Heiress Gone Wild

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “No, thank you,” he muttered, knowing he was as trapped as a fly in treacle. “After wrangling with the two of you, I’m now very much in need of that drink Galbraith offered me.”

  “My husband,” Clara said with obvious glee, “is such a perceptive man.”

  Chapter 13

  After wolfing down the sandwiches Irene had sent up, Marjorie felt much better. Her hunger sated, she bathed in a luxurious, surprisingly modern bathroom, and then, with Eileen’s assistance, she changed into an evening dress.

  Fearing the baroness’s smashing black gown would not be appropriate, Marjorie was forced to make do with her only other evening dress, a dull garment of mauve velvet purchased when she was sixteen for the occasions when Mr. Jessop and his wife had brought her to Manhattan for the theater or an opera. It had a modest neckline and enormous leg o’mutton sleeves, and though hopelessly out of fashion, it would have to do. And since Lady Stansbury’s maid had replaced all the ecru trimmings on the dress with black ones, she didn’t see how anyone could fault her for choosing it.

  She was proven wrong there, however, the moment she met Lady David.

  The introduction had scarcely been performed before the duke’s sister-in-law, an elegant woman in fashionable green silk, was looking at her askance, delicate auburn brows lifted.

  “I see you’ve chosen to go into half-mourning, Miss McGann,” she said, and though her comment seemed innocuous enough, something in the tone of her voice caused Marjorie to stiffen. “Rather a daring choice, so soon.”

  She thinks this is daring? If she only knew. Marjorie wondered what Lady David’s reaction would have been had she come down wearing the baroness’s black gown. “Is it daring?” she asked, looking down, then back up, feigning surprise at the question.

  “Not at all,” Irene said, coming to her defense. “If I understand the situation, Marjorie, you hardly knew your father?”

  “I hadn’t seen him since I was seven.”

  “There you are, then. Ah, here’s our husbands at last, Carlotta,” she exclaimed, looking past Lady David to a pair of men in white tie approaching their corner of the drawing room. “You two are usually the first ones down. We were beginning to wonder if you were ever coming. Do let me introduce you.”

  Lady David was obliged to postpone the topic of Marjorie’s dress as the duke and his brother stepped forward. “Henry, David,” Irene continued, “this is Jonathan’s ward, Miss Marjorie McGann. Marjorie, my husband, Henry, the Duke of Torquil.”

  Irene paused as the duke, a tall man with black hair and piercing gray eyes, bowed to Marjorie, then she gestured to a smaller man with lighter hair and the same gray eyes. “And this is the duke’s brother, Lord David.”

  She presented her brother to them, and after the men had shaken hands, the duke offered sherry to the ladies. The offer was accepted, and as Torquil moved to the liquor cabinet, Lord David and Jonathan followed to assist him, leaving Lady David to return to the topic of clothes.

  “It’s a personal decision, I suppose, how long to wear full mourning,” she said, earning a forbearing little sigh from the duchess. “But is it wise to flout convention and forgo it altogether?”

  “In Marjorie’s case,” Irene said with decision, “full mourning ought to be optional. If she wishes to adhere strictly to custom and wear solid black for the full year—”

  She broke off, biting back a smile as Marjorie gave her a frantic, pleading look. “As her chaperone,” she resumed, “I think it would be perfectly all right for her to go straight into half-mourning. What do you think, Clara?” she asked as her sister joined them.

  “Oh, I agree,” she said, much to Marjorie’s relief. “And come August, when we go to the country, she could abandon mourning completely, in my opinion.”

  “You might have work convincing your brother about that,” Marjorie said dryly. “He expected me to hide in seclusion for a year, wearing black crape and lashings of jet.”

  “What?” Irene laughed, glancing at her brother. “Oh, Jonathan, you didn’t? For a father she didn’t even know?”

  Subjected to his sisters’ teasing censure, he displayed all the embarrassment typical of men caught in such situations. “What do I know about these things?” he muttered, taking the pair of filled glasses the duke handed him and bringing them to the ladies. “Irene, if you wish to shorten Marjorie’s mourning period, it’s up to you,” he said as he handed Marjorie and the duchess their glasses, “but for my part, I deemed it better to err on the side of caution.”

  “Caution?” Clara repeated, laughing as he turned away. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Oh, but ladies, he’s been even worse than you imagine,” Marjorie assured, happy to join in the teasing and wreak some vengeance upon Jonathan for her week of needlework. “During our voyage, he put me in the care of Lady Stansbury.”

  Everyone groaned at the mention of that name, everyone but Jonathan.

  “I stand by that decision as well,” he said firmly as he returned again with sherry for Clara and Lady David. “Better to have Countess Stansbury chaperoning Marjorie than that Vasiliev woman.”

  “Baroness Vasiliev?” echoed Irene in lively surprise. “Was she on board?”

  Jonathan made a sound of derision. “Baroness, my eye.”

  “Oh, but she is,” Irene assured, giving Marjorie no end of satisfaction. “Henry and I were introduced to her in Paris while on honeymoon, and Henry insisted to me that she couldn’t possibly be a real baroness—”

  “That’s what I said!” Jonathan turned to Torquil. “I’m glad someone shares my view.”

  “Except that I was wrong, it seems,” the duke informed him as he poured sherry for the men. “I looked her up in the Almanach de Gotha, and there she was.”

  “Ha!” Marjorie put in, giving Jonathan a triumphant look. “And you thought she was a poseur.”

  “I can hardly be blamed for that opinion,” he countered at once. “To my mind, the woman is far too theatrical. The title may be in the Almanach de Gotha, but how do we know she’s the genuine article?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Marjorie muttered, rolling her eyes. “You see?” she added, appealing to his sisters. “You see what I’ve had to put up with?”

  They nodded in commiseration, and, outnumbered, Jonathan held up his hands, palms toward her in a gesture of surrender. “All right, all right, I may have been wrong about that woman,” he conceded, “but I was right about the Count de la Rosa, wasn’t I?”

  “De la Rosa?” David made a sound of disgust as he accepted a filled glass from his brother. “That blackguard? Was he on the voyage, too?”

  “He was,” Jonathan said. “And if he’s in the Almanach de Gotha, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “He’s not,” David assured him. “Our hall boy has more aristocratic lineage in his ancestry than that blackguard.”

  “But he is handsome,” Lady David said with a wistful little sigh. “And so charming. Not quite top drawer, of course, but he gives fabulous parties. We went to one at his villa near Cannes seven or eight years ago, remember, David?”

  “I doubt he gives parties like that nowadays,” her husband responded. “He’s got enormous debts, I heard.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Rex put in and took a sip of sherry. “And there’s no arguing his character. He’s rotten all through, even if the ladies never seem to see it.”

  Marjorie’s mind went back to the episode in her cabin doorway with the count, seeing it with the benefit of hindsight. She thought of his hand, holding hers so tightly, of the way he’d leaned so close—signs of desperation, she appreciated now. Deceived by his charming manner, she hadn’t sensed it at the time, or the danger it might present to her. Jonathan might very well have saved her from social disaster, or something worse.

  She looked at him, startled to find him watching her, but she could read nothing in his face. “On the contrary, Rex,” he said, his voice light. “Some ladies aren’t the least bit charme
d by him. Lady Stansbury certainly wasn’t.”

  “Ah,” Irene said, smiling, “now we see why you asked her to be poor Marjorie’s chaperone aboard ship.”

  “Just so,” he said. “Tease me for it all you like, but—”

  “And we shall!” Clara declared and turned to Marjorie. “My brother was very cruel to leave you in the care of that odious woman. I suppose she made you knit something?”

  Marjorie shook her head. “Embroidery,” she said solemnly, earning herself commiseration from all the women, even Lady David.

  “I knew it had to be something like that,” Clara continued. “She’s forever after all of us to make things for the church Bring and Buy Sales when we’re down at Ravenwood. She’s Irene and Torquil’s neighbor, you know.”

  “Much to her dismay,” Irene said with cheer. “Oh, she adores Torquil, but she quite disapproves of me, as I’m sure Marjorie was made aware.”

  “I did gather you weren’t one of her favorites,” Marjorie admitted. “It seems Lady Stansbury does not approve of women having political opinions.”

  “Oh, it’s worse than that.” Irene’s hazel eyes danced with mischief above the rim of her sherry glass as she took a sip. “She feels that women oughtn’t to have opinions at all, at least not until we marry, at which point we need our husbands to tell us what our opinions should be. I earned her disapproval by having dared to form my own opinions long before I met my husband, and I saw no need to alter them after the wedding.”

  “Much to my chagrin,” the duke put in. “My wife, Miss McGann, is happy to contradict my opinions whenever the opportunity presents. Sometimes, I think she does it merely for sport.”

  “Someone has to stand up to you,” the duchess replied at once. “You’d be impossibly tyrannical otherwise. Your sisters would agree with me, if they were here.”

  “I’m rather glad they’re not,” David put in. “It’s much less of a madhouse around here during the season now that Sarah and Angela have their own establishments, and Jamie’s boys are back at Harrow for summer term.”

  “We’ll call on Sarah and Angela tomorrow, shall we?” Clara suggested. “They’d love to meet Marjorie. And I know they’re dying to meet Jonathan,” she added and looked at her brother over her shoulder. “You should come with us, brother. We’ll be paying calls all afternoon.”

  “Can’t, thanks,” he answered at once. “I’ll be far too busy to gad about London paying calls.”

  “Busy with what?” Clara asked curiously.

  “I’ll think of something,” he muttered.

  Everyone laughed at that, particularly the men.

  “I’d love to rescue you,” Torquil told him, “but I have to be in the Lords. Important vote tomorrow.”

  “Is there a vote tomorrow?” asked Lady David. “Then Jamie’s sure to be in town.” Her face puckered, as if she’d just eaten a lemon. “I do hope he didn’t bring that woman with him.”

  “Her name is Amanda,” Irene said, her voice suddenly hard. “After over five years of having her in the family, one would think you’d know it by now.”

  “I know it.” Lady David gave a sniff. “Doesn’t mean I have to use it.”

  The tension between the two women was thick enough to cut with a knife, and in Irene’s hazel eyes, so like Jonathan’s, Marjorie recognized the same golden sparks of battle. Thankfully, however, Clara spoke again, breaking the tension.

  “So, Irene, what can we do that won’t violate Marjorie’s mourning period? No balls, naturally, and no large parties. The theater or opera would be all right, I suppose, but we have to think of more amusements than that.”

  “What about a water party?” Torquil suggested. “We could take the Mary Louisa up the Thames, have a picnic at Kew.”

  “The Mary Louisa is a ship, I take it?” Jonathan asked.

  “My second yacht.”

  “You have more than one?”

  “The Mary Louisa is a smaller craft, for use on the river. The Endeavor is a larger vessel, for sailing the Solent and jaunts across the Channel.”

  “Two yachts?” Marjorie murmured sweetly, giving Jonathan a wide-eyed stare of amazement. “Imagine people spending their money on things like that,” she continued, ignoring his wry answering glance. “Tell me, Your Grace, do you have racehorses and motorcars, too?”

  “I’m afraid not. Irene and I have discussed buying a motor, but until we have better roads and petrol is more widely available, I can’t see the point. As to racehorses, no, I’m not a racing man. Why do you ask?”

  “That,” Jonathan put in before she could answer, “is Marjorie’s little joke. Do you host many water parties, Duke?”

  “We’ve had two already this season.”

  “We’d have one every week,” Irene assured, laughing, “if Henry had his way. My husband, you see, will seize any opportunity to be on the water. Which means, I should start planning one for Marjorie. Late June or early July, perhaps. That will give us time to introduce Marjorie to other members of the family and our friends. In the meantime, there’s the theater and the opera, as Clara said, and we’ll pay calls, have a few Afternoons-At-Home, that sort of thing.”

  “It all sounds lovely,” Marjorie said with heartfelt appreciation. “I also have several friends from schooldays who are living here in England, and if any of them are in town, I’d love to call on them, if that’s all right? But first . . .” She paused, giving the ladies an apologetic look. “Would you mind if I visit a modiste and obtain a proper wardrobe? I have no clothes but my teacher’s uniforms, two Sunday frocks, and two evening gowns.”

  “That’s all?” Lady David asked, looking appalled on her behalf, her scandalous sister-in-law forgotten. “Oh, my dear, you are in desperate need. Irene, we must take her to Jay’s first thing.”

  “Of course,” Irene said. “Sarah and Angela will have to wait. We’ll go to Jay’s tomorrow, and order you a few things in gray, mauve, and white—enough to carry you through to August. Then, before we leave for the country, we’ll have our modiste fit you with an entire autumn wardrobe. You can come out of mourning at that time and have your clothes made up in any colors you like.”

  “Thank you,” Marjorie said, relieved. “I’m grateful you’re willing to bend the rules, Irene. I hope . . .” She paused, biting her lip. “I hope people won’t think I’m unfeeling because of it.”

  “Not unfeeling,” Lady David said, her voice light, but the disapproval beneath it was clear. “Though perhaps somewhat cavalier.”

  She wandered away to join the men, and Irene leaned closer to Marjorie. “You mustn’t mind Carlotta. She’s terrified of anything that might taint the family name. And she’s a bit of a snob. The first time she ever met me, she gave the dress I was wearing the same once-over she gave yours tonight.”

  Marjorie glanced at the duchess’s stunning gown of sapphire blue silk, a mark of the other woman’s good taste. “I can’t imagine your clothes could ever give cause for disapproval.”

  “Can’t you?” Irene smiled. “When I first met Henry’s family, I had no taste for fashion. I was running our newspaper business, Clara was my secretary, and we both dressed to suit our occupation—plain skirts, white blouses, and neckties. When we first came to stay in this house, it was an unexpected event, we had no proper clothes, and we had to make a mad dash to a department store on our way. Carlotta was horrified by our unpressed Debenham and Freebody dresses, wasn’t she, Clara?”

  “Well, yes, but that’s because she’s so concerned about what people think. She’s nicer than she seems. Truly,” Clara added, laughing as Marjorie politely didn’t reply. “When Irene was on honeymoon, she chaperoned me, and I was able to appreciate that she just wants to show our family in the best light. And when it comes to clothes, she does have excellent taste. She taught me a great deal.”

  “And me,” Irene said, gesturing to her dress. “I would never have picked something like this six years ago, but Carlotta was a great help to me, and you’ll find he
r advice about clothes is impeccable. We should also begin our search for a maid for you as soon as possible. Eileen’s a sweet girl, very willing, but though you won’t be doing the season properly until next year, you must have a true lady’s maid. Heavens,” she added, as if surprised by her own words, “who’d ever have thought six years ago I’d say something like that?”

  “Not me,” Clara assured, taking a sip of sherry. “The reason we stopped at Debenham and Freebody on our way here that day so long ago was because I insisted. Had it been left to my sister, we’d have arrived on a duke’s doorstep looking like a pair of typists, ink stains on our cuffs and pencils behind our ears.”

  Marjorie smiled, imagining these two standing in the duke’s elegant entrance hall dressed as Clara described. “Your family has been in newspapers for many years, I understand?”

  “Our great-grandfather started things, but it was his son who built Deverill Publishing into an empire,” Irene said. “To no avail.”

  “Poor Papa,” Clara said with a sigh. “He wanted to be a good businessman, but he wasn’t. It must have been terrible for him, knowing his father and his son were both better at business than he was.”

  “And his daughters, too,” Irene said stoutly. “I like to think Clara and I have both handled things rather well. And after Papa died, Jonathan was able to invest in the company, which enabled us to expand for the first time since my grandfather’s day.”

  “I run Deverill Publishing now,” Clara said with pride. “It’s been a lot of work, and without Rex’s help, I don’t think I could manage, but I do love it so.”

  “You didn’t always,” Irene reminded her.

  “No,” Clara agreed. “I was like you, Marjorie. I wanted to do the season, find a husband, have a family. But when Jonathan decided to stay in America while Irene was away on honeymoon, I had no choice but to take over.”

  “Were you very angry with your brother?” Marjorie asked.

  “Angry? What an inadequate word! If Idaho wasn’t on the other side of the world,” she added, raising her voice so that Jonathan could hear, “I’d have gone there and shot him.”