Drops of Gold(63)
“I’ll scrape the junk off it, Stanby,” Caroline promised, hugging Marion even tighter.
Marion half sobbed, half laughed, a trembling smile turning up her lips. Captain Jonquil chuckled as well.
“Thank you for telling me, Captain Jonquil.”
“If Bobert had known you were working as a servant, he’d have skinned me alive.” Captain Jonquil shook his head. “He talked of ‘Maid Marion’ all the time.”
Marion laughed at the old nickname.
“But his consolation seemed to be that your father would take care of you should anything happen.”
Marion sighed. “News of Robert’s death reached us within days of Orthez.” Marion took deep breaths to keep her emotions under control. “Father was struck down by it. A stroke, the doctors said. Within a matter of days, he was dead. He and Robert were buried next to my mother on the same day.”
“And why did you then decide to become a governess?”
“I had no choice.” Marion tried to put into words the panic that grew over the months that followed the burial. “My father made no provisions for me. None whatsoever. I had no allowance to live on, no dowry to tempt a suitor, though I was hardly in a position to consider matrimony. The estate passed to a distant cousin I have never met, who doesn’t even live in England—the West Indies or America or something like that. The solicitors were squabbling over control of the estate, one insisting he acted for the new marquess, the other insisting he would do nothing without the express written instructions of this cousin of mine.
“I couldn’t pay the servants’ wages, and the solicitors would not do so. Soon the house was unstaffed, the larder empty. I wrote to relatives, seeking help, but those who returned my missives indicated they could not take on a charity case. I did the only thing I could think of.”
“You lied.”
Marion turned on the seat so quickly she nearly tumbled Caroline to the floor. Layton stood not five feet behind her, watching, obviously listening.
“You made up a name,” he continued, sounding almost accusatory. “Hid your background. Probably even forged your references.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” Marion pleaded with him to understand.
“You could have told me.”
“If I had told you when I first arrived that I was the daughter of a marquess and was working at your estate without the permission of my guardian, you would have fired me.”
He didn’t argue. She hadn’t expected him to. Any gentleman with sense would have immediately dismissed a disaster waiting to happen.
“Was there never a point when you trusted me enough to tell me the truth?” Layton asked quietly.
“I couldn’t,” Marion whispered. You had enough burdens, she added silently.
“Of course not.”
“Where will you go now, Lady Marion?” Captain Jonquil asked. Marion had forgotten he was even there.
“Rod—er, Hartley—is writing to my cousin, the new Marquess of Grenton. He is my guardian.”
“Perhaps he will allow you to remain for the wedding.” Captain Jonquil’s eyes shifted between Marion and Layton.
Marion shook her head. “I think it would be best if I left.”
“No, Mary! No!” Caroline cried, clinging to her to the point of near suffocation. “Don’t leave me!”
Marion looked to Layton for support, for some kind of intervention.
“Come on, Caroline” was all he said, and he held his hand out to his daughter. “Lady Marion must do what she feels is best.”
He scooped up Caroline and walked out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“The daughter of a deuced marquess, Flip!” Layton grumbled. He let out a frustrated breath. “Sorry ’bout the language, Harry.”
Harold nodded his forgiveness, which made Layton roll his eyes. Harold was so ridiculously pious that even the least offensive interjections required his forgiveness. Holy Harry at his most devout could be a little much.
“What exactly bothers you about her parentage, Layton?” Philip asked. “Is it that she outranks you?”
That rankled a little, yes. “No. A little, maybe. But not like that . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “She must think I am a pompous imbecile.”
“I always did think she was pretty intelligent,” Philip said.
“Shut up, Philip.”
“Sorry, brother.” Philip didn’t sound sorry in the least. “What, in your opinion, has led Lady Marion to this rather unflattering assessment of your character?”
“You should have heard some of the peals I rang over her head,” Layton said as he paced. “She was the most impertinently behaved servant: talking back, taunting, jeering, acting like . . . like . . .”