“It was before she was a duchess, and no, she didn’t actually get arrested, but it was a near shave. She’d been on some march for the vote, and she and some of her friends got hauled in by a constable. No fear of that happening nowadays, of course.”
“No, I don’t suppose a constable would dare to drag a duchess off to jail. And there’s no need for her to march anyway, is there? Surely a duchess has more effective, less overt ways of swaying public opinion.”
“Quite so. If her letters to me are any indication, she’s been working on Jamie and his lot mercilessly.”
“Jamie?”
“Torquil’s brother-in-law, his late sister Patricia’s husband. He’s in Parliament. He was in the Commons, but he lost his seat after one term—if I’m remembering Irene’s letters correctly. A few years later when his father died, he took his father’s seat in the Lords, so Irene still works on him about the vote every chance she gets.”
“He lost his seat in the House of Commons because of the duchess’s suffragist work?”
“No, I believe it was because he married someone notorious. Not the duke’s sister. I’m referring to his second wife, Amanda, who had some scandal attached to her name.”
“Don’t talk to me of scandals,” she said, holding up her hand with a groan. “I’ve heard enough of those during the last six days to last a lifetime. Tell me about your other sister instead. What’s she like?”
“Clara?” His grin vanished, his countenance becoming thoughtful. “Clara’s a bit of a dark horse. She’s quiet, shy, with a sphinxlike ability to hide what she’s thinking. God only knows what she thinks of me nowadays.”
“What do you mean?”
He was silent a long moment. “Do you remember that first night aboard ship, when I told you about my father?” he asked at last.
“That he disinherited you? Yes, of course.”
“That wasn’t the whole story. When my father booted me out, he told me I’d never amount to anything, and when your father and I struck silver, I knew I had the chance to prove my old man wrong. I couldn’t give up that chance.”
Marjorie frowned, puzzled. “Why should you have had to?”
“Because I’d already told my sisters I’d come home. Irene was getting married, and she didn’t want to run the paper once she became a duchess, so she asked me to take it over. Clara didn’t want to have anything to do with the newspaper business in those days. Like you, she wanted to have a London season, find a husband, get married—all that. So, for her sake, I agreed to come home and run Deverill Publishing. But the truth is . . . I didn’t want to do it.”
“But why not? It was your dream. Weren’t you jumping at the chance to have it back?”
He gave a short laugh and looked away. “You’d think I would have been, wouldn’t you? But once you’ve had a dream snatched from you, it’s damned hard to give it a second chance.”
Marjorie understood at once. “Yes, one doesn’t want to get one’s hopes up only to be disappointed again.”
“Exactly.”
“But why would you have reason to think that would happen?”
“Because even though Irene ran the paper, our father still owned it, and I knew he’d fight me tooth and nail. Oh, Irene said she’d make sure that didn’t happen, that when she got back from her honeymoon, we’d stand against my father together—all three of us. But if that failed—which was quite a likely thing, in my opinion—our father would have booted me out of the company again, and none of us would have been able to stop it. And besides—”
He broke off, still staring out the window.
“And besides . . . ?” she prompted.
“Oh, let’s be honest.” He looked at her, and in his eyes, there was a glint of the same defiance she’d seen the first time he’d talked about his father. “After nearly four years in America, I didn’t have much to show for it. My pride just couldn’t stomach coming home to be under my father’s thumb, to watch him smirk and hear him crow. When Billy and I struck silver, it was like the answer to a prayer.”
“Except that you left your sisters in the lurch.”
He sighed, his defiance vanishing. “Yes,” he admitted. “Clara, in particular. She got stuck running things on her own. As I said, she’s always been shy, and the idea of being in charge must have been terrifying to her.”
“Do you think she’s holding a grudge about that?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “She writes to me, says what happened is all water under the bridge. She still runs the company and seems to enjoy it, she married Viscount Galbraith, and loves him madly, so . . .”
“So, all’s well that ends well,” Marjorie finished for him, watching him closely. “Right?”
“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I let her down. I made her a promise, and I broke it. I don’t like breaking promises.” He took a deep breath and looked at her again. “Which brings me to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. There’s something I must say to you, and since we’re almost to Torquil House, I’d best say it now, while we’re still alone. I may not have another chance.” Abruptly, he moved to sit directly opposite her. “Yesterday, you said I’m like a father to you.”
“Oh, don’t!” she cried, hating to be reminded of that remark. It seemed ludicrous now, after their extraordinary kiss. “Forget I said that, please.”
“I can’t. It was a fair comparison, given my responsibilities. And yet . . .” He paused, and his expression changed, softened, something coming into it that was hot and tender and sent her heart slamming into her ribs. “I didn’t see it that way at the time.”
She stared into his eyes and the passion in their tawny depths made those torrid moments in her stateroom more vivid than ever. “You didn’t?”
“No. In fact, I was quite insulted.” He leaned back, putting distance between them. “And the result was unforgivable.”
Marjorie stirred. “I wouldn’t quite say that,” she said faintly.
“I would. I must. I gave my word to your father that I would look after you, and what I did was the exact opposite of that. For my intemperate actions, you have my deepest apologies. I realize,” he rushed on before she could speak, “that you resent your father, and you have good cause, but we both know I’m not much different.”
“I don’t know that.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she remembered how she’d been telling herself all these same things aboard the train a short time ago. She did know. She’d known all along.
His next words reinforced that bitter fact. “Yes, you do. We both know the sort of man I am. I’ve never pretended to be anything else.”
“But don’t you ever want a home?” she cried, frustrated and baffled. “Don’t you want to settle down, marry, have children?”
His expression hardened. “I did once,” he said, reminding her of the dreams he’d had and lost. “But now? No.” He paused, considering. “Someday, perhaps.”
Someday. God, how she loathed that word.
“I don’t understand,” she said, feeling wretched. “You really intend to spend the rest of your days roaming the globe? Is that what you want from life?”
He smiled a little. “You asked me that same question the first night aboard ship.”
“And you never answered it.”
“Then let me do so now.” He leaned forward, his knees brushing hers in the confined space. “I don’t know what I want, Marjorie, and that’s the truth. Growing up, I always had a clear picture of what my life would be. At eighteen, I was in love and engaged to be married. Like you, I was sure just where I fit into the world, and what I wanted. I had no doubts, no fears. And then, it all fell apart. In a single afternoon, I lost everything that mattered to me. And I don’t think . . . I don’t think there’s anything that can replace it.”
“Why does anything need to replace it? You’re wealthy. You could be a man of leisure—”
“Be part of the idle rich, you mean?” He shook his head. “Being idl
e isn’t in my nature, and as I already told you, money itself doesn’t matter much to me. Oh, I relished the fact that my father could no longer say I was worthless, and I’m glad I was able to help my sisters save Deverill Publishing. And I do enjoy playing the markets, but that’s just for fun. The truth is, I can’t imagine what would impel me to settle down, but it would have to be bigger and more exciting than anything I’ve come across yet. I thrive on challenge—”
“Well, that means you’re not like my father at all!” she cried, sounding as cross as she felt. “Because he never met a challenge he didn’t run away from. And, whatever you say, I think you’re a far better man than he ever was.”
“Now you’re just being romantic,” he said, his voice so tender it hurt.
She looked away, knowing he was right. Despite everything she knew, despite everything she’d been telling herself, she had started having romantic notions about him without even realizing it. He may have given her her first kiss, but she suspected that sort of thing didn’t mean much. Jonathan had probably kissed plenty of girls already, and God help any of them if they’d ever pinned any romantic hopes on him because of it.
People didn’t change, she knew that well enough from her father’s example. If a man was born to roam, he wasn’t about to give it up, not even for love. She knew that from watching her mother’s pain.
In the wake of her silence, he leaned closer, tapping the window that gave a view of the elegant street outside. “That’s the life you want, but I left that life a long time ago, and I haven’t missed it.”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she stared out at the opulent houses that lined Park Lane as the passion of her first kiss turned to dust and ashes.
“You say you resent your father for not settling down? Then resent me, too, for the same reason.”
“But I can’t,” she cried, making that galling admission as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Not after . . . after . . .” She paused, the memory of that kiss making her blush even now. “I can’t resent you,” she whispered.
“I wish you would,” he muttered. “Because if you don’t—” He broke off and turned away to yank open the carriage door. “God help us both.”
Giving her no chance to reply, he exited the vehicle without even waiting for the driver to roll out the steps.
Chapter 12
Having once stood in the foyer of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, Marjorie was not completely unfamiliar with the opulent splendor in which the wealthy lived, but she hadn’t seen enough of that sort of thing to be blasé about it, and as she stepped inside Torquil House, the grandeur of the four-story entrance hall took her breath away.
Creamy white Corinthian columns and Gothic arches supported the floors that ringed the open foyer and enormous potted date palms flanked the walnut entrance doors behind her. In front of her was the grand staircase, sweeping upward in a graceful curve to the floors above. Various niches along the walls displayed sculptures and pottery that had probably been acquired on some previous duke’s grand tour, and oil paintings—priceless ones, no doubt—hung on every scrap of the remaining wall space.
“Bit grand, what?” Jonathan murmured beside her.
“A bit,” she agreed in a whisper as they watched the butler who’d shown them in depart up that stunning staircase to inform the duchess of their arrival. “We’re staying here?”
“Well, you are.”
Surprised by the clarification, she looked at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I was supposed to.” He paused, stepping closer to Marjorie as a pair of footmen moved past him, carrying luggage from their taxi. “But now that I’m about to toss you into Irene’s lap with almost no warning, I’m wondering if I ought to reserve a room at a hotel.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed, but then, she looked at him and noticed his thumbs tapping against his thighs. “Nervous?”
“After ten years, wouldn’t you be?”
“What happened to the man who worked as a bounty hunter and bravely fought off claim jumpers and mining magnates with my father?”
There was no time for him to respond.
“You must be Uncle Jonathan.”
Marjorie and Jonathan turned to find a pair of dark-haired, gray-eyed boys behind them, one perhaps five years of age, the other about three.
“I am,” Jonathan answered. “You must be my nephews.”
“Lord Mountmorres.” The older boy bowed in rather formal fashion. “At your service.”
“How do you do,” Jonathan said gravely, giving a proper bow. “Lord Mountmorres.”
“Mama says you may call me Henry.” He gestured to his brother, who was staring at Jonathan in wide-eyed silence. “This is Lord Christopher. But we call him Kit.”
“Pleased to meet you both.” Jonathan gestured to Marjorie. “May I present Miss McGann?”
“Miss McGann,” they said in unison. They bowed together, too, and Marjorie had to press her lips tight to hide a smile as she gave an answering curtsy.
“Master Henry?” a voice called from above. “Where are you?”
Henry heaved an aggrieved sigh. “Nanny,” he informed them without enthusiasm.
“Master Henry? Is Kit with you?”
A stout woman, clad in a black dress and white lace apron and cap, paused on the crescent-shaped landing. “There you are!” she cried, her wide face creasing with relief as she waddled down the remaining stairs. “I’ve been looking everywhere. You’re not supposed to go off without me. What have you been doing?”
“Meeting Uncle Jonathan,” Henry told her, pointing at him as the nanny came toward them.
“Mr. Deverill,” she said, dipping her knees in a quick curtsy as she came between the two boys and took each one by the hand. “Nanny Eliot. I hope the boys haven’t been making themselves a nuisance?”
“Not at all.”
“I’m glad of that, sir. Come along, you two.”
“But I wanted to show Uncle Jonathan the train set I got for my birthday,” protested Henry as they were led toward a door at the back of the entrance hall.
“Plenty of time for that later. Right now, we’re going to the kitchens to see what Mrs. Mason’s made you for high tea.”
They had just vanished through the green baize door when another voice came echoing down the stairs.
“Jonathan?”
At the sound of his name, they both turned to watch a slender blonde in a teal-blue tea gown come tearing down the stairs, the butler and two female servants following at a slower pace.
One glance was enough to tell Marjorie this was one of Jonathan’s sisters. She had the same golden good looks, hazel eyes, and brilliant smile as her brother—a smile that showed clearly how she felt about his return and should have reassured him at once.
“Oh, Jonathan!” She halted before them, but instead of making the restrained and elegant greeting a lady of the ton would be expected to offer, she threw herself into her brother’s arms with wholehearted abandon. “You’re home, you’re home at last.”
He wrapped his arms around his sister, his body seeming to lose some of its tension as she planted smacking kisses on both his cheeks, and when she hugged him again, Marjorie saw his eyes close and his lips tighten as if in relief and profound affection. “Irenie,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair.
She laughed again. “It really is you. Only you ever call me Irenie.”
She pulled back, glancing over him. “Oh, my,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest as if overcome. “Look at you.”
“Look at you,” he countered. Smiling a little, he doffed his hat, stepped back, and bowed. “Your Grace.”
“Oh, stop.” She tossed her head, making a sound of laughing derision at the address. She glanced at the servants who had halted a discreet distance behind her, then she leaned closer to her brother and whispered, “Even I’m not used to that title, not even after six years. Every time I hear it, I look around, expecting to see the duke’s mother
standing nearby. And besides, you’re my brother. You’re not supposed to call me ‘Your Grace.’”
“I’ve been away a long time. Forgive me for forgetting the proper protocol for titles.” He grinned. “Duchess.”
She groaned and turned to Marjorie. “He’s such a tease. You must be Miss McGann. How do you do? Forgive me for not greeting you properly just now.”
“Not at all.” She curtsied. “Your Grace.”
The duchess gave her a smile, reminding Marjorie again of her brother. “Didn’t I just say I’m not used to that address? And your father was like a brother to Jonathan, so you’re practically part of the family. No, you must call me Irene.”
“If you wish. I hope you will call me Marjorie?”
“I’d be delighted to do so. Now that we’ve dispensed with the formalities, let us come to practical matters. Jonathan’s telegram earlier today informed me that you’ve no maid? Well,” she added, when Marjorie shook her head in reply, “we can remedy that easily enough.”
She turned, gesturing to the servants hovering in the background. “You’ve already met Boothby, our butler? He’ll look after you, Jonathan, since you’ve no valet with you.”
“That’s not necessary, Irene,” Jonathan said at once. “I’ve never had a valet in my life, so I’m quite accustomed to dressing myself. And I’m sure Boothby has plenty to do without the added inconvenience of looking after me.”
“Very well.” She gave a nod to the butler, who gave a bow and stepped back, then she gestured to the older of the two female servants. “This is our housekeeper, Mrs. Jaspar, who will see that the footmen have put your luggage in the proper rooms.”
At once, the housekeeper departed to carry out that instruction, and Irene beckoned the third servant forward. “And this is Eileen, our second housemaid. She’ll attend you, Marjorie, until we can find you a proper lady’s maid. Now then,” she added as the servant gave Marjorie a curtsy and a tentative smile, “would you care for some refreshment, or would you prefer to go to your room to freshen up and change before dinner?”
Marjorie hesitated. She was famished after their long journey, for no formal breakfast had been served this morning, and the train from Southampton had not possessed a dining car. She also couldn’t help a profound curiosity about the other sister, but she knew curiosity could not allow her to intrude on the first moments of a family’s reunion.
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