Drops of Gold (13 page)

“I know it isn’t the done thing for a child so young to dine with adults, but it seems to mean so much to her.” Marion hoped she hadn’t given him a chance to disagree. Yet. “I heard Mrs. Sanders say that at least one of your brothers and your mother, the countess, have returned to Lampton Park. If they were to make up the party, there wouldn’t really be any impropriety. And I trust they would be lenient if Caroline were a little overawed, though I don’t believe she would give you a moment’s concern.”

“So, a dinner with Caroline as hostess, the guests, adults selected from among her circle of acquaintances,” Mr. Jonquil summed up, but Marion couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t say if he approved of her idea or thought her completely out of line. He rose and walked to the windows of his library.

Marion felt almost desperate. It so obviously was a dream of Caroline’s, one of many she’d unknowingly shared with Marion. The child wanted so many simple things that no one could possibly give her—she wished to know her deceased mother, wished for a mother of her own, wished for her father to laugh and tease and play with her when he was so often pensive and quiet and sad. This dinner party was at least possible.

“Oh, please, Mr. Jonquil!” Marion followed him with her eyes as he moved around the room. “I so want to give her this. I will write the invitations myself so Mrs. Sanders won’t be bothered. Better yet!” She clapped her hands together. “I will help Caroline write them. Her letters are entirely legible, and I can assist her with her spelling and anything else. She would be delighted.”

“That is a great deal of work for an almost-five-year-old to accomplish in a few hours. The invitations would need to be sent today, you realize.” He looked ready to deny her.

“Then perhaps I could write the invitations, and Caroline could simply write her name on them. She is quite proficient at writing her own name, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“I—”

“And I will dress her and fix her hair myself. There would be no bother for the servants. They certainly wouldn’t be overset at providing dinner for your family.”

“Certainly not.” He seemed to laugh.

At
her
? Nearly everyone she’d known would laugh to see her now, begging for a small favor, humbled at her inability to grant a small wish for a child. But she pushed forward.

“Please,” she asked one more time. “Do this for her. She has lost so much but asks for so little.”

She saw him stiffen but did not wish the words unsaid. Mr. Jonquil turned toward her and stepped to where she stood, his eyes softened somehow. A slight smile turned his lips when he spoke. “You seem to be under the impression that I disapprove of your suggestion.”

“Do you not?”

Mr. Jonquil shook his head and stepped closer yet. “There are times, my dear Miss Wood, when your thoughtfulness amazes me.”

She could do nothing but listen and watch him, fascinated by the look in his eyes but unable to interpret it.

“I think this dinner you propose is inspired.” Mr. Jonquil watched her, standing directly in front of her. “I happen to know that Philip, the earl, and Stanley—”

“The soldier.” Marion nodded, knowing precisely to which brother he referred.

“—and Mater are all at the Park. I can guarantee they wouldn’t miss a dinner here, especially one hosted by Caroline. They like her far better than they like me.” He smiled a little self-deprecatingly. Marion wondered if he believed the words despite his joking tone.

“May I write the invitations, then?” she asked.

“If I may add one more name to the list,” Mr. Jonquil said.

“Oh, sir, I feel the party really ought to be limited to people whom Caroline knows well and with whom she would be comfortable.”

“I assure you this last guest will not make Caroline the least bit uncomfortable.” Mr. Jonquil seemed to be hiding a smile. “She and Caroline are quite fond of each other, actually.”

She
? Marion tried to swallow back a lump that suddenly formed in her throat. Who was this mysterious lady who held such a position of trust in Caroline’s life? Was Mr. Jonquil attached to her as well? But she had no right to even speculate on such things.

“Of course, Mr. Jonquil,” Marion forced herself to say. “I will invite anyone you see fit to include.”

Mr. Jonquil stepped a little closer and looked directly into her eyes. “Anyone?”

Marion nodded, her heart racing at his nearness.

“Do I have your word on that?”

“Yes, sir.” Marion fought the urge to reach out and touch him. Where had her recent wayward inclinations come from?

“Must you attach a ‘sir’ to every sentence you speak to me?” A hint of frustration touched the lightness of his tone.

“I figure ‘sir’ is better than ‘guv’nuh.’”

Mr. Jonquil chuckled. “Infinitely.”

“To whom shall I send the extra invitation, s—” She stopped just before adding her usual ending.

Mr. Jonquil seemed to notice. His smile broadened. He turned away, walking back toward his desk. As he sat, he said, “To Miss Mary Wood.”

A few noises came out of her mouth but nothing that constituted any actual words.

“You gave your word,” Mr. Jonquil reminded her, taking up his quill again. “I expect the invitation to be extended”—He looked up for the briefest of moments—“and accepted.”

“Yes,
sir
.” She added the last with emphasis. “And thank you so very much.”

He didn’t look up or respond, and Marion knew that was her cue to leave. She ran up the stairs, rushing past Maggie, straight into her room, where she closed the door hard before dancing in a victorious circle at the foot of her bed and then dropped onto it with an exclamation of sheer triumph.

* * *

The invitations were sent and universally accepted by that evening. Caroline was ecstatic. She spoke for a full ten minutes without pausing once. Marion listened in complete amazement, grateful beyond words to Mr. Jonquil for agreeing to what must have seemed at the time to be a mad scheme.

They spent the next morning and half the afternoon working out the details: choosing a gown for Caroline and a ribbon for her hair and deciding on a menu, which Marion relayed to Mr. Jonquil, for she had her suspicions that Mrs. Sanders would find the extra work a nuisance. Marion, on the other hand, loved seeing the glow in Caroline’s eyes as their plans came together.

By the afternoon of Caroline’s birthday, the nursery wing was overflowing with excitement. The dinner was to be at six o’clock, early enough to accommodate the schedule of a young child but late enough not to be ridiculous. Caroline hadn’t eaten a thing at tea. Indeed, she hadn’t even sat still. Marion had loved every minute.

“Will Papa think I am beautiful, Mary?” Caroline asked, smiling at herself in the tiny mirror on the wall in Marion’s room.

“He couldn’t possibly think otherwise, dearest.” Marion beamed back at her. They’d spent a full hour on her hair alone, not because such time had been necessary but because Marion knew that every girl—every woman, for that matter—needed to feel pretty at least once in her life. For Caroline, tonight would be just the first.
Adorable
was probably the best word for the birthday girl. Her blonde ringlets hung in absolute perfection, and an enormous blue bow in her hair perfectly matched the blue silk of her dress, edged in delicate, childlike lace.

“And what about me, Caroline?” Marion twirled around as if to ask Caroline’s opinion of her gray gown, the same one she’d worn to church every Sunday, and her usual coiffure: hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and strands falling loose despite all of her efforts to prevent their escape. She knew perfectly well that she appeared plain and dowdy, but Caroline would enjoy feeling herself the fashion critic.

“You need a ribbon too, Mary,” Caroline decreed, perfectly serious and ponderous. She took Marion by the hand and led her back into her own room, with its delicate white furniture and wispy lace curtains. From a box on her dressing table, Caroline pulled a length of ribbon very much the shade of salmon that one regularly saw in an autumn sunset. It would look absolutely dreadful against her red hair. She allowed Caroline to tie it around her bun, knowing it would be lopsided.

“Are we ready now?” she asked Caroline. “You are hostess tonight and must not be late.”

Caroline barely managed to walk down the stairs. Marion could tell just from watching her that she was sorely tempted to run. But the young girl took the steps at a sedate pace, posture perfectly upright, the very copy of a society debutante—at least until she saw her father.

A squeal of delight barely preceded Caroline’s flight across the floor of the drawing room and directly into the outstretched arms of Mr. Jonquil. Marion smiled as she watched them. These were the moments that gave her hope for those two.

“Who is this grown-up young lady, Miss Wood?” Mr. Jonquil held Caroline back far enough to look her over and pretend to wonder at her identity.

“I found her upstairs, Mr. Jonquil. Since you were in need of a proper hostess, I brought her down.”

“Excellent notion, Miss Wood.”

“Sillies!” Caroline giggled. “I’m Caroline!”

Mr. Jonquil uttered a perfectly astounded gasp. “This grown-up girl is my little Caroline? No! I cannot believe it!”

“I am, Papa! I am!” She laughed. “I just have a grown-up ribbon, see?”

“That must be it.” Mr. Jonquil’s smile broke through. “Ribbons have been known to add years to a lady’s appearance.”

“Do not let word of that get around, sir,” Marion said. “Not a soul in London would wear a ribbon again.”

Mr. Jonquil smiled at her, a breathtaking smile. For just a moment, Marion was quite unaccountably light-headed.

“I gave Mary a ribbon too, Papa!” Caroline ran to grasp Marion’s hand and pull her farther into the room. “Do you see it? It is my very prettiest pink ribbon.”

“And how old do I look with this prettiest of pink ribbons?” Marion raised an eyebrow jokingly.

The look of scrutiny Mr. Jonquil leveled at her was anything but playful, as if he were memorizing everything about her. Marion felt the color rising in her cheeks. To cover her suddenly fluttering heart and quivering knees, she tried to laugh. “I suppose that was a rather impolitic question.” She managed to shrug.

“Extremely impolitic.” Mr. Jonquil’s eyes locked with hers in a very discomforting way.

Marion’s heart fluttered faster. She pressed her hand to it in hopes of stopping the sensation.

“No matter how I reply, I fear my answer would be taken in offense,” Mr. Jonquil said. “My answer would unavoidably be either too young or too old.”

“Undoubtedly,” Marion answered, her voice sounding strangely breathy to her own ears. Why in heaven’s name would her heart not resume a more normal pace?

“Yes, dear?” Mr. Jonquil addressed Caroline, who had been tugging at his coattails for several moments.

Caroline spoke in a whisper far too loud for confidentiality, though her tone indicated she intended their exchange to be secret. Marion pretended not to hear. “Mary is twenty whole years old, Papa. Her birthday was only two days ago. So close to mine!” Caroline’s eyes grew wide.

“And why, poppet, did you not tell your Papa that it was Miss Wood’s birthday?” But Mr. Jonquil was looking at Marion again with something akin to disappointment on his face.

She must have looked confused at his expression. She certainly felt confused. Why would he have wished to know? She was only a servant.

“We could have given her a present,” Mr. Jonquil said. His disappointment seemed to dissolve into almost sadness.

“Oh, I wanted to! But I didn’t have anything to give her, and I . . .” Caroline sniffled back sudden tears. “I . . . I wish . . .”

Mr. Jonquil engulfed Caroline in his large arms once more as he knelt in front of her. He whispered something into Caroline’s tiny ear that Marion couldn’t overhear, and a tremulous smile courageously peeked out through her tears. Mr. Jonquil took hold of Caroline’s hand then rose to his feet and turned to Marion.

“Miss Wood,” he said in that voice she remembered from their first encounter, one filled with aristocratic command. She felt herself stiffen at the sound of it as she looked up into his eyes. But the moment her gaze met his, she relaxed. There was a twinkle there that belied his demeanor. “As master of this house, I am declaring tomorrow your second birthday.”

“My
what
?”

“Cake and presents and general merriment.” Mr. Jonquil went on as if she’d made no inquiry. “A few days late but a birthday celebration just the same.”

Marion and Caroline replied in perfect unison. “Oh, sir, that is hardly—” and “Oh, Papa!”

“Go to the window, poppet,” Mr. Jonquil instructed gently. “See if Flip and Grammy and Stanby are here yet.”

Caroline obediently ran off with a smile splitting her face.

Mr. Jonquil turned to face Marion, a look in his eyes that made her breath catch in her lungs and her heart flutter once again. She wasn’t entirely sure what it meant or why she felt the way she did, but something in her wanted him to continue looking at her just the way he was at that moment.

Mary wasted not a moment of their sudden privacy before protesting again. “It would be too much, sir. For a servant—”

“Let us do this for you, Miss Wood,” Layton interrupted, stepping ever closer, fighting the urge to brush his fingers along her cheek. He’d avoided her rather obsessively since their hours-long discussion of his past in the woods weeks earlier, thinking he’d regret his decision to unburden himself if he were forced to face her. But it seemed Mary—he’d come to think of her that way, even though the name didn’t seem to fit her somehow—was all he thought about lately. He’d wonder where she was and what she was doing. He’d wander to the schoolroom when he knew she and Caroline were on one of their outings and would marvel at the change she’d wrought there. It was lighter and cheerier and full of wilted brown leaves. They, no doubt, were still collecting the legendary Drops of Gold.

Once, he’d even gone to the nursery wing in the middle of the night, telling himself he only meant to check on Caroline, which he did, but then he sat in a chair near the empty fireplace and just listened to the quiet stillness of Mary’s domain. He endured no gut-wrenching sobs, no night-long pacing up and down the room he knew was hers. She was peaceful, and he needed peace. He
needed
it.