Page 42 of Marquess of Stone

“He is lying, Father,” Marian said, but her voice sounded small to even her own ears. “Surely you cannot believe —”

“Silence.” The single word fell like a judge’s gavel. Lord Drownshire’s face had gone a particular shade of purple that usually preceded either an apoplexy or a sermon on familial honor. He tilted his head toward his wife. “Take your daughter inside. Now.”

“I assure you, My Lord,” the Viscount’s voice followed them as her mother’s iron grip guided her toward the terrace doors, “I bear no ill will. Young ladies sometimes simply allow their… passions to overcome their judgment. Though I must say, given certain rumors about her previous… indiscretions, perhaps this behavior should not be entirely surprising.”

Marian wanted to turn back. She wanted to slap him. To defend herself. To scream the truth toward the heavens, but her mother’s fingers dug into her arm with warning pressure. They swept through the ballroom like twin ghosts, ignored by some and watched avidly by others. Marian caught glimpses of familiar faces — Jane’s worried frown, Diana’s wide eyes, and Lydia’s expression of confused concern.

But the one person whose reaction she cared about most was nowhere to be seen. The thought struck her with unexpected force, adding fresh pain to an already overwhelming tide of emotion.

“To think,” her mother’s whispered fury cut through her thoughts as they climbed the main staircase, “that a daughter of mine would behave with such… such…”

“Mama, please” Marian tried to explain, “it was not what it seemed. The Viscount —”

“The Viscount?” Lady Prudence’s laugh held no humor. “He is a peer of the realm who has just been compromised by your utterly shocking and dare I say, repulsive behavior. Do you have any idea what this will do to your sisters’ prospects? To our family’s reputation?”

They reached Marian’s chambers where her mother finally released her grip. “Pack your belongings,” she ordered, her voice clipped with barely contained fury. “We leave for London at first light.”

“But —”

“Not another word, young lady.” Lady Prudence’s face softened fractionally. “Perhaps… perhaps your father can persuade him to offer you a match. To salvage something from this disaster.”

The suggestion made Marian sick to her stomach, and for a moment, she thought she might vomit. “I would rather die.”

She moved to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass as tears threatened once more. Below, she could see figures moving on the terrace — the Viscount holding court, no doubt, spreading his poisonous version of events to eager ears.

A movement caught her eye — a familiar tall figure striding across the lawn toward the stables, his characteristic grace unmistakable even in the darkness. Nicholas. Walking away. Again.

Marian closed her eyes, feeling the last pieces of her heart crumbling within her rib cage like a too-large log that had been placed into a hearth, burnt to crisp charcoal that disintegrated at the first touch.

How fitting, she thought bitterly, that her attempt to experience life had not just given her more than she had hoped for, but it had also led her directly to the very fate she had been trying to temporarily escape. It seems she was either destined to be married to an evil man or become a spinster.

The irony would have been amusing if it wasn’t so devastatingly final.

CHAPTER 12

“Well?” her father’s voice cut through the silence like a poorly wielded razor. “Have you got nothing to say in your own defense?”

Marian lifted her chin, meeting her father’s gaze with what little dignity she could muster. “Would it matter at all if I did, Father?”

“Marian.” Her mother’s voice held that particular note of desperation that made Marian’s chest ache. “Surely you can see that your behavior —”

“My behavior?” The laugh that escaped her held no trace of humor whatsoever. “And what of the Viscount’s behavior? His threats toward me, and the rest of this family? What of his unwanted advances I was forced to endure?”

“Threats?” Her father’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “The Viscount’s letter suggests quite a different scenario.”

“He is lying!” Marian said, the words emerging with a quiet intensity. “Each and every word is a carefully constructed falsehood designed to protect only himself while utterly destroying my reputation.”

“And why,” her father demanded, “should he have any wish to destroy your reputation? What possible motivation could a peer of the realm have for such actions?”

Because I outright rejected him,Marian thought.Because I dared to have opinions. To speak my mind. To exist as more than a decorative ornament for his clearly fragile ego. Because he saw me with Nicholas and decided that if he could not succeed in possessing me, he would do all he could to ensure that no one else would want to.

“Your silence, Marian,” her mother said softly, “rather speaks for itself, does it not?”

“Does it?” Marian’s voice emerged sharper than she had intended. “Just as your own silence spoke volumes when I was a child? When you watched society slowly crush every spark of independence from my sisters and myself, all in the name of propriety?”

“Marian!” Her father’s warning tone might have once cowed her, but now, she found she had nothing left to lose, and a combination of anger, indignation, and courage surged through her.

“No,” she continued, rising from her chair. “You truly wish me to speak in my defense? Very well. I reject the Viscount’s version of events entirely. I reject his implied offer of marriage if he truly deigned to make it. And I woefully reject the notion that my reputation should rest entirely on the word of a man who thinks women should be seen and not heard.”

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