Page 7 of Marquess of Stone

Diana started blushing when she realized they had been overheard, “Marian. We were just…”

“Talking about my well-being, apparently,” Marian concluded for her, glaring at Lord Stone with her hazel eyes. “My Lord, do you think my private matters merit such… attention?”

Lord Stone’s blue eyes danced with a shadow of amusement as he cocked his head slightly. “Many people are very interested in your well-being, Lady Marian. However, it’s clear now that you would rather deal with these issues directly.”

“Yes,” Marian said in a calm voice. “And I would be grateful if certain individuals would not concern themselves with my personal matters.”

Sensing her sister’s stress, Diana’s eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. Marian’s tone softened somewhat as she turned to face her. “Should we go back inside? It grows late, and mother will surely be wondering where we have gone.”

Diana nodded, her relief evident as she took Marian’s arm. Together, they began to walk back toward the house, leaving Lord Stone standing alone in the shadows. Marian felt his eyes following them, the weight of it like a physical touch against her back.

Marian’s mind still whirled with unresolved questions and the rising irritation toward the Marquess when they arrived at the doors. Still, her will was stronger than it had ever been. She would face whatever lie ahead with the same will that had driven her thus far in life.

She felt irritated with her entire life. The pressure from her mother to secure a favorable match, though understandable, felt like a knife in her side. She had known this was coming since the day her mother had successfully married off Lydia — that the pressure and expectation would shift to her next. But Marian felt unhappy with her life, and she wished it could all be different. Her irritation had — at times — burst free from her in a way that made her feel like a different person entirely, but even though she tried her best, she could not keep it from bubbling to the surface.

CHAPTER 3

“Diana, this has gone too far,” Marian’s voice quivered as she drew her sister to the side, her irritation barely concealed.

Diana’s face dropped, her typical composure shattering under Marian’s commanding tone. “I merely intended to express my regrets for acting inappropriately last night,” she murmured softly, her hands tightly clasped before her. “I assumed it would be helpful.”

“Helpful?” Marian repeated, her hazel eyes ablaze. “By attempting to speak to the Marquess about me? Diana, that’s far more inappropriate. If they knew, the ton would buzz like flies over spilled honey.”

Diana cringed slightly at the wrath of her sister. “I just thought —”

“You never thought about any of this,” Marian remarked angrily although regret was already creeping into her voice.

Based on how Diana’s lips trembled, the words stung; Marian forced herself to meet her sister’s stare. “That is precisely the problem,” Marian cut in though regret was already creeping into her voice. “You acted on impulse rather than reason. These are not the actions of a mind I know to be capable of far better judgement.

Diana nodded reluctantly, her gaze dropping to the floor. Marian reached out, squeezing her sister’s hand briefly. “We cannot simply disregard the customs that govern our world — even to stand up for one another — no matter how arbitrary those customs might seem. Even the most brilliant minds must bow to certain realities.” She paused, her own words settling heavily onto her shoulders. When she continued, her voice was softer, “I appreciate your intent, truly, but this is my battle to wage, not yours. Go back to the ballroom. I shall be there in a moment.”

Diana hesitated, but after a moment, she turned and walked away, her shoulders hunched.

As soon as her sister was out of sight, Marian leaned against the wall, her chest heaving with unsteady breaths. Marian had quite enjoyed spending the day exploring the Fyre Estate’s vast library, and she had hoped she could spend the evening reading. But, once the ball was announced, the pressure from her mother was unavoidable, and Marian and her sisters had resolved to attend. The occurrences of the last night, along with her sister’s persistent efforts to interfere, had rendered her vulnerable — her feelings ensnared in a knot she could not even start to unravel.

Her fingers moved to her sleeve, knowing that just touching the parchment she concealed there would stabilize her. It was then that she noticed that something was wrong.

Her list. It was missing.

Panic shot through her like lighting. She fumbled at her sleeve, her fingertips brushing between her soft skin and the fine fabric of her gown as her mind simply refused to comprehend what was happening. But no matter how deeply she stuck her fingers in, it was still empty.

“No… no!” she whispered, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She retraced her steps in her mind, trying to remember the last time she had seen it. The library? The breakfast room? The garden? Had it somehow ended up in a different place along the way? She couldn’t bear the embarrassment of anyone examining her most personal thoughts, her concealed defiance against the life she was supposed to lead. The thought of someone finding it triggered a surge of anxiety that crashed over her. Nonetheless, there was no opportunity to search. The muted sounds of music and laughter from the ballroom reminded her that her absence would be noted if she lingered too long. Taking a deep breath, Marian smoothed the fabric of her gown and forced herself to walk back toward the ballroom, her composure carefully restored yet as delicate as a porcelain teacup teetering on the edge of a table, poised to shatter at the slightest motion.

The heat and noise of the ballroom surrounded her as she entered, but it did little to soothe her nerves. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of the misplaced list, even though she understood deep down it was a futile quest.

“Lady Marian.”

The deep, familiar voice sent a chill down her spine. She turned to see Lord Stone standing behind her, his expression unreadable, yet his dark eyes contained a hint of amusement as they connected with hers.

“My Lord,” she replied coldly, her heart still racing.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance?” he inquired, his voice smooth but with a subtle hint of challenge.

Marian’s initial urge was to decline, to reject him and walk away. But the intensity of his gaze — and the knowing grin that lingered at the edges of his lips — combined with her mother’s stern look from across the room left her with few options.

“Very well,” she said reluctantly, placing her hand in his.

Lord Stone led her onto the dance floor with an easy grace, his touch warm and steady. The orchestra struck up a waltz, the music soft and sweeping as they moved together in perfect rhythm. For the first few moments, neither of them spoke. Marian’s nerves prickled under the silence; the intensity of his gaze locking onto hers in such close proximity, the feeling of his hands on her waist, and the heat from his body made her chest tighten. She made herself look anywhere but at him, concentrating on the other couples whirling across the floor.

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