Drops of Gold(71)

None of that had happened. The last time she’d seen Caroline, the girl had struck her. Marion understood the outburst for what it was: fear and vulnerability and disappointment. The poor child felt abandoned. Again. And Layton? He’d said the afternoon before that he was beginning to find some measure of peace in his life, and yet he’d looked so troubled. In her distress, he had held her and offered the comfort she’d needed. In that moment, she’d felt home again for the first time since her father and brother had died. He had eased her burdens, but she was helpless to lift the weight off his heart. After she left, would he return to his isolation and unhappiness? Would he ever truly find the peace he needed? How she ached to stay there, to simply be near him.

She walked up the narrow path to the church with Roderick and Adèle and Cousin Miles, trying to feel some joy in the crisp, clear winter morning. Only halfway to the church doors, something collided with her legs. Cousin Miles barely managed to keep her upright. Marion twisted to see what had nearly knocked her down.

Caroline, face buried in Marion’s skirts, stood with her arms wrapped around Marion’s legs. “I’m sorry, Mary! I’m sorry!” her muffled cries repeated.

Marion managed to detach her enough to lower herself to Caroline’s eye level. “Caroline, dearest,” she said gently.

Caroline looked up at her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I hurt your face,” she wailed. “I’m sorry!”

“My face feels much better now.” Marion stroked the perfect ringlets framing that darling face. Caroline sniffled loudly. “And I think I know why you did it.”

“You do?” Caroline’s voice shook with emotion.

“We are going to miss each other, aren’t we?” Marion asked quietly, forcing a smile to her lips. She would miss them both desperately.

Caroline nodded.

“Perhaps someday you could come visit me at my home,” Marion tentatively suggested. “We could sit under my golden tree.”

“Do you think Papa will let me come?” Caroline asked, her tears slowing a little.

“I don’t know,” Marion answered honestly. “I hope so.”

Caroline nodded and took a shaking breath.

“And I promise to write to you.”

“I don’t know how to read.”

“Your new governess will teach you,” Marion said.

Another nod, but Caroline’s chin had begun quivering again.

“We should keep moving, Cousin Marion.”

Marion looked up to see something of a crowd waiting just behind them on the narrow path. Lady Lampton stood at the very front.

Marion rose to her feet. “Your grandmother is waiting for you, Caroline. You’d best go with her.”

“I want to sit with you.” Caroline took a fistful of Marion’s skirts.

“You need to sit with your family, dear.”

“Yes, come, Caroline.” Lady Lampton held her hand out to Caroline.

“No, Grammy.” Caroline pouted. “I want to sit with Mary.”

“Lady Marion will be sitting with her cousin,” Lady Lampton explained. “And you will be sitting with your family in our pew.”

“I want to sit with Mary.” The pout grew mutinous.

“Caroline,” Marion gently reprimanded. To have her time as a governess end with this display was almost as depressing as actually leaving. Perhaps she hadn’t achieved anything at all.

“I want to sit with you,” Caroline demanded, stomping her foot.

What had come over the girl lately? Marion looked across at Lady Lampton, unsure what to do. A scene in the church courtyard was unthinkable.

“Caroline, please, dear,” Marion implored.

“I . . . want . . . to . . . !”

“Caroline,” Lady Lampton loudly whispered.

“I—” But Caroline began to sob, her words inaudible.

Marion and Lady Lampton watched each other in mutual confusion. The rest of the Lampton Park party watched the scene, equally baffled. Just when Marion didn’t think the situation could grow any worse, Mr. Throckmorten descended upon them with his usual look of disapproval and superiority.

“Is there a problem?” He eyed the assembly, lips pursing as his look fell upon Caroline.

“No, there is not,” Marion insisted.

He looked down at Caroline with much the same expression one might reserve for the mangled remains of a spider recently introduced to the heel of a boot. How could any man of the church look on a child that way?

“I suppose there is little to be done with a child destined to be a heathen.”

Marion’s jaw tensed, even as her hand tightened around Caroline’s.

“Her father is so far fallen from what is good and right that he’s not darkened this door in years. One can’t expect the offspring of a hopeless sinner to be anything but that herself.”