Page 46 of Marquess of Stone

“You shall wear a hole in the carpet if you continue that pacing,” Jane observed from the doorway, her expression caught between amusement and concern. “I take it you have made a decision about Lord Stone’s request?”

Marian turned, momentarily startled by her sister’s presence. She waved her hand for Jane to lower her voice. “I should not go,” she said, though the words carried more question than conviction.

“And yet, your best walking dress suggests otherwise,” Jane replied, gesturing to the garment laid carefully across the bed – a creation of dark green muslin that brought out the color of Marian’s eyes and had, coincidentally, once drawn a rare compliment from Nicholas.

“Merely coincidence,” Marian insisted, though the flush rising to her cheeks betrayed her.

Jane’s laughter held no malice, only the fond exasperation of a sister who saw through such transparent deception. “Coincidence indeed. Just as it is coincidence that you have arranged your hair in that particular style?”

“I merely thought it practical for the wind.” Marian protested weakly.

“Of course.” Jane agreed, her tone making it clear she believed nothing of the sort. “Just as it’s purely practical that you have spent the past half-hour pacing your room, rehearsing clever remarks to a man you claim holds no particular interest.”

Marian sank to the edge of her bed, the carefully arranged dress shifting beneath her weight. “This is a terrible mistake, isn’t it?” she asked, vulnerability replacing her earlier defensiveness.

Jane crossed the room to sit beside her, taking Marian’s restless hands into hers. “The only mistake would be allowing fear to dictate your choices,” she said, her usually playfulness replaced by a rare earnestness. “Whether you decide to meet with Lord Stone, or not, let it be your decision – not one made from fear of what might be, or what others might think. Has that not always been your way?”

“And if I go… if I decide to listen to… whatever it is he wishes to say.. what then?” Marian’s voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, as if voicing her concerns at full volume might somehow give them greater power.

“Then, you willknow.” Jane’s response was straightforward. “And knowing is undoubtedly preferable to constantly wondering what might have been.”

The subtle notes of the clock on the mantlepiece reminded them that time was still moving forward, unbothered with humanity’s indecisive nature as it chimed the quarter-hour.

“You are right.” She said, reaching for her dress. “I shall hear what he has to say, if only to put an end to this… uncertainty.”

Jane’s smile held both approval and a hint of something deeper. “Would you like me to accompany you? I could wait at a discreet distance.”

“No,” Marian replied, her tone firmer now. “This is a conversation I must have in private.”

By eleven o’clock, Marian had completed her preparations, her walking dress perfectly complimented by a straw bonnet trimmed with ribbons that matched the deeper emerald of its sash. She had chosen practical half-boots for the park’s gravel paths, and a light pelisse against the possibility of those threatening rain clouds that drifted across the English sky.

“I shall return before tea,” she informed her mother, carefully phrasing her outing as a casual constitutional rather than the potentially life-altering meeting it might prove to be.

Lady Prudence looked up from her correspondence, her gaze sharpening with maternal assessment as she took in Marian’s appearance. “The park seems a rather distant choice for a solitary walk. Perhaps Diana might accompany you?”

“I prefer to clear my thoughts alone,” Marian replied, the partial truth allowing her to meet her mother’s eyes without betraying the fuller purpose of her excursion. “After recent events, some quiet contemplation seems… necessary.”

The reference to her recent scandal with the Viscount achieved its intended effect, Lady Prudence’s expression softening into sympathy tinged with resignation. “Very well. Though do take Thompson with you, at least as far as the park gates. Propriety may be damaged, but we needn’t abandon it entirely.”

The compromise accepted, Marian soon found herself walking the familiar route to the park, the family’s aging footman maintaining a respectful distance behind her. The weight of anticipation hung heavier with each step, her carefully rehearsed opening remarks fading like morning mist in the growing heat of her anxiety.

What did Nicholas want? His note had offered no hint of purpose, no suggestion of whether this meeting was to be one of reconciliation or final farewell. The uncertainty was perhaps the cruelest aspect – this man who approached business with such calculated clarity had now left her suspended in emotional ambiguity.

The old oak came into view as she rounded the curved path, its ancient branches spreading like protective arms over the small bench beneath. And there, standing beside it, the unmistakable figure of Nicholas Grant, Marquess of Stone – his tall form rendered even more imposing by the severity of his dark coat and the rigid line of his shoulders as he stood with his back to her, apparently lost in contemplation of the distant lake.

Marian hesitated, her courage momentarily faltering. She could still turn back. He had not seen her; she could fabricate some excuse about sudden illness or forgotten obligations. The temptation to flee flared bright and urgent, a self – protective instinct warning against further vulnerability.

Then, as if sensing her presence, Nicholas turned. The distance between them was too great to discern his expression clearly, yet something in the sudden alertness of his posture, the way he straightened and took half a step forward before restraining himself, told her that retreat was no longer an option.

Taking a steadying breath, Marian dismissed Thompson with a quiet instruction to return in an hour, then squared her shoulders and continued forward along the path. Each step carried her closer to Nicholas, closer to whatever revelation or resolution awaited beneath the spreading branches of the old oak tree.

Nicholas watched her approach, his expression schooled into the careful neutrality that had become his hallmark in business negotiations. Only the slight tensing of his jaw betrayed any emotion as Marian drew near, her green dress catching the filtered sunlight that penetrated the oak’s canopy.

“Lady Marian,” he greeted her, executing a bow of perfect correctness. "I am grateful you came."

“Your tone suggested urgency,” she replied, proud of how steady her voice remained despite the tumultuous beating of her heart. “Though it offered little in the way of explanation.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it. “Some matters are better discussed in person than committed to paper, however briefly.”

---