Page 26 of Marquess of Stone

“For this. For…” She gestured vaguely at the view, at the space between them. “For helping me with my ridiculous list. I would never have managed without you.”

“Ah, the infamous list.” He turned to study her profile. “Might I ask… why did you make it?”

She was quiet for a long moment, plucking absently at a blade of grass. “Because I suppose — by society’s standards — I am a spinster already,” she admitted finally with a self-depreciating smile that made his breath catch. “I simply wanted to… live a little… before my life is declared over and done with.”

“I was under the impression that spinsterhood offered certain freedoms,” he ventured carefully.

“Perhaps for some.” Her laugh held little humor. “My parents are… different. I chose not to marry knowing I would likely spend my days helping them marry off my sisters, maintaining the household and so on… but after Lydia managed to secure a match with aDuke…” She sighed heavily. “… well, it seems my mother and father cannot help themselves.”

Nicholas watched a hawk circle lazily overhead, considering her words carefully. “I understand. I was nineteen,” he said finally, “when my father died, and I inherited the title. I barely left the estate for six years, determined to repair what he had…” He paused, searching for a diplomatic word that was fit to use in the company of a lady.

“Ruined?” she supplied gently.

“Quite.” He offered her a wry smile. “And after I succeeded, after everything ran smoothly again, I found myself rather… lost. I excel at business, at restoration, but life…” He chuckled cynically. “… that is another matter entirely. Your list…” He glanced at her, something warm unfurling in his chest at her attentive expression. “… it reminded me that there might just be more to life than ledgers and responsibility.”

“If I were to lend my ears to the gossip that precedes your reputation, I would have thought you had already figured that out,” she teased.

Nicholas laughed lightly and nodded his head. “Touche.”

“Sometimes,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon, “I do wonder if this is what birds must feel like… this sense of endless possibility.”

“And do you wish to fly away then, Marian?” he asked, his voice unusually curious.

She turned to face him then, and the look in her eyes made his breath catch. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “I am already flying.”

The weight of unspoken words hung between them like morning mist, neither quite ready to acknowledge the dangerous truth that was becoming harder and harder to ignore: that some walls were worth the risk of breaking.

The moment shattered as Marian suddenly registered the sun’s position. “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. “We need to get back!”

Their return to the manor was a blur of barely suppressed laughter and careful stealth, ducking through the servant’s stairwell and nearly startling a poor maid out of her wits. They managed to make themselves presentable just before the dinner bell’s imperious summons rang through the house. Marian slipped into her seat just as the first course was being served, aware of her mother’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Marian,” Lady Prudence’s voice carried that familiar blend of concern and criticism that only mothers are able to achieve, “you look rather… flushed. Perhaps your headache requires more rest? Should we send for the physician?”

Marian almost choked on her wine. “That is not necessary, thank you, Mother. I took a walk in the garden earlier,” she said while carefully arranging her napkin. “I found the sunshine and fresh air quite… restorative.”

“Did you encounter anyone else taking advantage of the fine weather?” the Baroness Hountshire inquired, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed curiosity. “Lord Stone, I noticed your absence in the village yesterday.”

Nicholas’ attempt at disguising his laugh as a cough earned him a sharp pinch under the table as Marian shot him a warning look, and her heart melted at the smile that curved his lips.

He retaliated by clearing his throat in earnest and addressing the table at large. “Speaking of intellectual pursuits, has anyone read Mary Wollstonecraft’s latest work?”

“Good heavens,” Lady Prudence murmured, “must we discuss such… worrisome topics at the dinner table?”

“I find her arguments regarding educational reform quite compelling,” Marian could not resist adding her own opinion, and she watched her mother’s expression shift from mild disapproval to genuine concern.

Diana, who usually was quiet and reserved, joined in unexpectedly, “I… I actually found her chapter on emotional intelligence quite fascinating.”

“Did you indeed?” Jane grinned at her twin. “And here I though you only read those gothic romance novels I spotted under your pillow.”

“I do not think —” Lady Prudence began, but she was cut off by a loud, authoritative voice.

“Ladies,” their father warned from where he sat across from his wife and daughters though his tone held more resignation than real censure.

“Actually,” Nicholas interjected smoothly, “her views on emotional equality are perhaps even more revolutionary than her educational theories. Would you not agree, Lady Marian?”

“Oh, certainly, Lord Stone.” Marian’s eyes sparkled with intellectual challenge. “Though I find her argument about the artificial constraints society places on female intellectual development particularly relevant.”

“Relevant to what, precisely?” the Viscount Crowton cut in, his tone carrying that particular edge of aristocratic disdain that made Marian’s spine stiffen. “Surely you are not suggesting that ladies should be afforded the same educational opportunities as gentlemen?”

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