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She did not respond.

“I thought…well, there have been rumors about your sister. I’m sure you’ve heard them.”

How on earth was she supposed to have heard them, being tucked away as she was? Why was this gentleman speaking of rumors anyway?

Memories of past conversations with Mr. Steele swirled throughout her mind. Hadn’t he said a gentleman had started rumors about his own father that had led to the elder Mr. Steele’s death?

Her stomach churned at the thought.

“I’m sure I would not listen to such rumors even if I had heard them,” she responded, glancing over her shoulder for an escape.

Mr. Clark grinned. “Oh, come now. Surely you must be curious.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Mr. Clark leaned closer, and indignation swirled inside Marianne at his forceful behavior. “It has been said that your sister—”

“Mr. Clark,” she interrupted quietly but firmly, “gossip and rumors may not injure the ones who spread them, but surely they are the culprits for wounding countless individuals who are at the brunt of such cruel behavior.”

He stared at her wide-eyed, the grin finally gone from his lips.

Thank heavens.

It was not as if she wasn’t curious about said rumors, but why would she wish to hear the words of another—true or not—about her own sister? If she was to learn about anything in relation to Beatrice, she would hear it from Beatrice’s lips, and Beatrice’s lips alone.

“Now,” she continued in a whisper, “if you were any sort of gentleman, Mr. Clark, you would end the rumors yourself. At the very least, you ought not bring them up to the very sister of the one whom the rumors are about.” She raised her chin. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ve had enough of our conversation.”

Marianne found Mother and remained by her side the rest of the evening. Doing so kept her safe from Mr. Clark’s nagging, but it also opened up her mind to constantly comparing the dinner party to the assembly the night before.

She could no longer deny which one continually triumphed in her estimations.

When the evening finally ended, she rode home in the carriage with Mother and Father, utterly exhausted. Where she’d feared disappointment the night before, she’d certainly received it tonight at the Clarks’.

“You did very well tonight, Marianne,” Father said. “We heard nothing but compliments about your behavior and kindness. Of course, we expected nothing less from you.”

Marianne looked out of the window with a half-smile. Fortunately, her parents didn’t press her to say anything in response.

When they arrived at Daffley, Father moved to the parlor for a cup of tea, but Marianne declined his offer to join them. Before she could retire, however, Mother lingered in the entryway, and the two of them spoke in hushed tones.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Marianne?” she asked, blinking sleepily.

Marianne nodded. How could she respond any differently without appearing ungrateful? “I am tired, though.”

“Understandably so. You’ve done much socializing, and it takes its toll on one who is not used to it.”

Marianne couldn’t agree less. It was not the socializing that had tired her out but those with whom she had socialized. Was she simply being intolerant? Or…or had her desires changed? Was it not the balls and dinner parties that pulled her any longer but the people—the people she actually wished to converse with, rather than those she was expected to converse with?

Mother kissed her cheek. “Sleep well tonight, my dear.”

Marianne nodded, turning, but she paused only a few steps away. “Mother?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Are dinner parties always like that?”

“Like what?”

She hesitated. Boring. Uneventful. Tiresome. “Never mind. I was simply expecting something different, I suppose.”