Page 36 of Marquess of Stone

“I am quite sure I have no idea what you mean, Jane.”

“Don’t you?” Jane’s knowing look could have peeled the wallpaper from the drawing room’s walls. “You have spent the entire morning looking everywhereexceptat Lord Stone which rather defeats the purpose of pretending not to look at him at all.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Marian protested though she felt a familiar heat crawl its way up her neck.

“Neither does whatever happened between the two of you, yet here we are.” Jane linked their arms together, her touch offering silent sisterly support. “Though, I must say, he does seem equally afflicted. I have never seen a gentleman so fascinated by every door you exit through.”

As if summoned by her words, Nicholas appeared at the far end of the garden path, deep in conversation with the Duke of Myste. Marian’s steps faltered for just a moment before she forced herself to continue forward, chin lifted in what she hoped to be a casual disinterest rather than desperate preservation of what little dignity she had left.

She saw the exact moment he registered her presence — the slight pause in his stride, the way his hand tightened almost imperceptibly into a fist at his side. Their eyes met across the carefully manicured lawn, and for a heartbeat, everything else seemed to blur and fade away.

Then, the Viscount’s voice cut through the garden air like a badly tuned violin, and reality came crashing back. “Lady Marian. What luck it is running into you.”

“Your luck seems rather persistent today, My Lord,” Diana spoke up unexpectedly from beside Marian, her voice carrying a rare note of steel beneath her usual demureness. “This is the third ‘chance’ encounter in as many hours.”

The Viscount’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “Lady Diana. I hadn’t noticed you there. You blend so… seamlessly into the background.”

“A rather useful skill,” Jane cut in, linking her arm protectively through her twin’s. “One learns so much more about people’s true nature when they think themselves unobserved.”

Marian felt a sense of pride at her sister’s united front. “Indeed. Though some natures require little observation to discern.”

Marian felt Nicholas’ attention sharpen even as she turned to address the unwelcome interruption. The Viscount approached with his usual blend of entitlement and false charm, either ignorant of or deliberately ignoring the tension he had walked into.

“My Lord,” she inclined her head politely, “I fear you mistake fortune for inevitability. In a house party of this size, encounters are rather difficult to avoid,” she said dryly, stealing a glimpse at Nicholas. She caught his poorly concealed smile at her barb, even as the Viscount’s expression soured noticeably.

“Perhaps,” he recovered smoothly, “though some encounters are more welcome than others.”

The Baroness Hountshire chose this moment to sweep into their circle like an elegantly dressed hurricane. “My dears! Such a charming gathering. Lord Crowton, I do believe Lady Wellington was just asking after you. Something about your investment in her husband’s shipping venture?”

The Viscount’s expression suggested the investment was one he’d rather forget about entirely. “Was she? How… inconvenient. Please, excuse me,” he said, turning on his heels and leaving the ladies behind.

“My dear Lady Marian,” the Baroness continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy, “I could not help but notice your rather… spirited discussion with Lord Stone at dinner. Such passion for literature is quite remarkable in one so young as yourself.”

“Indeed,” Jane interjected smoothly, “though not nearly as remarkable as your ability to witness every conversation in a house this size, Baroness. One might almost suspect you of possessing supernatural powers of observation.”

“Either that,” Marian jested, “or an acute knowledge of secrete passageways which if youdopossess, youmustshare it with us, My Lady.”

Diana’s soft voice chimed in with impeccable timing, “Or perhaps just an excess of leisure time.”

The Baroness chuckled, but her fan fluttered like an agitated bird. “Such clever tongues you Brandon girls possess. One hopes it will not interfere with your prospects.

“Better a clever tongue,” Marian replied with deadly sweetness, “than a loose one, would you not agree, Baroness?”

The afternoon hours draped themselves across the estate, beautiful but suffocatingly warm. Nicholas found himself haunting the periphery of every gathering, his attention divided between watching Marian and monitoring the Viscount’s increasingly bold attempts to corner her. He silently wondered if the old man was truly taken with her, and as such had chosen to ignore her constant jabs and dejections, or if he was playing at something larger, scheming at something to hurt her.

“You are becoming rather obvious, old friend,” Elias murmured as they stood observing yet another one of the Viscount’s failed attempts to engage Marian in conversation. “One might almost think you were… concerned.”

“That man,” Nicholas replied, “is a snake.” He took a measured sip of his drink to hide his expression. “And Lady Marian, well, she seems determined to handle him on her own.”

“Ah, yes, you and your constant vigilance. It is purely altruistic, I am sure.” Elias’s knowing tone made Nicholas’s jaw tighten. “I suppose it has nothing at all to do with how you have not managed to look away from her for more than two minutes at a time since breakfast?”

“You are being absurd,” Nicholas said dryly.

“Am I?”

“I am simply being… cautious that a lady’s virtue is not threatened.”

“Is that what we are calling it now?” Elias raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. And tell me, does this caution extend to all the ladies present? And how precisely does it explain why you look like you’ve swallowed poison each time she smiles at someone else?”

---