Drops of Gold(13)

Mr. Jonquil watched her for a moment. Marion tried to look more confident than she felt. Then he said, “Her word carries greater authority than yours does.” Did he sound apologetic? A little, at least?

Marion shrugged. “Probably because she doesn’t say things like double dungers.”

A ghost of a smile crossed her employer’s face, lightening it and making him look years younger. “That might have something to do with it.”

Marion smiled back. If Mr. Jonquil knew half the homespun grumblings she’d invented over the years, she’d lose every ounce of credibility she had.

“Thirty pounds per is a generous wage for a nursemaid,” Mr. Jonquil said, almost as if in warning. He probably didn’t believe her. He had no reason to.

“But not for a governess.”

“True.”

“I was promised thirty.”

“By whom?”

“Mrs. Sanders.” Marion’s wariness grew. “She said as much in the letter she sent offering me the position of governess.”

“Do you still have the letter?” He looked doubtful.

“I do, sir.” Marion had realized within her first twenty-four hours at Farland Meadows that Mrs. Sanders was unnervingly inconsistent. She’d come to think of the housekeeper as the ogre guarding the castle tower in which Marion was being held prisoner. Picturing her with green skin and chin hair made Mrs. Sanders easier to endure.

“I would like to see the letter, if you please.” Mr. Jonquil held out his hand—his large, masculine hand. Hers would be positively dwarfed by it were he to hold her hand. Now that was a rather inappropriate thought to have about one’s employer.

Mr. Jonquil cleared his throat, and Marion realized, to her chagrin, that she was staring at his hand.

“I don’t have the letter on my person,” she finally said, feeling more and more like a damsel in distress.

A look of disapproval crossed his features. Obviously, he thought he’d caught her in a lie.

“It is in my room, sir.” She held her chin up. She had been treated unfairly, denied salary, and made to look dishonest in front of her employer. She was the one locked in the castle dungeon. Mr. Jonquil was proving a very inadequate knight on a white charger.

“Retrieve it,” he instructed. “I would like this misunderstanding cleared up.”

Oh, how tempting it was to salute, to call him “guv’nuh” when he gave her that haughty look. She’d been in his company only twice in her life, and yet she’d already come to dislike when he got high in the instep.

Marion shook her head at herself. She, the governess, thought the master of the house arrogant because he had given her orders? She was one of his servants. Time to come down from the tower and back to real life.

“You don’t care to show me the letter?” he interrupted her silent self-castigation.

Realizing she’d been standing on the spot, shaking her head, Marion nearly laughed at her own stupidity.

“I will just be a moment, sir.” She kept her arms firmly at her side, lest they creep to her forehead and she find herself being saucy again. Being an ideal servant was harder than she’d imagined.





Chapter Six



Mary Wood was going to be a handful.

Layton ran his fingers through his hair. He could understand Caroline’s fondness for her new governess. Miss Wood was energetic and full of life and . . . strangely enjoyable. How hard it had been to keep a straight face as countless emotions had flickered through her eyes. It had obviously taken tremendous effort for her to keep to the “yes, sirs” and “no, sirs” to which she’d apparently decided to limit herself. That was taking her pledge to rein in her tongue a little far. But Layton had no plans to tell her so.

He pulled the bell tug, and a footman instantly appeared at the door.

“Have Mrs. Sanders come here.”

While the message was being delivered, Layton stoked the fire. He’d probably be better off letting Miss Wood go. Accusing the housekeeper of lying would certainly be grounds for dismissal. He had to find a way around that problem because he’d promised Caroline that her Mary could stay.

Layton sighed and leaned against the mantel. If only she weren’t so attached to Miss Wood. The poor child had been through so many nursemaids. If one had only stayed for more than a few weeks, she might not be clinging so desperately to her governess.

Governess! For a four-year-old! It just wasn’t done. Someone so young should have a nursemaid. Then again, they hadn’t had much luck with nurses. Layton couldn’t for the life of him understand what drove them away so quickly. Caroline had always been a little shy, but that certainly couldn’t account for six defections in the past year and six more in the three years before that.