Drops of Gold Page 3

  “Mama is gone too,” Miss Caroline said. “Papa said she won’t come back.”

  Had Miss Caroline’s mother passed on? Or were her parents estranged? She would not question Miss Caroline on such a potentially delicate subject.

  “Well, I have a comb. It belonged to my papa. I think it will work well until we can ask your papa for one of your own.”

  “Oh, could we really?” Excitement lit her eyes.

  Marion nodded.

  One half hour later, Miss Caroline was dressed, her hair carefully combed, the cobalt-blue ribbon tied in an adorable bow over one ear. Over the course of the ministrations, Marion learned that Miss Caroline had experienced the departure of at least six nursemaids (she being the only governess so far), none of whom stayed long, by a child’s reckoning, at least. Her father, though away at the moment, had been present enough to make a favorable impression on his daughter. Miss Caroline spoke highly of him and the time they spent together. Such a contrast to the less-than-flattering description Maggie had offered earlier.

  “Papa is wonderful!” Miss Caroline explained as they crossed the schoolroom to the child-sized table. “He doesn’t call me Miss. I like that.”

  Marion attempted to explain. “Your father need not call you Miss. The servants do so because they respect you.”

  “Couldn’t they like me instead of ’specting me?”

  Marion hated to disappoint her, but the girl needed to understand how these things worked. “I do not think that would be a good idea.”

  “Can you not call me Miss? I don’t want you to. Please!”

  Marion sensed an aching loneliness behind the protest. “Perhaps when no one else is present.”

  Caroline nodded eagerly. “What should I call you?”

  That was a good question. If she were a nursemaid, which would be more fitting, she would probably be called Mary. As a governess, she would be Miss Wood. But Caroline was so young and so obviously lonely.

  “Perhaps ‘Mary’ would do when there is no one else around. But Miss Wood otherwise.”

  “I like you, Mary.” Caroline smiled so brightly, Marion had to smile back.

  “And I like you, Caroline.”

  “You will stay, won’t you?” Caroline looked quite intensely at Marion. “You won’t run away?”

  “Why would I run away?” Marion asked with a slight smile.

  “All the others did.” Caroline was perfectly serious.

  As Caroline ate her breakfast, Marion pondered her words. All the others ran away. Ran away. Why would Caroline believe her other nurses, for surely that was who she kept referring to, had fled and not simply left? And what exactly would have driven them away?

  Curious. Very curious.

  Chapter Four

  After three days on the road, Layton desperately wanted to be home. He’d opted to ride from Newark-on-Trent. A few hours on horseback was precisely what he needed after the confinement of the carriage.

  As he approached Farland Meadows, the scent of pine hung heavy in the air, an aroma he would always associate with his childhood. It was strongest at that time of the year since everything else was stripped bare by the cold of winter.

  Bridget had left him in the summer when the smell of flowers mingled with grasses and herbs, when one scent was impossible to distinguish from the rest. So many aromas were now associated with her. Pine was one of the few that did not immediately bring to mind that horrific summer. It made Farland Meadows bearable. Pines and Caroline.

  As he turned onto the carriageway that led to his home, Layton heard a squeal, a childish, delighted squeal. His mouth turned up ever so slightly. Caroline. Layton pressed his mount to a fast trot. He’d missed her terribly. She was the sunshine in his dark existence.

  As he emerged from the thicket of trees surrounding the carriageway, a second squeal met his ears, followed by the most wonderful sound he could imagine.

  “Papa!”

  In less than a moment, Layton dismounted and wrapped his gelding’s reins around an obliging branch. Two long blonde braids beneath a knitted woolen cap bounced across the snow-covered lawn toward him. Smiling as only his little angel could make him, Layton held his arms out and scooped Caroline off her feet, her joyful giggles filling his ears.

  “Papa, you’re home!”

  He laughed. “Of course I am, dearest. I told you I would be.”

  “I am better now, Papa.” She smiled, her dimples deep and charming. “Not a single spot.”

  “Not a single spot.” He mimicked her declaration with a chuckle and tapped her wee nose. “Grammy missed you and wished you could have come.”

  “And Flip?” Caroline’s enormous blue eyes grew ever larger.

  “And Flip,” Layton acknowledged. “And Corbo and Chasin’. Stanby. Charming.” Caroline’s butchered versions of his brothers’ names had always been endearing.

  “Holy Harry?” She smiled wider.

  “You know he doesn’t like to be called that.” Layton pulled her closer, loving the smell of childhood that always surrounded her.

  “You and Flip call him that,” Caroline reminded him.

  Layton set Caroline on her feet once more. “We shouldn’t, but Flip is a troublemaker.”

  Caroline giggled and slipped her tiny hand inside his. He readily admitted he was a doting father. He couldn’t imagine being anything else.

  “What have you done while I was gone?” he asked.

  “We have had ever so much fun.” Caroline’s gaze wandered from him. She giggled and squealed then pulled her hand free of his. “Mary!” she called out as she laughed and ran back into the yard.

  Layton stood empty-handed and confused. Caroline was usually so clingy when he returned from even a short absence. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks and back for less than five minutes, yet Caroline was already gone.

  He watched her scamper away, braids flying behind her. A mere few seconds without her, and he was lonely again.

  Caroline giggled, the very picture of childish enthusiasm as she paused to scoop snow into her two tiny mittens. Cheeks plump and pink, she ran again, snow slipping through her fingers.

  “Press it together so it sticks,” an unfamiliar voice instructed.

  Layton couldn’t tear his eyes from his daughter. Something had changed in Caroline. Some of her shyness, her reticence, had slipped away in the ten days he’d been away from Nottinghamshire. She’d pulled away from him without a backward glance. Caroline had never done that before.

  He was sorely tempted to call his daughter back to him.

  Magical, musical laughter rent the air, laughter as pure as a child’s but not juvenile in the least.

  “A direct hit,” the same mysterious feminine voice declared, laughter bubbling at the ends of her words. “You have slain me!”

  “Oh no, Mary!” Caroline cried. “It’s only snow. Snow can’t hurt you.”

  “Then you think I will live after all?”

  Layton studied Caroline, her innocent features clouded by the pensive expression he too often saw on her face. Who was this stranger pressing thoughts of death on his child? Could she not see the girl was upset by it? Layton strode determinedly to where his daughter stood.

  “It’s only snow,” Caroline repeated.

  “And you have had enough snow for today.” Layton’s tone left no room for argument. He lifted Caroline into his arms once more, his contentment returning in an instant.

  “It’s only snow, Papa.” Caroline looked intently into his eyes as if searching for confirmation. “Mary will be fine, won’t she?”

  “Mary”—He couldn’t help the edge in his voice, for he heartily disapproved of this Mary—“will suffer no ill effects. From the snow.” Yes, he meant that to be a warning.

  “Oh, Papa! I am so glad!” Caroline threw her tiny arms around his neck and nuzzled his face. Layton smiled despite his perturbation with the still-unidentified Mary. “I never want Mary to go. Ever! She is ever so much fun. And she made my hair
not fuzzy. She laughs and laughs. And we sing songs. And she tells me the most wonderful stories. And—”

  “Good heavens, Caroline!” Layton chuckled in spite of himself. “You are a fountain of words since I’ve returned. Is this what spots do to four-year-old girls, or did you just miss me?”

  “Oh, I did, Papa!” Caroline tightened her arms around him. Her head dropped almost wearily against him.

  Layton breathed deeply of her, happily forgetting all around him. This was home.

  “Miss Caroline should sleep well this afternoon.” That same unfamiliar voice interrupted the moment.

  Layton grasped Caroline a fraction tighter and turned his attention to the woman he’d not bothered to look at yet. Now, his daughter securely pressed to him, he took a good, long look. The woman stood confidently before him in a tattered black coat and poorly mended gloves, her fiery red hair flying in every direction while her bonnet—“serviceable” was the closest thing to a compliment it could be given—hung limply behind her.

  “Who are you?” Layton rubbed Caroline’s back to keep her warm.

  “Mary Wood, sir.” The woman curtsied. “I am the governess.”

  “We do not have a governess.”

  “I was hired only recently, sir. I replaced the nurse.”

  The nurse. Layton vaguely remembered the woman, a mousy thing who hid in corners and mumbled under her breath from beneath the nursery windows.

  “Hilga or Hattie or something of that nature,” he muttered.

  “Harriet, Papa,” Caroline mumbled, her face pressed into him. “She left.”

  Layton eyed his newest employee with more than his usual criticism. She’d set his back up, though he could not rightly say why.

  “Yes, sir,” the governess replied, though her tone was anything but meek and subservient. “I’ve been here but three days.”

  “Hmm.” Why did she smile so much? She seemed far too cheerful to be a servant.

  “Caroline is rather young for a governess,” Layton said.

  “And yet, here I am.” Was that annoyance he saw flash momentarily through her eyes? So there were limits to her cheeriness.

  “I’m not too young for a gubbyness, Papa.” Caroline’s voice clearly communicated her growing sleepiness. “She is teaching me to be a diggyfied young lady.”

  “Diggyfied? That was, I imagine, Miss Wood’s exact phrase.”

  “Right-o, guv’nuh,” Mary said, sounding precisely like a London street urchin. “The Li’l Mizz needs a right bit o diggyfyin’ iffen ye’re asken Mary Wood. Righ’ she does, guv’nuh! An’ a righ’ hot bath, sez I. Jus’ leave it tah ol’ Mary Wood!”

  She offered a military-style salute and spun on the spot before sauntering up to the house. Layton didn’t know whether to throttle her saucy neck or laugh. Both proved strong temptations. And he never laughed.

  “Mary is silly.” Caroline giggled groggily as she snuggled closer to him.

  “Yes, apparently she is.” The corners of Layton’s mouth twitched as he watched the obviously offended governess walk toward the house, chin held high, hair flying in complete disarray, turning at the last minute to the back and the servants’ entrance. He was certain he would never forget the way she’d tapped her nose as she’d called him “guv’nuh” or the triumphant gleam in her eyes as she shot him a mocking salute.

  He had every right to dismiss her for her impertinence. It would probably be the wise thing to do. A servant who had no qualms about mouthing off to her employer could set the most well-run household on its ear. And Farland Meadows, regrettably, was far from well run. Yet he found himself strangely reluctant to dismiss this Mary.

  “Should we go in and ask Cook for some hot chocolate?” Layton asked his daughter, walking toward the house.

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you like Mary, Caroline?” He spoke as casually as he could manage, at a loss to understand why he hoped she didn’t while also hoping she did.

  “Oh yes.” Caroline mumbled. “She likes when I talk, Papa.”

  “I am sure everyone likes to hear you talk,” Layton replied. She so seldom did that it was a treat.

  “Harriet said I was agmavating.” Caroline shifted her head on his shoulder.

  “Aggravating?” Layton asked, feeling himself tense. Had her last nurse really said such a thing? To her?

  Caroline nodded. It was a very good thing for Harriet that she had left.

  “But Mary says what I say is ’portant.” Caroline yawned. “And she listens when I talk.”

  “She is kind to you?”

  “Mary is wonderful.”

  “Then we should keep her?”

  “Forever and ever.” Caroline’s head grew heavy on his shoulder as he walked up the front steps.

  Layton had never been able to deny his daughter anything. So Miss Saucy would be keeping her position, it seemed. But only after she’d been reminded of her place, something he supposed he would have to do.

  Why couldn’t the household simply run itself and let him be?

  Chapter Five

  She was about to be let go. After that horrid display outside, Marion certainly couldn’t blame Mr. Jonquil. She’d been insolent and saucy. Had she actually saluted the man? She knew she’d called him “guv’nuh” more than once.

  “Oh bother,” Marion muttered under her breath as she approached the door of the library, where Mr. Jonquil had requested she meet with him. Caroline was soundly asleep upstairs, the nursery straightened beyond what was strictly necessary. Marion had no valid excuse for postponing this meeting any longer.

  Caroline had described her father as a giant. She hadn’t been far off the mark. Of course, being nineteen instead of four significantly decreased the impact of his stature. Still, he was quite decidedly broad shouldered and must have stood six feet high or more. Compared to Marion’s five feet two-odd inches, Mr. Jonquil was quite tall. Something in his air was overpowering, something that had little to do with his size. If he weren’t so ridiculously handsome, he’d have been positively frightening.

  Marion took a deep breath at the door. What was the worst thing that could happen? she asked herself. If he dismissed her, she could always beg. She certainly wasn’t above such tactics. Perhaps an abject apology would help. On her knees? Marion considered the idea but found it so absurd she broke into a grin. What a picture she would make. She might be able to conjure tears if she worked at it . . . or pinched herself really hard. Then again, if he fired her, she’d probably cry without even trying.

  She knocked.

  “Come in,” a deep masculine voice called from within.

  For a moment, Marion contemplated walking in with her hand clutched dramatically to her heart, tears dripping sorrowfully down her cheeks. Maybe even falling onto the floor in front of her employer, sprawled in a heap of humanity. She had to bite back another smile as she stepped inside the library.

  She should have anticipated the smell of leather and aged parchment, and yet it took her entirely by surprise. She felt her smile fade almost instantly. Would the smell of books always remind her of Papa?

  “You wished to see me, sir.” She managed a far more subservient tone than she ever had in the past. ’Twas amazing, the dampening effect thoughts of unemployment and death had on one’s spirit.

  Without so much as glancing up at her, Mr. Jonquil waved her inside from his seat at his imposing mahogany desk. She was really in deep this time. Well done, Marion! There was nothing for it; she would simply have to grovel.

  Marion took a fortifying breath and moved across the room until she stood in front of the desk. No time like the present, she reminded herself. “Mr. Jonquil, sir?”

  Her employer glanced up from a stack of papers, and for a fraction of a moment, Marion held out hope that he’d miraculously transformed into a hideously ugly elderly man. With several missing teeth. And enormous spots. And nose hair.

  “Ah, furuncle,” she muttered under her breath. He was still gorgeous. Could a man be
considered gorgeous? she wondered. If one could, Mr. Jonquil was just that. His thick, wavy, golden hair curled at the nape of his neck where it had grown a little long. She’d thought his eyes a simple deep blue but saw at that distance that they were, in fact, blue flecked with chocolate and emerald. No hint of shoulder padding filled out his extremely well-fitting coat.

  Yes. The man was gorgeous, and that was intimidating. Intimidating and entirely unfair.

  The clearing of a masculine throat brought Marion to her senses. Oh heavens! She was staring! Staring at her employer! If the man didn’t already find her impertinent, he’d soon be convinced she was completely attics-to-let. It was not the best way to make a positive impression.

  Please let me stay, she could almost hear herself say. Raving lunatics make wonderful governesses. A smile tugged at her mouth as she imagined what Mr. Jonquil must think of her mental state.

  “Perhaps we should postpone this interview to a more convenient time for you, Miss Wood,” Mr. Jonquil suggested dryly. “You seem rather distracted at the moment.”

  That succeeded in wiping every hint of a smile from her face. “I am sorry, sir.” She quickly pushed on before she lost her nerve. “I must apologize also for my behavior earlier. I know I was impertinent. Worse. I was . . . flippant and . . . disrespectful . . . and . . . um . . .”

  “Saucy,” Mr. Jonquil inserted.

  Marion nodded. She had been saucy. Mr. Jonquil seemed to be expecting further confession. “And . . .” How many more synonyms could she conjure?

  “Outspoken.”

  “Well-spoken,” Marion countered. Immediately, she slapped her hands over her mouth. She felt her eyes fly wide open. Mr. Jonquil’s only acknowledgment of her outburst was a raised eyebrow. Marion let her arms drop to her side and dug her toe into the carpet in frustration. “Double dungers,” she muttered.

  “Double dungers?” Mr. Jonquil repeated, that eyebrow arching higher yet. “Is that a common phrase amongst the well-spoken?”

  A look of challenge showed in Mr. Jonquil’s captivating eyes, along with something disturbingly condescending. She had the feeling he meant to put her in her place. For a person who had been on the verge of begging only moments earlier, Marion felt that old, familiar fight bubbling inside. She might be a servant without even a guinea to her name, but she had pride.