“Given everything I know about you, it’s a likely possibility.”
“No, it’s not. You know why? Because I am not like your damned father. I will not leave you.” He gripped her arms again, ducking his head to look into her eyes when she tried to look away. “I will never leave you.”
“You are leaving me! You’re leaving me tonight.”
“But I will be back in a month.”
“How long before it’s two months, or six, or a year?”
“Or never, like your father, you mean? You will just have to trust me. What I want to know,” he continued, ignoring her derisive snort, “is how long before you stop thinking you’re like your mother?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your mother may have sat home and cried, but you don’t have to, because you’re not her. You are the girl who was going to follow her father and take photographs of the Wild West. The girl who, when her first dream was scrapped, made another and decided to move to another country, one she’d never been to in her life. The girl who hopped aboard a ship and followed me across the ocean without a second thought. The girl who was jumping up and down with excitement when she saw a field camera in a shop window.”
She shook her head, clamping her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear this,” she cried with a sob, fear clawing at her.
“I think that girl has a sense of adventure,” he went on relentlessly. “I think that girl would love the life I’m offering her, if she could just stop clinging to some dream of how things should be, a dream she got from her friends.”
Marjorie sucked in her breath. “That’s not true.”
“I think it is.”
She didn’t answer, for what was there to say? Instead, she stared at him, and he stared back, their mutual anger and differing views like a chasm between them, one that widened with each silent second that passed, tearing her heart apart.
“Go,” she cried at last, unable to bear it any longer. “Go to Gibraltar. Just don’t expect me to be waiting until you decide to come back.”
“I am going,” he said, holding her gaze. “But I’ll be back in a month, and we will have this conversation again. And again, and again, because I am not giving up. I am going to keep hoping that the unpredictable girl I fell in love with is still as much in love with me now as she said she was last night. And that one day, if I keep trying, she’ll love me enough to give her heart to me and trust me and come with me to the ends of the earth and back again to this house that we both love.”
“Stop,” she cried. “Just stop.”
“That’s my plan, and I’m sticking with it, because, contrary to certain assumptions made about me by the woman I love, I am a man who can stick. And by God, I’m going to prove that to her if it takes me the rest of our lives.”
With that, he turned and walked away, and as she watched him go, Marjorie’s heart broke at last, shattering into a thousand pieces.
Chapter 24
The ladies were already gathered under a tent in the rose garden for her birthday luncheon when Marjorie and Clara arrived back at Ravenwood. With no time to change, both women hurriedly thrust their hats, jackets, and gloves into the arms of a footman, straightened their skirts, and turned toward a pair of mirrors hanging in the entrance hall to smooth their hair.
But when Marjorie looked at her reflection, her puffy face and tear-reddened eyes reminded her that her hair was the least of her problems, and she had the sudden, craven desire to plead a headache and run to her room.
Last night, she’d thought herself ready to experience everything life had to offer—the bitter and the sweet, the love and the pain. But now, the wild, fearless, seductive woman of last night was gone, and she was not only uncertain and afraid, she was also a heartbroken mess.
I think that girl has a sense of adventure.
Adventure? Whoever said she wanted adventure? She wanted a home.
We’ll travel, yes, but we’ll always come home.
At once, a picture of Ainsley Park came into her mind—not the classical façade or the interiors, but the beautiful terrace, and its view of the port and the ocean and the horizon that stretched endlessly beyond.
I do wish you’d get this idea that we’ll be homeless vagrants out of your head, because that’s not how it would be at all.
Marjorie was by no means certain of that. And he’d never addressed her concern about children either. She set her jaw, brushed a few wayward, sea-frizzed curls off her forehead, and reminded herself that her father had been right about one thing. A life roaming the globe was no life for children.
I think we can afford a nanny to come with us, don’t you?
“Marjorie?”
Clara’s voice broke in to her thoughts, and she stiffened, shoring up her resolve, then she donned a smile and turned her head, but when she looked into the eyes of the woman beside her, she knew Clara wasn’t fooled.
But then, how could she be, after she’d found Marjorie sobbing on that beautiful terrace in the wake of Jonathan’s departure? To her credit, she’d asked no questions, and their carriage ride back had been blessedly silent, but Clara’s sympathy and compassion were obvious in her eyes.
“You go ahead,” Marjorie said, keeping her artificial smile in place. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
Clara hesitated, then gave a nod and departed, and Marjorie returned her attention to the mirror. She worked a bit longer to smooth her hair, but at last, she gave it up, and turned away.
She walked through the house, out to the terrace and down to the rose garden, and with each step, she told herself it didn’t matter where he went or what he did and that she didn’t care anyway—all the same lies used by a little girl who’d been left behind.
As the rose garden came into sight, as she saw the table set with white linen, silver, and Spode and the footmen darting around with plates of dressed salmon and chilled asparagus, she was reminded that this was her life now, the life she’d wanted and chosen. A life of luncheons and balls and working for charity, of doing the season and marrying a peer and running a country estate.
I think that girl would love the life I’m offering her, if she could just stop clinging to some dream of how things should be, a dream she got from her friends.
Marjorie held her head high and walked a little faster.
By the time she reached the open tent where the ladies were seated, she had gathered her pride and anger around her like a defensive wall. And though her friends must have seen the pain in her still-puffy face, no one asked her any questions.
“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured.
“You mustn’t apologize,” Irene said smoothly. “Not on your birthday. Clara already told us about the horse going lame.”
Marjorie shot Clara a grateful glance as she slipped into her seat.
“At least it’s a lovely day,” Dulci said brightly. “Nothing is more beautiful than an English summer day.”
Marjorie felt a sudden, inexplicable irritation. Did the weather always have to be the topic seized upon in an awkward moment?
“Miss Thornton,” Hetty said, turning to Jenna, “I understand your wedding is in three weeks. Have you learned yet where Colonel Westcott will be posted afterward?”
The other woman heaved a sigh. “Bombay,” she said with gloom, earning a groan of commiseration from several women at the table. “We are leaving the day after the wedding.”
“Bombay?” Dulci cried. “Oh, no! It’ll be so hot there. What about your complexion?”
“I expect your maid can help you deal with anything of that sort,” Irene put in, but Jenna only sighed.
“My maid is refusing to come. She’s given notice. With everything else to be done before the wedding, how am I to find a decent lady’s maid?” Jenna added, eliciting more murmurs of sympathy. “One who is willing to go halfway around the world to some foreign country?”
Despite her own current difficulties, Marjorie couldn’t help thinking her
friend’s words a bit incongruous, since—being American—Jenna was already living in a foreign country. She said nothing, however, but continued to stare at her untouched luncheon plate.
“The Colonel says I can find a maid there,” Jenna went on gloomily, “but men never understand these things.”
“No maid in Bombay will have any knowledge of current fashion,” Dulci said gloomily. “How will you ever manage?”
“I was so hoping we’d be staying here,” Jenna said, words that struck a depressingly familiar chord with Marjorie. “I want to live in London. I have no interest in Bombay. It’s so far away. I can’t imagine anything of interest ever happens there.”
There is a huge, beautiful world out there, and you’ve never seen any of it. Don’t you want to?
Marjorie stirred in her seat as Jonathan’s words echoed through her mind.
“Speaking of happenings,” Carlotta said, “did anyone hear about Lady Mary Pomeroy? She’s engaged at last.” She leaned forward, clearly willing to impart juicy details to the other ladies. “To a curate.”
“No!” Dulci cried as if dismayed, but Marjorie didn’t miss how she leaned closer to Carlotta, equally eager to engage in gossip at another woman’s expense. “A curate, really?”
“Is it so surprising?” Jenna said, her own troubles seemingly forgotten in light of this bit of news. “I mean, after the scandal, a curate was probably the best she could do.”
Shades of Lady Stansbury, Marjorie thought, remembering the talk about Lady Mary Pomeroy in the countess’s sewing circle, and as she glanced at her friends, she was suddenly struck by how different Dulci and Jenna seemed now from the schoolfriends who had dreamed with her of romance and adventure and living across the sea. Perhaps her memory was at fault.
Or perhaps there was another explanation.
If you want to move in society, you must play by society’s rules. It’s that simple.
She glanced from her friends to Carlotta and back again, appreciating just how well Dulci and Jenna had learned those rules. Too well, perhaps. How long before she was the same?
“Well, a girl has to marry someone,” Dulci said. “Better a curate than no one, I suppose.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with a curate,” Marjorie put in, goaded into speaking up.
“No need to get touchy, Marjorie,” Jenna said with a sniff. “You’ve been dreaming about marrying a man with a title just as much as any of us ever did.”
“I was an idiot,” Marjorie blurted out without thinking, a remark that earned her a frown from Dulci.
“I married a man with a title,” she said acidly. “Am I an idiot?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Marjorie mumbled, rubbing four fingers over her forehead, feeling suddenly weary of it all. “I’m sorry if I offended you. Let’s not quarrel.”
“Perhaps it’s time,” Irene murmured tactfully, “that Marjorie opened her presents.”
This suggestion was greeted with everyone’s approval and relief. Boothby was tasked with bringing the presents, and as she opened them, Marjorie was obligated to put her artificial smile back on.
From Irene, she received a silver inkstand, and from Clara, a set of fountain pens inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Baroness Vasiliev had already departed for London, but she’d left behind a present that reflected her own flamboyant character—an enormous ostrich-feather quill that was clearly decorative rather than functional.
As Marjorie set these gifts aside, she wondered what letters she would write to the other teachers back in White Plains. They were eager, no doubt, to hear all about her wonderful new life and how happy she was.
Her smile faltered at that thought, and she had to clench her jaw to keep it in place as she reached for Dulci’s gift and opened it.
“Handkerchiefs,” she said. “How lovely.”
“They’re made by a firm in Paris,” Dulci offered. “Very fashionable. Happy birthday.”
She wasn’t quite certain why handkerchiefs had to be fashionable, but she didn’t inquire. “Thank you, Dulci.”
She moved on, opening more gifts—books of verse, sketches, pressed flowers, all perfectly suited to a young, unmarried woman of society. Even Lady Stansbury had sent her a present, a face towel embroidered with roses.
“What pretty needlework,” Jenna said, leaning closer. “Mine isn’t nearly as good, as hard as I try.”
Marjorie turned, puzzled. “When did you take up needlework? When we were at Forsyte, you hated sewing. Your passion was fencing.”
Jenna smiled, but it was an awkward smile, with a curious hint of apology in it. “Fencing isn’t really something many British ladies do, so I gave it up.”
That sort of conformity did not sound at all like Jenna. Granted, Marjorie hadn’t been able to spend much time with her friend, but the Jenna she remembered from schooldays had been athletic and adventurous and up for anything. That Jenna had never cared what other people thought.
That girl has a sense of adventure. That girl would love the life I’m offering her.
With an effort, Marjorie shoved the memory of Jonathan’s words aside. “When did you start caring so much about what other people think?” she asked Jenna.
Her friend bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. “The colonel’s mother doesn’t approve of fencing.”
Marjorie gave an unamused laugh. “She sounds a lot like Lady Stansbury.”
Jenna drew herself up. “Lady Stansbury and the colonel’s mother happen to be very good friends,” she said with dignity.
Marjorie was tempted to ask if Jenna would be able to find a nice boiled pudding in Bombay. She refrained, but as she studied her friend’s abashed face, she couldn’t help wondering if, in a year or two, she’d be taking up needlework and giving up things that she enjoyed to suit the sensibilities of others. Given the things she’d said to Jonathan this morning, it seemed depressingly possible, and she was relieved when Boothby diverted her with another package.
“Goodness,” she said as the butler placed a box about eighteen inches square in front of her. “Another one?”
“This is the last one, Miss McGann,” the butler murmured. “From Mr. Deverill.”
A chorus of teasing oohs and aahs rose around her, much to her irritation, and her friends at once began speculating about what the box contained.
“Maybe it’s more jewels,” Dulci said. “Didn’t you say he’d taken some of your father’s gems to Fossin and Morel? Maybe he had some of them set for you?”
Marjorie hoped not. One necklace had already gotten her into enough trouble.
“Goodness,” Hetty said in her well-bred drawl, peering across the table. “Given the size of that box, if it is jewels, the man’s certainly generous.”
“But in that case,” Jenna put in, sounding doubtful, “wouldn’t Marjorie have to give them back? Jewels aren’t appropriate. He’s Marjorie’s guardian, not her husband.”
“He is the former, but maybe he wants to be the latter,” Dulci said, making most of the ladies laugh.
Marjorie bit her lip, staring at the package, in no mood to laugh with them.
“I think,” Irene said, her voice so gentle Marjorie wanted to burst into a fresh fit of weeping, “we should stop any pointless speculation and let Marjorie open it.”
Aware that everyone’s eyes were on her, Marjorie reached for the scissors, cut the string, and pulled away the paper, revealing a plain, unimpressive wooden crate.
“Heavens, what is it?” someone asked with a tittering laugh as Marjorie lifted the lid. “Eggs from the farm?”
But it wasn’t eggs. And it wasn’t jewels. It wasn’t even a predictable and appropriate gift, like books or pens. No, it was something else entirely, something that obliterated Marjorie’s shored-up resolutions, crumbled her defenses of pride, anger, and hurt, and turned to dust and ashes all the illusions she’d been carrying about how her life was going to be.
Inside the box was a field camera.
“Are you cert
ain you want to do this?”
Jonathan looked up from the plans spread across the desk, giving the Marquess of Kayne a surprised glance. “I thought we’d agreed. The engineers must add more lifeboats to the design.”
“That’s not what I mean. Just after you decide to cancel your departure for South Africa, I’m the one responsible for sending you off again. The duchess can’t be pleased with me.”
The duchess wasn’t the only one. Jonathan looked down again, pain squeezing his chest as he thought of how he’d left Marjorie on the terrace at Ainsley Park a few hours ago. “The duchess isn’t the problem,” he muttered as he pretended to resume his study of the ship’s design plans Kayne had presented for his perusal. “Believe me.”
“Still, I was supposed to go, and though I’m grateful you’re taking my place, I feel I’ve dumped an enormous task on you with no warning. I was surprised you agreed.”
“Were you?” Jonathan stared down at the plans, an ironic smile curving his lips. Yesterday, when he and Kayne had discussed this venture, he’d known almost at once that it was what he’d been searching for, not only because it suited him and excited him, but also because he’d seen how it could bridge the gap between what he wanted and what Marjorie wanted. And after last night, when she had come to his room, when she’d given herself to him and admitted she loved him, he’d been sure she would at least be willing to listen to his plans. But now, thinking of her appalled face and the hurt in her eyes, he realized he’d been a bit too optimistic there. Still, he was only in the first stage of what he’d known would be a long campaign.
“One of us has to go,” he said as he straightened and began rolling up the plans. “And it ought to be me, since arranging the moorings is now my responsibility.” He held up the plans. “I may take these to show the men in Gibraltar, I assume?”
When Kayne nodded, he secured the roll of plans with an elastic band and bent to retrieve his dispatch case from the floor. “Then, since my ship sails in less than an hour, I’d best be on my way. If I delay much longer, my valet will begin to wonder if he’s bound for Gibraltar without me.”
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