“Don’t I know it?” he said as he came to join them. “Why do you think I stayed away? I’m not an idiot.”
“That’s a debatable point, dear brother.”
Watching them, Marjorie was glad to note the ease with which Jonathan and his sisters had so quickly slipped into a mode of teasing and laughing and chaffing each other. That, she realized, was what families were—or at least, what they were supposed to be. They quarreled and made up, teased and squabbled, and circumstances might send them to different ends of the earth, but underneath it all, there was a bedrock of love and support, acceptance and forgiveness. There was loyalty. She’d missed all that.
Suddenly, her heart twisted with a bittersweet pang. Never had she felt the pain of her lack of a family as acutely as she did now.
“Penny,” a low voice murmured in her ear, and she turned to find Jonathan right beside her. “For your thoughts,” he prompted as she gave him an uncomprehending look.
She forced herself to smile. “They’re not worth that much,” she said and turned quickly to Clara. “So, you run the company? An impressive accomplishment.”
“Terrifying is more like it. But once I accepted the situation, I began to enjoy it. It’s amazing how not getting what you want can lead to amazing discoveries.”
“Such as?” Marjorie asked, curious.
“How strong I could be, how to trust my own judgement—”
“How to be bossy,” Rex cut in as he joined their circle.
“Well, yes, that, too,” she agreed as Marjorie and Irene laughed. “But most important, I learned that sometimes the things we fight the most turn out to be the best things.”
Her smile faded to a grave expression, and she bit her lip, looking at her brother. “That’s why I could never truly be angry with you, you know. Your decision changed my dream into something so much bigger and so much more wonderful than anything I’d imagined. I wouldn’t change a thing, Jonathan. And I mean that.”
“I’m glad, petal.” He leaned toward her and planted a kiss on her cheek. “So glad.”
“Relieved, too, I’ll wager,” Rex said. “Had you come home you’d have been saddled with Lady Truelove instead of me.”
“What?” Jonathan and Marjorie said together, making the others laugh.
“You’re Lady Truelove?” Jonathan asked, staring at him. “You are?”
Rex grinned. “Need any advice?” he asked and bowed. “I am at your service. It’s supposed to be a secret, though, so don’t tell anyone. Clara hired me to do the column while Irene was gallivanting across Europe, and I still do it to this day.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jonathan muttered. “That makes my decision to stay away even more sensible.”
Clara jabbed him in the ribs.
“What?” he asked, giving his sister an innocent look. “I’d have made a terrible advice columnist.”
“Come to the offices tomorrow,” Rex suggested. “I’ll be there in the afternoon. I can give you a tour, and we can discuss the financial condition. You own a third of the company and you ought to see how it’s doing.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Another day, perhaps,” he said. “I must visit a tailor. My tweeds are in tatters.”
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, old chap,” Rex replied, looking him over, “but your evening suit’s not much better.”
Jonathan grimaced, acknowledging the truth of that. “All the more reason, then. And I have various other business matters to attend to in the next few days. Another time?”
“Of course.”
“Do you need tweeds?” Torquil asked as he joined them. “Surely not, if you’re headed to Africa?”
“I’m staying a bit longer than I’d first thought.”
He was staying? Marjorie stilled, her sherry glass halfway to her lips, feeling a rush of unreasoning hope and happy surprise.
“Marjorie’s birthday is August thirteenth,” he went on, glancing at his eldest sister. “I can’t miss that.”
As he and Irene exchanged glances, Marjorie realized the decision to stay longer had not really been his. Happiness faded and hope fizzled, but somehow, she managed to don a bright smile.
“How delightful,” she said, pride making her voice light. “But you needn’t delay important business on my account. I shall have many more birthdays.”
“Still,” Irene said, “we must do something to mark this one. Turning twenty-one is a rite of passage.”
“In Marjorie’s case, it’s more than that,” Jonathan said, looking at her. “It’s the start of a whole new life.”
A life he did not want. He’d reminded her of that in the carriage this afternoon, seeing her romantic hopes about him even before she had, crushing them before she’d ever realized they were there. She supposed he was trying to keep her from being hurt, but he hadn’t succeeded, because right now, hurt was like a fist squeezing her heart, and it took everything she had not to show it.
“What about a big house party?” Clara suggested in a voice that sounded strangely far away to Marjorie’s ears. “It’ll be the right time of year for it.”
“A house party sounds like great fun,” Marjorie replied, still holding Jonathan’s gaze. “As long as those invited truly want to be there.”
Jonathan pressed his lips together, showing that she could wound him, too, but for Marjorie, it was no victory, and she was relieved when Boothby came in to announce that dinner was served.
The duke offered her his arm and as he escorted her to the dining room, she forced away any absurd sense of disappointment. She knew what she wanted from life, and if Jonathan didn’t want that, well, it was his loss, and none of her business. She could not resent him, but she could take the words he’d told her in the carriage this afternoon to heart, and she intended to do so. Life was too short to expect a man to change or to wish for what could not be. Her father had taught her that lesson. Best if she never forgot it again.
Chapter 14
Jonathan had never had a high opinion of aristocratic society, but as he glanced around the Duke of Torquil’s dining table, he realized he would have to revise his opinion, at least as far as his own relations were concerned.
From all that he could see, Irene and Clara were every bit as settled as their letters had indicated, and their husbands seemed good and honorable gentlemen. On their behalf, he was both glad and relieved.
As the others conversed with Marjorie, asking her about her life in America and making suggestions about what she might enjoy doing here in England, he said little, content to observe and enjoy the sight of his sisters’ smiling faces in the candlelight.
It was good, he thought, to be home.
He straightened a little in his seat, startled by the notion. This wasn’t his house. This certainly wasn’t his life. And England wasn’t his home anymore. After ten years away, he was a fish out of water here, and yet, it wasn’t as strange to be back as he’d feared. Perhaps one could never completely leave behind the place one had been born and raised, no matter how far one traveled or how long one stayed away.
“I think I’m the one who needs to give you a penny,” Marjorie murmured, breaking into his contemplations. “You’re very quiet.”
“Am I? I was just letting it all sink in—being in England again, seeing my sisters.”
“But are you glad you’re back?”
“I am, yes, and it surprises me. In fact—” He broke off and gave a laugh, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know what I was so worried about.”
That made her smile. “I’m glad you’ve made peace with your sisters.”
“So am I. It was easier than I thought it would be.” He paused, thinking of Irene’s definition of his duties as a guardian. “I hope you’ll be happy here. If there’s anything I can do to make your transition easier, I will.”
“There is, actually,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve got an idea.”
“Uh-oh,” he murmured. “That’s trouble.”
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br /> She made a face at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Your ideas always seem to wreak havoc in my life.”
“This one won’t,” she assured him. “In fact, I think what I have in mind just might make everything easier for both of us.”
That sparked his curiosity, but before he could inquire further, Irene’s voice intervened.
“Ladies,” she said, standing up and bringing everyone else to their feet, “shall we go through?”
She started out of the dining room to leave the men to their port, the other ladies following her, but Marjorie lingered long enough to lean down and whisper in his ear, “We’ll talk about it after dinner.”
With that, she departed, forcing him to put his curiosity aside, but afterward, when the men joined the ladies in the drawing room, neither he nor Marjorie was given a chance to bring up the topic, for David suggested bridge.
“There are eight of us,” he said. “No one would be left out.”
“We can’t,” Clara said, setting aside her coffee cup and standing up. “It’s nearly ten, so Rex and I must be going home. If my daughters keep to the routine they’ve developed of late, Daisy will be waking up any minute, crying like a banshee, which will wake Marianne, and between them, they’ll soon have the nursery in chaos.”
“How old are your daughters?” Marjorie asked.
“Marianne’s nearly four, and Daisy’s eighteen months, so they’re rather a handful. I must go stand by Nanny.”
“She just wants an excuse to tuck them back into bed,” Rex explained and turned to his wife. “I ordered the carriage brought around already.”
She nodded and turned to Jonathan. “Welcome home,” she said, underscoring his earlier thoughts about what home actually meant, and when she opened her arms, he walked into them gladly. “Don’t you dare stay away so long next time,” she whispered as she hugged him tight.
He couldn’t reply. Instead, he held her close, tightness squeezing his chest, the pain of love and regret. “I won’t,” he managed at last. “Besides,” he added, impelled to lighten the moment as they drew apart, “now that I know you won’t shoot me the minute I walk through the door, it’s an easy promise to keep.”
“You’re never safe on that score, little brother,” she countered at once, her voice severe, but she was smiling as she turned away.
After she and Rex had departed, David again suggested cards, but Jonathan glanced at Marjorie and negated that idea. “Why don’t the four of you play?” he said. “Don’t worry about us. Marjorie and I have some business matters to discuss.”
“My idea isn’t about business,” Marjorie whispered to him as the others moved toward the card table at the other end of the drawing room.
“Perhaps not, but there are some things involving your father’s estate we do need to go over. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He left the drawing room, and by the time he returned with his dispatch case, the others were immersed in their first rubber of auction bridge, and Marjorie was seated at a table on the other side of the room. Joining her, he set the black leather case on the table and sat down opposite her.
“As your guardian, I feel it’s important for you to know where you stand,” he began, but at the wry look she gave him, he stopped.
“It seems to me,” she said, “you already made where I stand pretty clear this afternoon. But don’t worry,” she added as he grimaced. “I’m not about to develop any romantic notions about you.”
Put like that, his assumption that she was in danger of such a thing seemed the height of conceit, and yet, her next words told him he hadn’t been too far off the mark.
“I have to admit,” she murmured, her expression softening, her cheeks tinting a faint pink, “I was feeling a little bit dreamy-eyed about you for a while. You were . . . I mean . . .” She glanced across the room to the couples playing bridge, then she leaned closer to him, and added in a whisper, “You were my first kiss, after all.”
In an instant, the memory of that kiss came flooding back, reminding him that she wasn’t the only one in danger of developing romantic notions—or at least, in his case, erotic ones.
“But,” she went on, “you’re the last man on earth a girl with sense would ever pin her hopes on.”
A point he’d attempted to underscore that very afternoon. “Quite so,” he said with an emphatic nod he feared was as much for his own benefit as hers. “Absolutely.”
“All that aside, we do seem to spend a great deal of time rubbing each other the wrong way.”
Or the right way, his baser masculine nature whispered to him. Depends on how you look at it.
Telling his baser masculine nature to shut up, he strove to give her a more appropriate reply. “It’s understandable you’d chafe a bit under my guardianship. Though my ward, you are a grown woman.” Even as he said those last few words, his body began to burn, and he felt like the worst of hypocrites.
“Exactly,” she agreed with disconcerting enthusiasm. “So, I was wondering if we might just dispense with titles?”
He frowned, puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Guardian . . . ward . . . can’t we get past all that? Redefine our roles?”
“But I am your guardian. You are my ward. Those are facts.”
“Yes, but in such cases, the ward is usually a child. I’m not, as you just said.”
With that kiss still so vivid in his mind, he was beginning to find having his own words tossed back at him in this fashion rather aggravating. “I think we’ve already established that I don’t think of you as a child,” he said, and though he strove to keep his expression and his voice neutral, he couldn’t resist adding, “I demonstrated that point quite strongly aboard the Neptune, as I recall.”
The color in her face deepened at the reminder. “Yes,” she whispered, “but hauling off and kissing me isn’t really a feasible way to resolve our disputes, is it?”
There were worse ways, but he didn’t point that out.
“If we don’t find a new way forward,” she continued in the wake of his silence, “one that puts us on a more equal footing, I fear we will just continue to . . . to . . .” She paused, licking her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth, but he jerked it back up again at once.
“Rub each other the wrong way?” he supplied, straight-faced.
“Yes. Can’t we start over, try to see each other in a different light?”
“Or you could just accept the situation as it is and cede to my authority. But,” he added with a sigh, “if you did that, the earth would stop turning and tides would stop ebbing, and I’d die of shock. Just what are you suggesting?”
“What if we just try to . . . to be friends?”
“Friends?” He froze, staring at her in dismay, fearing that being friends with Marjorie would prove an even greater hell than the one he was already in.
Something of what he felt must have shown on his face. “Goodness,” she said with a laugh that sounded forced. “Is my idea so difficult to imagine?”
It was more than difficult. It was impossible. And yet, trapped between obligation and desire, what other choice did he have?
“Not at all,” he lied. “It’s just that it isn’t the usual thing, is it? Men and women being friends.”
“But do you think we might try?”
He pasted on a smile. “Of course. It’s an excellent idea. Perfect. The best thing to do.”
“I’m so relieved you said that,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest, laughing again. “I thought you’d object.”
He didn’t even blink. “Nonsense.”
“Is it?” she asked ruefully, making a face at him. “You’re a bit closed-minded when it comes to my ideas, Jonathan.”
“That’s not true,” he began, but then he stopped, appreciating as she grinned that he’d just made her point. “Touché,” he conceded instead. “As to the rest . . .” He paused and took a deep breath. “Friends it is.”
He was rewarded with a radiant smile that reminded him of just what torture being her friend was going to be, and he knew he had to get off this topic.
“Now that we’ve settled that,” he said and gestured to the documents on the table, “I’m still your guardian, and there are some things I need to discuss with you. If we’re to be friends,” he added as she groaned, “we shall both have to make compromises.”
“Oh, very well. But,” she added, giving him a frown of mock severity, “any compromises I make better not involve wearing black crape or hiding in my room.”
“No fear. Irene’s already come down on your side there, remember? And she’s a far better judge of such things than I am. No, what I want to discuss involves your finances.”
He opened his dispatch case and pulled out a rosewood box and a thick sheaf of papers tied with string. “This,” he said, shoving the documents across the table to her, “is a copy of your father’s will, an inventory of all your property, and the most recent financial reports of all your investments. I know you’ve already read some of this, but I feel it’s important that you read the rest.”
“Oh, so now I’m allowed to read these?” she teased. “They’re not just your private papers anymore?”
“Don’t be cheeky. Some of my private papers were on that desk, and I think you know that.”
“Perhaps. But I didn’t read them,” she added at once. “I wouldn’t. Friends don’t do things like that.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You can go through these at your leisure, but reading legal documents is sometimes like wading through hip-deep mud, so if there is anything you don’t understand, you can ask me, or your solicitor.”
She frowned. “Mr. Jessop?”
“No. Jessop’s the executor of your father’s will, and one of your trustees, but now that you are living here, you’ll also need a British solicitor. I’ll ask Torquil to recommend one for you.”
“If you can answer my questions, do I need a solicitor?”
“I want you to have a lawyer of your own choosing. As an heiress, it’s not wise for you to trust anyone completely, Marjorie. Not even your own trustees. You’ve inherited an enormous fortune, and that’s a great responsibility. It can also be a burden.”
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