Drops of Gold(11)

Marion took a deep breath at the door. What was the worst thing that could happen? she asked herself. If he dismissed her, she could always beg. She certainly wasn’t above such tactics. Perhaps an abject apology would help. On her knees? Marion considered the idea but found it so absurd she broke into a grin. What a picture she would make. She might be able to conjure tears if she worked at it . . . or pinched herself really hard. Then again, if he fired her, she’d probably cry without even trying.

She knocked.

“Come in,” a deep masculine voice called from within.

For a moment, Marion contemplated walking in with her hand clutched dramatically to her heart, tears dripping sorrowfully down her cheeks. Maybe even falling onto the floor in front of her employer, sprawled in a heap of humanity. She had to bite back another smile as she stepped inside the library.

She should have anticipated the smell of leather and aged parchment, and yet it took her entirely by surprise. She felt her smile fade almost instantly. Would the smell of books always remind her of Papa?

“You wished to see me, sir.” She managed a far more subservient tone than she ever had in the past. ’Twas amazing, the dampening effect thoughts of unemployment and death had on one’s spirit.

Without so much as glancing up at her, Mr. Jonquil waved her inside from his seat at his imposing mahogany desk. She was really in deep this time. Well done, Marion! There was nothing for it; she would simply have to grovel.

Marion took a fortifying breath and moved across the room until she stood in front of the desk. No time like the present, she reminded herself. “Mr. Jonquil, sir?”

Her employer glanced up from a stack of papers, and for a fraction of a moment, Marion held out hope that he’d miraculously transformed into a hideously ugly elderly man. With several missing teeth. And enormous spots. And nose hair.

“Ah, furuncle,” she muttered under her breath. He was still gorgeous. Could a man be considered gorgeous? she wondered. If one could, Mr. Jonquil was just that. His thick, wavy, golden hair curled at the nape of his neck where it had grown a little long. She’d thought his eyes a simple deep blue but saw at that distance that they were, in fact, blue flecked with chocolate and emerald. No hint of shoulder padding filled out his extremely well-fitting coat.

Yes. The man was gorgeous, and that was intimidating. Intimidating and entirely unfair.

The clearing of a masculine throat brought Marion to her senses. Oh heavens! She was staring! Staring at her employer! If the man didn’t already find her impertinent, he’d soon be convinced she was completely attics-to-let. It was not the best way to make a positive impression.

Please let me stay, she could almost hear herself say. Raving lunatics make wonderful governesses. A smile tugged at her mouth as she imagined what Mr. Jonquil must think of her mental state.

“Perhaps we should postpone this interview to a more convenient time for you, Miss Wood,” Mr. Jonquil suggested dryly. “You seem rather distracted at the moment.”

That succeeded in wiping every hint of a smile from her face. “I am sorry, sir.” She quickly pushed on before she lost her nerve. “I must apologize also for my behavior earlier. I know I was impertinent. Worse. I was . . . flippant and . . . disrespectful . . . and . . . um . . .”

“Saucy,” Mr. Jonquil inserted.

Marion nodded. She had been saucy. Mr. Jonquil seemed to be expecting further confession. “And . . .” How many more synonyms could she conjure?

“Outspoken.”

“Well-spoken,” Marion countered. Immediately, she slapped her hands over her mouth. She felt her eyes fly wide open. Mr. Jonquil’s only acknowledgment of her outburst was a raised eyebrow. Marion let her arms drop to her side and dug her toe into the carpet in frustration. “Double dungers,” she muttered.

“Double dungers?” Mr. Jonquil repeated, that eyebrow arching higher yet. “Is that a common phrase amongst the well-spoken?”

A look of challenge showed in Mr. Jonquil’s captivating eyes, along with something disturbingly condescending. She had the feeling he meant to put her in her place. For a person who had been on the verge of begging only moments earlier, Marion felt that old, familiar fight bubbling inside. She might be a servant without even a guinea to her name, but she had pride.

Marion mustered every ounce of dignity she possessed. “Oh, yes, sir. Double dungers is quite au courant among highly educated linguists.”

That one golden brow dropped, the other joining it in a look of confusion—disapproval, almost. Apparently Mr. Jonquil felt she was being impertinent again.

She let out a whoosh of breath. This was going to be more difficult than she’d anticipated. “I’m sorry, sir.” Her eyes dropped to the scuffed toes of her boots. He miraculously hadn’t discharged her yet. She couldn’t afford to be a failure.