He went completely still.
Marian's voice was quiet, but devastatingly clear. "You were perfectly comfortable while our conversations felt private. You enjoyed it when no one else was looking. But the moment others perceived your preference, you disappeared."
"I was being prudent," Richard said, the defense automatic, practiced over a lifetime.
"Part of it was prudence," Marian agreed softly. "But part of it was fear." She did not demand a declaration; she did not ask him to change. She simply looked at him, refusing to accept the polished excuse he offered the rest of the world. "I have no objection to my reputation being protected," Marian said calmly. "But if whatever exists between us can only survive when no one else perceives it, then perhaps we should not pretend it is friendship at all."
She picked up the graphite pencil resting on the desk. She placed it inside her small wooden case. She closed the lid, and the metal clasp snapped shut with a sharp, definitive click. The sound echoed in the quiet room.
To Richard, it sounded like a lock turning against him.
Marian offered a brief, impeccably polite curtsy, gathered her things, and walked into the adjoining parlor to join her aunt.
Richard stood alone in the morning room, the silence pressing in on him. Ordering the grand portrait removed from the hall had been simple; stepping out of its rigid frame, allowing himself to live outside of it, was something else entirely. As he listened to the faint rustle of her skirts disappearing, the agonizing truth finally settled over him: he could not continue like this.
Richard did not seek Marian out in the quiet corridors, nor did he attempt to intercept her during a solitary walk in the gardens. He was done hiding. If he was to dismantle the fortress he had built around his life, he would do it in the broad light of day, observing every rule of the society he inhabited.
He went first to the small parlor where he knew Mrs. Ashby spent her afternoons reading. He did not ask for permission to claim Marian, nor did he treat the older woman as a gatekeeper to a piece of property. He simply stood before her and spoke with absolute clarity:
"Mrs. Ashby," he said, his voice steady, "I wish to inform you that my attention toward your niece has ceased to be casual. I do not ask you to decide her mind. I ask only if you have any objection to my presenting my intentions directly to her."
Mrs. Ashby lowered her book, studying him with the sharp, intelligent eyes that her niece had inherited. "Marian will decide for herself, Your Grace," she replied calmly. "But you will find no objection from me in allowing her to make that choice."