Page 54 of Marquess of Stone

“I understand,” he replied, his deep voice carrying that particular quality of quiet authority that suggested compliance was not merely expected but inevitable. “Please inform Lady Marian that I shall wait until she is prepared to receive me — however long that might require.”

The butler’s composure wavered fractionally, a subtle widening of the eyes the only betrayal of his surprise at this pronounced deviation from proper protocol. “My Lord, I’m not certain —”

“I am perfectly comfortable waiting,” Nicholas interrupted, removing his gloves with deliberate movements that somehow managed to convey both courtesy and implacability. He handed them to the startled servant with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to having his wishes fulfilled. “Perhaps in the small drawing room if that would not inconvenience the family.”

The subtle emphasis on “small” rather than “grand” drawing room was not lost on the butler — a strategic choice that suggested a desire for privacy rather than formal reception. The servant hesitated, caught between the impropriety of allowing the unusual request and the greater impropriety of refusing a marquess.

“Very well, My Lord. If you would follow me.”

The mantel clock ticked away minutes with merciless precision as he waited, each passing quarter-hour marked by delicate chimes that seemed to emphasize the irregular nature of his visit. Occasionally, hushed voices and hurried footsteps could be heard beyond the closed door — evidence of the household’s consternation at his continued presence.

The first hour passed with only a single interruption — a maid bearing tea service who entered with such wide-eyed trepidation, one might have thought she approached a caged predator rather than a gentleman caller. Nicholas thanked her with punctilious courtesy that only seemed to increase her discomfort before she fled with a hasty curtsy.

The second hour brought Lady Prudence herself, her entrance preceded by the distinctive rustle of silk and the subtle aroma of lavender water that marked her personal presence. She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of the Marquess still positioned at the window, teacup in hand as if his extended vigil were the most natural arrangement imaginable.

“Lord Stone,” she greeted him, her voice carrying that particular blend of politeness and perplexity that society ladies perfected for unexpected situations, “this is most… unconventional.”

Nicholas turned toward her, executing a bow of perfect correctness despite the circumstances. “Lady Drownshire, I apologize for any disruption my presence causes your household.”

“Disruption,” she echoed, moving into the room with measured steps that suggested careful consideration rather than spontaneous movement. “Yes, one might describe it as such. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to the purpose of this… extended call?”

“I must speak with Lady Marian,” he replied simply, setting aside his teacup with deliberate precision. “On a matter of significant importance to us both.”

Lady Prudence’s eyebrows rose fractionally, the only outward sign of her surprise at his directness. “My daughter has made her position regarding further conversation with you quite clear, My Lord. Surely a gentleman of your standing understands the importance of respecting a lady’s wishes?”

“I understand the importance of truth,” Nicholas countered, his tone remaining courteous despite the underlying steel. “And I fear that certain misapprehensions exist between Lady Marian and myself which can only be resolved through direct conversation.”

“Misapprehensions,” Lady Prudence repeated, settling herself on a small settee with the careful arrangement of skirts that came as naturally to her as breathing. “An interesting choice of words, My Lord.”

“But an accurate one, I believe.”

A silence stretched between them, filled only by the gentle ticking of the clock and the distant sounds of a household attempting to maintain its routine despite the disruption of its emotional center. Lady Prudence studied him with the careful assessment of a general reconsidering battlefield strategy.

“You declined my daughter’s hand,” she observed finally, her voice carrying a hint of genuine puzzlement beneath its practiced composure. “She has accepted this outcome with remarkable grace, all things considered. What possible purpose could be served by prolonging the matter?”

Nicholas met her gaze directly, allowing a fraction more emotion to show in his expression than his usual careful control permitted. “I did not decline her hand, Lady Drownshire. She declined mine.”

Lady Prudence’s fan appeared in her hand as if conjured, its gentle movement creating a subtle current of air that carried the scent of the nearby flowers. “A semantic distinction, surely.”

“A crucial one,” Nicholas corrected gently. “And one which lies at the heart of the misunderstanding I wish to address.”

The third hour of Nicholas’s unexpected vigil brought Lord Silas himself, his entrance marked by the subtle aroma of tobacco that clung to his clothing despite his wife’s ongoing campaign against the habit. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with poorly concealed astonishment — his wife engaged in what appeared to be an almost companionable conversation with the very man whose proposal their daughter had so recently refused.

“Stone,” he greeted, the single syllable carrying a complex mixture of respect, wariness, and genuine puzzlement. “I understand you have been waiting some time to speak with Marian.”

Nicholas rose from the chair he had finally been persuaded to occupy, offering a bow of perfect correctness to the older man. “Lord Drownshire. Indeed, I find myself unwilling to depart without resolving certain matters between Lady Marian and myself.”

“Matters you believe sufficiently important to warrant this… unconventional approach?” Lord Silas moved further into the room and positioned himself near the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece in a pose that suggested casual authority.

“Matters of the heart rarely conform to convention, My Lord,” Nicholas replied, the unexpected sentiment causing both Brandons to regard him with renewed attention.

Lord Silas’ bushy eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “The heart, is it? Not precisely the organ I would have associated with the Marquess of Stone’s decision-making process, if you will forgive my bluntness.”

“Silas!” Lady Prudence admonished though her expression suggested she harbored similar thoughts.

A smile touched Nicholas’ mouth briefly — a genuine expression that transformed his aristocratic features with unexpected warmth. “A fair assessment given my reputation. One might even say it lies at the root of the current… situation.”

Something in his tone — a note of self-deprecation rarely heard from a man of his position — seemed to soften Lord Silas’ expression. He studied Nicholas with the careful assessment of a man who had navigated society long enough to recognize when conventional assumptions required reconsideration.

---