her mother lamented. "The season is half over, and every eligible bachelor believes you somehow deficient, having been cast aside for your own sister."
"Eleanor," Lord Hobart admonished. "Mind your words."
Anne finally spoke, her voice remarkably steady.
"I am not concerned with finding another match this season."
"Nonsense," her father replied. "We must act quickly to salvage your reputation."
"My reputation?" Anne looked up, a flicker of anger breaking through her careful composure. "I have done nothing wrong, yet society treats me as though I have. Meanwhile, Marie and Charles are merely weathering a storm of gossip before emerging as the Duke and Duchess of Westmere."
Lord Hobart's expression softened slightly.
"It is unjust, my dear. Cruelly so."
A knock at the door interrupted them.
Simmons, the family butler, entered with a silver tray bearing a calling card.
"His Grace, the Duke of Norfolk, requests an audience with Lady Anne," he announced.
All three Hobarts exchanged puzzled glances.
Lord David Harrington, the Duke of Norfolk, was one of England's most powerful peers and a distant cousin of the Hobarts through Lady Eleanor's side. Though he occasionally attended the same social functions, he had never before called specifically on Anne.
"Show him in," Lord Hobart decided quickly.
A visit from such an influential peer might help quell the rumors surrounding the family.
Moments later, the Duke of Norfolk entered the drawing room, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and penetrating gray eyes. Lord Harrington cut an imposing figure. At 32, he was older than most of society's eligible bachelors, yet his failure to marry had done nothing to diminish his desirability.
"Your Grace," Lord Hobart greeted warmly, perhaps too warmly. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Lord Hobart, Lady Hobart," the Duke acknowledged with a respectful bow before turning his attention to Anne. "Lady Anne, I hope I find you well."
Anne rose and curtsied.
"As well as can be expected, Your Grace."
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room, broken when Lady Hobart suddenly declared, "Edmund, I believe we have that matter to attend to in the library."
Lord Hobart looked momentarily confused before understanding dawned.
"Ah, yes, that urgent matter. If you'll excuse us, Your Grace. Simmons will remain just outside should you require anything."
Once her parents had departed with transparent haste, Anne gestured to the settee across from her.
"Please, be seated, Your Grace."
The Duke sat, his posture perfect yet somehow not rigid.
"I'll come directly to the point, Lady Anne. I've called to express my concern for your well-being in light of recent events."
Anne's carefully constructed facade threatened to crumble at this unexpected kindness.
"That is most considerate, Your Grace, though hardly necessary."
"On the contrary, I believe it entirely necessary," he countered. "What has transpired is unconscionable."
"These things happen in society," Anne said, repeating the platitude her mother had been offering to curious callers.
"No," Lord Harrington said firmly. "They do not. Not among honorable people."
The bluntness of his response startled Anne into honesty.
"Then perhaps my sister and the Duke of Westmere are not honorable people."
"Perhaps not," he agreed. "Though I confess my concern lies not with their characters, but with the injury done to you."
Anne studied him, trying to discern his purpose.