“I assure you, Miss Wood”—How it rankled to call her that when he still thought of her as Marion—“that will not happen again.”
She mouthed a silent “Oh.” Marion’s hand dropped to her heart. All the color drained from her face, and for a fraction of a moment, she seemed to sway. Before Layton could so much as reach out for her, she steadied herself. She looked into his eyes once more, hers filled with confusion and pain.
Layton shoved his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat, the temptation to hold her to him, to kiss away her suffering, almost too great to resist.
“I believe it is growing cold, sir.” Marion’s eyes dropped to her feet, her voice nearly too quiet to hear. “I’ll return to the house. And . . . warm up . . .” She didn’t move for a moment or look up.
“A good idea.” Layton forced himself to turn back toward the river. He couldn’t bear to see Marion so downcast.
He stepped closer to the water, holding his breath as he waited to see what she would do. After a moment of thick silence, he heard her steps slowly crunching in the snow. As he watched the flowing waters of the Trent, a single yellow-tinged leaf floated closer to him.
“I’ve found a Drop of Gold, Mar—Miss Wood,” Layton said and heard her footsteps stop.
He looked over his shoulder at Marion and saw her do the same.
“Would you like me to fish it out?”
She shook her head, a completely unfamiliar bleakness in her eyes. “No, Mr. Jonquil.”
“But—”
“It’s only a dead leaf, sir,” she said quietly. “What good would it do?” Then, silently, shoulders slumping, she walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
“Yes, Miss Wood?”
Marion froze on the spot and felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m sorry, sir,” she answered shakily. “I didn’t realize . . . I hadn’t thought . . . I hadn’t expected you to be in here. I apologize for interrupting you.”
She managed the entire halting speech without once looking up at him. There was no need, really. She knew precisely what she would have seen. He’d be seated at his desk, reading papers or entering items in an account book, a pensive, brooding look on his face, golden hair a little mussed. Her heart would break if she had to look at him.
“Was there something you wanted?”
It didn’t do to want things, she thought to herself. She had learned that lesson rather abruptly, rather painfully only two mornings before. She’d allowed her hopes to soar to new heights the night Layton had kissed her. She had thought he felt as much during that kiss as she had and that what he was communicating was truly the message he meant to send. The very next morning, she’d come crashing back to reality.
I assure you that will not happen again, he’d said as though he’d found kissing her utterly repulsive. Then he’d rebuffed her for the closeness that seemed to have grown between them. She hadn’t realized until that morning along the banks of her beloved river that words could inflict physically painful wounds. Her heart still ached. Physically. Painfully.
“I . . .” She took a fortifying breath, suddenly nervous to so much as speak in front of him. Marion knew she’d have no trouble being an appropriately humble servant from then on. Nothing crumbled a young lady’s pride like complete and utter rejection. It had most certainly put her firmly in her place. “I was returning this, sir.” She hastily placed a precisely folded square of linen on the desk she knew Layton sat at then retreated a few steps almost frantically.
Every inch of her wanted to flee, run before he could hurt her more. But she was a servant, an employee, something he’d quite pointedly reminded her of. She couldn’t leave until he dismissed her. So she stood still and aching, spine stiff and straight, eyes focused on the floor.
He didn’t reply immediately, and she didn’t dare look at him for a reaction. Knowing he sat there, completely indifferent to her—or, worse, thoroughly repulsed by her—made her ache. The pain that radiated through her when she thought of all that had occurred was at times almost overwhelming.
“Caroline and I have been invited to the Park this evening.” Layton used precisely the tone the master of the house would use when addressing a servant. Marion’s heart broke further at the sound, but she didn’t flinch. She prayed her pain wasn’t written all over her face. “As Mater is expecting it to be a late night, she has wisely suggested Caroline retire in the nursery there. There is no governess at Lampton Park, so you will be accompanying her.”
“Yes, sir.”