Page 43 of Marquess of Stone

“You cannot simply reject reality,” her mother protested. “Society —”

“Society,” Marian cut in, “has already condemned me, has it not? The whispers will have started, and surely the rumors will be flying soon. By noon, every drawing room in London will be discussing my fall from grace. So, tell me, Mama, what exactly am I meant to defend myself against?”

“Very well,” Lord Drownshire said finally, his voice carrying the full weight of his judgment. “If you insist on maintaining this… attitude, you leave us no choice. You will depart for Bath in four days’ time. Your Aunt Margaret has already been informed of the situation.”

The pronouncement should have felt like a death sentence. Instead, Marian felt an odd sense of calm settle over her. “As you wish.”

“Marian, please,” her mother tried one last time. “If you would only bring yourself to show some remorse… some understanding of the gravity of —”

“The only thing I understand,” Marian replied, moving toward the door, “is that the truth matters far less in appearance and that a woman’s words count for nothing against a man’s accusations.”

“You know, I always thought the worst fate would be ending up like Aunt Margaret — unmarried, dependent, locked away from society’s prying eyes. How strange I find it to discover that the true tragedy is not spinsterhood after all… but rather the fact that I am expected to apologize for being the victim of someone else’s cruelty. Even more so, that it is expected from those closest to my heart. I would have thought you knew me better and had more faith in my words.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow carried more finality than any slam could have achieved. In the corridor, she pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape her.

She had exactly ninety-six hours until her exile began. Ninety-six hours to pack away not only her personal belongings but every dream, every wish, every hope she had ever harbored about controlling her own destiny.

A soft knock interrupted her melancholy inventory. “Enter,” she called, expecting her maid with more packing materials.

Instead, Jane slipped into the room, closing the door with conspiratorial care. “I have brought news,” she announced without preamble, her eyes bright with barely contained fury. “The Viscount has been spreadinghisversion of events with enthusiastic care, ensuring that it has been heard in every drawing room in London.

“How unsurprising,” Marian replied while carefully folding a muslin gown she had worn just days ago at the house party. Had it really only been days? It felt like centuries had passed since she had been that silly girl who thought she could taste freedom without any consequences.

“That is not all,” Jane said as she perched on the edge of the bed, her expression unusually serious. “Diana overheard him speaking with Lord Colborne outside White’s club. He was… boasting about putting you in your place once and for all. It seems he had quite a bit to say about teaching you the consequences of rejection.”

Something cold settled in Marian’s stomach. “Did anyone else hear?”

“That is just it.” Jane’s frustration was palpable. “Several gentlemen were present, but none seemed inclined to challenge him. After all,” her voice took on a bitter edge, “what is one reputation against the word of a Viscount?”

Marian set down the gown she had been folding, her hands suddenly unsteady. “And… do you know if perhaps… Lord Stone was among them?”

Jane’s expression softened with sympathy. “No. According to the gossip we could ascertain from the staff — you know how they always seem to know everything — he has not been seen in London since the night of the ball. He apparently returned directly to his estate in Derbyshire.”

Of course, he had. Why would he stay? What was her ruination to him, after all? Just another item crossed off her foolish list — though perhaps not in the way either of them had intended.

“Marian,” Jane’s voice carried an unusual note of hesitation, “there is something else. Something Diana and I have been discussing…”

“Oh?” Marian raised an eyebrow at her sister, recognizing the tone she was using. It was the very same one she usually used when she was about to propose something scandalous.

“What if… you did not go to Bath?”

“I hardly think I have any choice in the matter, Jane.”

“But what if you did?” Jane leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with that particular brand of rebellion that had always gotten them into trouble as children. Marian’s heart clenched at the sight — it had been years since she had seen her sister like this. “What if,” Jane continued, “instead of accepting exile like a proper penitent, you fought back?”

“I do not think you have any idea of what precisely you are suggesting.”

“What do you mean?”

Marian stared at her sister for a moment. “Fight back? Against what exactly? Society itself? Against the Viscount’s influence? Against our parents’ decision?”

“Against all of it.” Jane declared with the fierce certainty of youth. “Think about it Marian — you are already ruined in society’s eyes. What more could they truly do to you?”

“They can ruin you and Diana as well,” Marian pointed out. “They can-”

A commotion from downstairs interrupted her protest. Raised voices carried through the floorboards, followed by the distinctive sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs.

“Lady Marian!” Their butler’s voice carried an unusual note of urgency, making him sound almost mouse-like. “Your presence is required immediately in the drawing room.”

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