Drops of Gold(42)

Layton followed her out and leaned a little closer, until he could smell her again. “No,” he whispered. Her answering smile made his heart beat harder. “How shall I announce you, Mary?” he asked, still whispering, still a little too close for his own comfort. “With pomposity and arrogance?”

“Any good butler would.” Her eyes grew big, filling with mischief. She whispered instructions before standing silently in the corridor to wait for his announcement.

Layton returned to the room, trying hard to control his features. His mouth seemed determined to turn up despite his efforts to look serious and stiff like a true butler. He cleared his throat. Mater and Stanley laughed at his flawless imitation of one of Sanders’s more well-known mannerisms. Philip simply raised his quizzing glass.

“Miss Mary Wood,” Layton announced to the guests in the room, “The Right Honorable Governess.”

Sputtering laughs echoed around the room, Philip’s included. Mary stepped inside, chin raised as if she were a duchess. She eyed the room with all the self-importance of the highest-ranking nobility. Anyone watching her would think she was the daughter of a duke or marquess rather than the hired governess in the home of the heir apparent to a minor barony.

Layton watched her make her own flawless curtsies as Caroline introduced her quite properly to his family. He smiled, grateful no one was watching him. Layton knew his heart would show in his eyes and his wholly inappropriate tendre would be apparent to anyone watching—that the entire room would know in one glance that he had fallen in love with a woman he could never marry. A gentleman didn’t marry his child’s governess without repercussions. He hadn’t enough standing in society to withstand the scandal that would create. He owed it to Caroline not to attach any more unflattering speculation to their already gossip-clogged name.





Chapter Sixteen



The Earl of Lampton was a dandy but a harmless one. Marion had come to that conclusion before the first course of Caroline’s dinner last night. He had a knack for saying vastly conceited things without sounding the least bit arrogant. Marion hadn’t laughed so much during a meal since the time Robert had spent an entire dinner hour in a perpetual state of giggles. He had been nine at the time; she’d been six. It remained one of her favorite memories.

Marion sighed quietly to herself, missing her brother. It had been almost a year. How much had happened in those few months.

“Disappointed?”

She looked up at Mr. Jonquil. How long had he been standing there? As always, her heart rate picked up at the sight of him. She knew from hours’ worth of self-reflection that she was half in love with him.

And why shouldn’t she be? Marion watched him from where she was sitting near the fireplace. He was a little rumpled after putting Caroline to bed, but if anything, he looked more handsome. And he was smiling. No one could blame her for melting under the power of that smile.

“I am sorry we had to postpone your birthday celebration,” Mr. Jonquil said.

Marion shrugged. “Caroline was all but asleep. I think she’s had a few too many excitements these past few days. What with having her family here for her birthday yesterday.”

“They can be a bit much,” Mr. Jonquil said. “I hope you weren’t overwhelmed, Miss Wood.”

“Not at all.” Marion smiled up at him, setting aside the dress she hoped to complete before the earl’s upcoming wedding. “Not even an earl can intimidate a Right Honorable Governess.”

Mr. Jonquil let an almighty laugh escape before checking himself with a guilty glance toward Caroline’s bedchamber. “I hope I didn’t wake her.”

“So do I,” Marion said dryly. “I’ll be up with her if you have.”

Mr. Jonquil smiled vaguely but didn’t speak. His gaze wandered around the room but inevitably slid back to her. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday, Mary?” he asked quietly, his eyes once again avoiding hers. “I would have liked to . . .” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Did you have a good birthday? All things considered?”

“I did, sir.” She wanted to reach out and take his hand but held herself in check.

“No, Mary.” He turned back to her in an instant. “Not ‘sir.’ Not when it’s just me here.”

“But it wouldn’t be—”

“I just . . . I need . . . I need you to be a . . . friend, Mary. Someone I can . . . Someone to talk to.” Mr. Jonquil paced in a tight circle, obviously uncomfortable and noticeably in earnest. “Not ‘Mr. Jonquil.’ Not ‘sir.’”