Drops of Gold(25)

“That is a conversation I would enjoy overhearing,” Mr. Jonquil said under his breath to Marion.

For the first time in the short two weeks she’d been at Farland Meadows, Marion saw a side of Mr. Jonquil she’d never imagined. His eyes sparkled with mischief, like a joke was lurking in the background, a joke he was sharing with her. Marion felt her heart skip a beat but told herself the reaction stemmed only from her relief at seeing that Mr. Jonquil was happier, and therefore Caroline would be happier, and thus her job would be that much easier. She almost believed her reasoning.

“Now, dearest.” Marion pulled her eyes from Mr. Jonquil and addressed Caroline. “You are our queen for the night. We await your command.”

“I have been dethroned,” Mr. Jonquil said with a sigh. “This must be how Charles I felt.” A smile tugged at his lips.

“Except Charles was beheaded,” Marion pointed out. “We only stole your cake.”

“I want to hear about the pepper,” Caroline said, still leaning against her father and sniffling.

“The pepper?” Mr. Jonquil asked.

“Funny pepper.” Caroline wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Mary’s story.”

How she adored the child! Candid moments like this one, when Caroline acted like a four-year-old instead of a tiny, reticent adult, tugged at Marion’s heart. She wished Caroline to always be so unaffected.

“Sit with your papa,” Marion said, reaching out to wipe a tear from Caroline’s face. “Let him clean you up a bit, and I will tell you the story.”

Mr. Jonquil hesitated for only a fraction of a moment, his eyes focused on Marion’s face. She wondered if she’d done something wrong, offended him somehow. But then he sat, holding Caroline on his lap in a chair near the fireplace. He pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Caroline’s eyes.

Marion watched the girl’s transformation. Caroline’s smile slowly, tentatively returned.

“Blow your nose, dear,” Mr. Jonquil instructed, handing her the linen.

She did and made to give it back, like a miniature version of a gentleman giving his square of linen to a dewy-eyed debutante.

“No, dearest.” Marion stopped her, unable to squelch the thought of the girl trying to give back an unlaundered handkerchief to some well-meaning gentleman in fourteen years or so. “You keep the linen but tell him you will have it laundered and will return it to him.”

Caroline giggled. “Is that what very grown-up girls do?” she asked her papa.

“Oh, yes. And sometimes, if a gentleman is particularly enamored of a very grown-up girl to whom he has lent his handkerchief, he will wish her to keep it.”

“Will some gentleman give me his handkerchief when I am grown-up?” Caroline looked intently into Mr. Jonquil’s eyes.

“Probably, and then I will call him out.”

Marion felt her breath catch in her throat. Her own father had said that so many times, threatening with a chuckle to call out any young man who showed any preference for his “darling girl.”

Caroline grinned and threw her arms around Mr. Jonquil’s neck. “Oh, Papa! You are funny tonight.”

“Funny? I am perfectly serious. The only gentleman’s handkerchiefs you will be permitted to accept will be mine.”

Oh heavens, how Marion missed her father right then. She could vividly recall sitting on his lap as a child and laughing at his antics and telling him how very silly he was. Those were among her most cherished memories.

Mr. Jonquil looked up at her in that moment, and Marion grew flustered. She blinked a few times, hoping to disguise the fact that tears sat unshed on her lashes. She felt her lips tremble as she attempted to force them into a smile she felt certain looked more like a grimace. Not knowing what else to do, Marion turned slightly away, forcing herself to breathe deeply and rid her mind of these sudden blue-devils.

“Tell me the story, Mary,” she heard Caroline say.

One more deep breath, and Marion turned back toward Caroline, who was snuggled against her father. “Once upon a time—” Her voice shook only once. Caroline did not seem to notice, but Mr. Jonquil was watching her with more interest than her story warranted.

“—a handsome young man fell in love with a kindhearted young lady,” Caroline finished for her.

Marion smiled. All her stories did begin the same way. “They were married and were soon blessed with a—”

“—strapping son and a loving daughter,” Mr. Jonquil filled in, his smile full of uncharacteristic mischief, which somehow fit him far more than his usual look of disconnection.

Marion’s heart warmed. He might not have been a knight on a white charger, but he’d come to her rescue just the same, helping dispel her sudden sadness. He held his daughter so protectively, so lovingly, that Caroline had survived a scolding without retreating into herself once more.