In the next moment, they were led down a corridor toward what Mariposa assumed was either the drawing room or the sitting room. Her heart beat harder. She was about to meet Philip, the brother Stanley had more or less idolized, the brother she had heard the most about, the enigma. She knew herself entirely dependent on his forbearance. If he was put out by her presumptuousness in calling upon him unannounced, she would be in rather dire straits.
“I am certain Philip will not eat you,” Jason whispered beside her, quite startling her. She had all but forgotten he was with her.
“You’ll intervene if he begins to look hungry?” Mariposa pressed, managing to make her concern sound lighthearted.
“My word as a gentleman.” Jason had been in happier spirits since their reconciliation the evening before. The thought that her friendship had come to mean so much to him touched her deeply.
She felt herself relax. Jason would watch over her.
After a few short moments, the Earl of Lampton entered the room, a look of mingled amusement and curiosity on his familiar face—familiar because all the Jonquils bore a striking resemblance to one another. For herself, Mariposa thought Jason the more distinguished looking of the bunch.
She studied Lord Lampton rather too acutely for her scrutiny to go unnoticed. He was, indeed, every inch a dandy. She’d never seen so many fobs on a single watch chain. He wore a waistcoat of tartan beneath a form-fitting, bottle-green jacket. His neckcloth was the very model of flamboyant extravagance. Yet there was unmistakable intelligence in his eyes as he surveyed the two occupants of his sitting room.
“Welcome, Jason,” he greeted his brother, swinging his quizzing glass on its ribbon as he sauntered to where Jason stood. “No doubt you heard of the dashing new wardrobe I have acquired and have come to bask in the artistry of my attire.”
“Very . . . festive, Philip,” Jason answered. Mariposa was certain Jason held back one of those smiles she so dearly loved.
Philip—Mariposa really couldn’t think of him formally after hearing so much about him through Stanley—seemed taken aback for a moment. “Indeed,” he managed to say, one golden eyebrow quirked upward. “And do you plan to add something less complimentary once you have recovered from your initial shock? Or shall I assume I have finally left you speechless?”
He still used the tone of a mindless fop, but Mariposa sensed a degree of truthfulness in his voice. Jason, she deduced, was generally quick to belittle Philip’s chosen attire. Stanley had always said Jason and Philip were too much alike for an easy friendship, their personalities both being quite forceful but their means of expression conflicting. It was fascinating to see the clash firsthand.
“On the contrary.” Jason shook his head in obvious amusement. “I cannot help but remark that you have quite outdone yourself. I never thought to see a waistcoat that surpassed the shocking appearance of the yellow you wore upon quitting Town.”
“I am flattered, brother, that you recall my traveling wardrobe in such detail,” Philip replied, a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps you really do care.”
“Perhaps.” Jason shrugged.
Mariposa grinned at that. He had begun to shrug like a Spaniard. She, no doubt, had played a role in that.
“And you truly do not mean to berate me for my unbearable elegance?”
“I mean, as a matter of fact, to overlook it, to the degree such a feat is possible,” Jason replied.
The smile disappeared immediately from Philip’s face, his brows snapping together in concentration. “Are you feeling unwell, Jason?”
Jason chuckled. Philip stared.
“May I make known to you Miss Thornton.” Jason slipped into the appropriate introductions, the smile on his face not lessening. “Mari—Miss Thornton, this is my brother, the Earl of Lampton.”
“My lord.” Mariposa made her best curtsy.
“Miss Thornton,” Philip returned with a dazzling bow, his watch fobs clanging as he did so. When he straightened again, he wore a most mischievous smile. “I cannot begin to express how anxious I have been to make your acquaintance.”
“Indeed?” Mariposa answered, feeling a laugh bubbling inside but unable to account for the reaction.
“My mother is, I must tell you, quite inordinately fond of you.”
“She is? But I have only met her on one occasion.”
“And made quite an impression.” Philip took to swinging his quizzing glass once more.
Mariposa felt her lightheartedness vanish. She could only imagine the impression she’d made that day at Havenworth. She had belittled Jason and had, no doubt, earned the censure of his family.
“Banish the long face, Miss Thornton,” Philip instructed. “Mater had nothing but praise for you.”
Mariposa kept her eyes lowered to hide her confusion. Praise? She had long hoped to earn Mater’s good opinion but couldn’t reconcile the result with her behavior.
“I have, I fear, been most backward as a host.” Philip interrupted her reflections. “Do be seated, Miss Thornton.”
She obeyed automatically, taking a seat on a nearby sofa. She was heartened when Jason sat beside her. In her confusion, she had felt her confidence slipping.
“Perhaps one or both of you would be so good as to tell me the reason for your most welcome visit,” Philip suggested, only to continue in a most unexpected vein. “I have my suspicion it is not I you have come to visit but rather my not-too-distant neighbors.”
“Neighbors?” Jason asked.
“You’re repeating again,” Mariposa whispered to him only to receive a bright smile. She returned it with marked enthusiasm. How she’d missed his playful side during the tense hours they’d passed the day before.
“Yes, neighbors,” Philip continued. The look in his eyes told Mariposa he had not missed the exchange between her and Jason. “Not five miles east of here is a quite well-respected family. Mrs. Douglas’s maiden name, I understand, was Thornton.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jason saw Mariposa pale, and he instinctively reached for her hand. He squeezed her fingers in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.
“You know Mr. and Mrs. Douglas?” Mariposa asked, her voice uncharacteristically shaky.
“I do, indeed.” Philip maintained his lighthearted air. “Fine couple. Their children are all grown now, and they, I believe, have cast themselves in the role of surrogate parents during our time of difficulty and hardship.”
Mariposa looked confused, and well she might be. Jason had not mentioned Sorrel’s operation, the reason for Philip and Sorrel’s trip to Scotland.
A new voice, that of Philip’s wife, entered the conversation. “Can you not abandon the theatrics for one conversation, dearest?”
The only thing Philip abandoned faster than his seat was his dandyish mannerisms.
“Sorrel.” Concern added an edge to Philip’s tone. “You are supposed to be resting. Off your feet.”
“As interesting as I find the bed curtains I have stared at for days on end, I would far rather visit with—” She leaned on her cane and looked around the room, momentary surprise registering in her eyes. “With Jason and his guest.”
“Sorrel.” Philip clasped his hands on either side of her face, studying her quite acutely. “What if you have done damage?”
“With this monstrosity strapped to me?” she replied dryly, indicating her leg. Though her dress fully covered that limb, there was something in the hang of her dress that indicated her leg was encased in something large and cumbersome.
“MacAslon said it was no guarantee,” Philip said in a warning voice. Jason listened in awe. There was no trace of the mindless fop about his brother. If that persona were his true character, could he drop it so easily and so entirely?
“Would you feel more at ease if I told you Willy carried me down?” Sorrel asked.
“Willy t
akes far too much pleasure in carrying you around,” Philip grumbled, but there was more petulance than true displeasure in his tone, almost like a young child pouting over a lost treat.
“Summon your flawless manners, dear.” Sorrel gently caressed her husband’s cheek. “Introduce me to this young lady.”
A look passed between the couple that made Jason instantly feel like an intruder on a very private moment.
Mariposa, he noted, watched the scene with a look of complete wonderment, a contented smile touching her lips. “They truly love each other,” she whispered.
“You sound happy for them.”
“I have thought of your family as my own for a very long time. Of course I am happy for them.”
After the appropriate introductions were made and all had resumed their seats, with Philip sitting quite close to his wife, her hand held securely in his own, the conversation resumed. Philip relayed what he knew of the Douglases without relinquishing his hold on Sorrel. Indeed, Jason found himself quite fascinated by the picture his brother made. He was attentive, caring, absolutely besotted, and not at all frivolous.
“Mr. and Mrs. Douglas live alone?” Mariposa asked.
“Quite,” Sorrel answered. “Though I have not been to their home, I understand from many conversations with Mrs. Douglas—she has kept me company quite a few times since my surgery—that she and her husband live alone.”
“They have had no visitors?” Mariposa pressed.
“Did you expect them to?” Philip asked. The perceptiveness of that response immediately caught Jason’s attention. Here was a glimpse of the intelligent, quick-witted brother he had once admired.
“I admit that I did.” Mariposa’s spirits noticeably sagged.
“Perhaps they do,” Sorrel said. “With my indisposition, we have not been able to visit them at their home. If their visitors were disinclined to call upon the sick and afflicted”—she grimaced in a humorous display of self-deprecation—“we would not have met them.”
The tiniest flicker of hope returned to Mariposa’s eyes.
Jason took her hand once more. “It is possible they have visitors who prefer to keep to themselves.”
“Just as they would,” she said to him, her look significant enough to indicate just who they were.
“Precisely.” Jason did not pull his eyes away from hers. How he wished to see her expression light and teasing once more.
“I will send around a note asking if we might call upon them for tea tomorrow, if you wish,” Philip offered, his keen eyes not missing a bit of the exchange.
“Could we not call today?” Mariposa asked in her characteristically energetic way.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Philip rose to his feet. “If you ladies can bear to be separated from my sartorial masterpiece”—he tugged at his overly bright waistcoat—“I shall pen a note immediately.”
Philip had assumed the mask again. Jason was no closer to discovering the why of Philip’s disguise but found he was no longer so deeply bothered by its very existence.
“Jason,” Philip said almost under his breath, motioning Jason to follow him across the room to a writing desk.
Jason looked into Mariposa’s face, not wanting to abandon her if she needed his continued presence. But she smiled reassuringly. Jason squeezed her hand one more time, then rose to follow his brother.
They stopped just short of the writing desk. Philip gave Jason a searching look. “Mater wrote to me about Miss Thornton. The entire family was convinced within minutes of her arrival at Havenworth that she could do you a world of good.”
“Which is odd,” Jason answered, “seeing as how she spent the entirety of that interview insulting me.”
“Ruffled your feathers, did she?” Philip smiled.
Jason nodded emphatically.
“That is a trait a gentleman ought to seek out in a lady, you know.” Philip’s gaze slid to where Sorrel sat conversing quietly with Mariposa across the room. “She doesn’t allow you to be complacent. She’ll make you want to be better.”
The tenderness in his brother’s eyes belied every unflattering assessment Jason had made of Philip over the years.
“How is Sorrel?” Jason asked, as concerned for his sister-in-law’s well-being as he was for Philip’s mental fortitude should she be laid low by her ordeal.
Pain immediately flashed through Philip’s eyes. “It has been horrible.” He closed his eyes then and let out a tense breath. “MacAslon rebroke her leg in three places.” He shook his head as if to remove the memory. “I was not even in the room, but her cries of agony filled his home. I think I will hear that sound in my nightmares for the rest of my life.”
“But is she faring better now?” Jason asked, horrified by the details of a surgery he had only vaguely understood before. “Was it worth it?”
“The breaks are healing far better than the original injuries did.” Philip opened his eyes once more, though his expression remained troubled. “We will not know for some time if the improved alignment will lessen any of her pain. Most of her difficulties are in her hip. So even all this suffering will likely not entirely alleviate her dependence upon her walking stick.”
“But she will be in a better state than before?”
“We hope so.” Philip smiled a little, his eyes once more on Sorrel. “I am already investigating options for improving her hip, though all I have learned so far indicates it is beyond the scope of medical science.”
“But you will keep trying.” It was not a question. Jason could see Philip’s determination. It was a Jonquil trait. They not only jumped to the rescue with alarming fervor and frequency but were also ferociously loyal to those they cared about.
“I cannot bear to see the pain in her eyes every moment of every day,” Philip said. “I would do anything to see her made whole.”
With that one statement, the years of frustration and resentment Jason had felt toward his brother began to dissipate. Philip quite suddenly had the bearing, the demeanor, the sense of responsibility of their father. In fact, Jason could not recall seeing any of his brothers more closely resemble their sire than Philip did in that moment.
o
Mariposa fought a surge of light-headedness as the family housekeeper opened the door to the Douglas’s sitting room.
“Why, Lady Lampton!” A woman, no doubt Mrs. Douglas herself, exclaimed. “Are you recovered enough to be making a call?”
“Precisely what I asked,” Philip said sotto voce.
Sorrel—Mariposa and the young countess were on a Christian-name basis almost immediately—simply ignored the pointed remark. Philip had been fussing over her from the moment she had announced her intention to be included in the sudden teatime visit.
“It would be improper for Mariposa to call accompanied by only two gentleman not related to her,” Sorrel had pointed out.
Mariposa had very nearly objected but recognized the look in Sorrel’s eyes—determination and near desperation. She thought of how she would feel if she were confined to the same rooms for weeks on end. Sorrel, it seemed, was ready to venture out and was not averse to using Mariposa’s unexpected arrival as a means to achieve that end.
Mrs. Douglas ushered them all farther inside. Mariposa tried to keep herself from growing too hopeful. She could not prevent herself from glancing all around her, praying she would catch a glimpse of her lost family. Every room they passed in the corridor sat empty. She could hear no footsteps nearby, no voices echoing around corners.
The sitting room was devoid of houseguests. Mariposa told herself that did not eliminate the possibility. She pictured her brother out running in the fields around the Douglas’s home. Perhaps there was even a stream nearby where he sat fishing.
She studied Mrs. Douglas, the undertaking requiring a mere moment. A sudden lump formed in her throat. This woman she
knew not at all looked remarkably like Papá.
“I must say, my lord, I was quite intrigued by your perplexing note,” Mrs. Douglas said. “The identity of your guests puzzled me. But now, seeing this young gentleman, I have no difficulty ascertaining that he is one of your brothers.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” Philip smiled good-humoredly. “This is Mr. Jason Jonquil, barrister, come from London to pay his respects to his poor, ailing sister-in-law.”
The appropriate expressions of pleasure were exchanged before Philip moved to the next inevitable introduction. “And quite happily met is another family friend up from Town. Her acquaintance with another brother, Captain Stanley Jonquil, is of quite long standing.”
Bless him, Philip had legitimized her presence by implying an intimacy between their families.
“And though I had not made the correlation earlier, I was quite intrigued to determine if she is connected to you as well, Mrs. Douglas.”
“To me?” The kind lady’s confusion was obvious, as was her rampant curiosity.
“Yes.” Philip obviously enjoyed the role of mysterious storyteller. “Mrs. Douglas, may I present Miss Mariposa Thornton, late of Spain.”
Mrs. Douglas’s sharp intake of breath was likely heard all the way back to London. The instant presence of tears further indicated the impact of that simple introduction. “Oh, dear heavens.” Mrs. Douglas pulled a handkerchief from her cuff and dabbed at her eyes. “You are Richard’s daughter!”
“Yes, I am,” Mariposa answered, sitting farther forward on her chair. Richard was her father’s name. Mrs. Douglas knew her, knew to whom she belonged. Mariposa’s heart pounded in anticipation.
“Why, it is obvious now,” Mrs. Douglas said. “You are the very picture of your mother, at least as I remember her. This infernal war has put years between meetings.”
Mariposa felt as though her heart stopped. Years. Mrs. Douglas had not seen Mamá in years. That could mean but one thing—Mamá was not here. Santiago was not here. She still had not found them.
A Fine Gentleman Page 15
