Heiress Gone Wild
Dear Lady Truelove,
My ward is driving me crazy. I have to marry her off and get her out of my life. There’s just one problem…
When Jonathan Deverill promised a dying friend he’d be guardian to the man’s daughter, he envisioned a girl in pigtails and pinafores, a child he could leave behind in some finishing school. Problem is, his ward is actually a fully-grown, defiant beauty whose longing for romance threatens to make his guardianship a living hell.
New York heiress Marjorie McGann wants a London season and a titled husband who can help her spend the Yankee millions she’s inherited, and she thinks her new British guardian is the perfect person to help her find him. But Jonathan has no intention of letting his friend’s fortune be squandered. Under his watchful, protective eye, Marjorie finds romance hard to come by . . . until one fateful night when her own guardian’s devastating kisses makes her wonder if the greatest romance of all might be right in front of her.
CHAPTER TWO
He wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. She’d never had much information to go on, and through the years, Marjorie had toyed with two images of her father’s British partner—one a silver-haired gentleman in tweeds and brogues, with pale eyes, a horsey face and a weak chin, the other a burly mountain man with grizzled hair and a graying beard who’d cast aside all traces of his heritage, wore flannel shirts and Levi pants, and cursed like the miner he’d become.
This man was neither of those. Or perhaps, he was a bit of both?
He did curse like a miner, as his oaths of a moment ago had made clear, though his British accent made the words seem more elegant than profane to Marjorie’s American ears. He was a big man, quite tall, with wide shoulders and a powerful chest suited to a man of the mountains, but he was lean rather than burly, with a tapering torso, narrow hips, and long legs. He wore neither flannel and denim nor tweeds and brogues, but instead a suit of dark gray wool that was rather worn, but impeccably cut. His hair was neither fair nor dark, but halfway between, like tobacco—thick, short strands of dark brown shot with gold, and without a touch of gray.
Her gaze moved to his face, a younger one than she’d expected, and not the least bit horsey. Instead, it was surprisingly handsome, with chiseled planes, an aquiline nose, and hazel eyes. He wore no beard, and his tanned, clean-shaven countenance displayed a strong, stubborn jaw and a chin that was anything but weak.
That, she reflected, studying him, might be a problem.
“You’re Billy’s daughter? You are?”
Marjorie blinked, startled by the disbelief in his voice. “Yes, of course. What?” she added as he gave a laugh, for she didn’t see what he found amusing.
“You’re not—” He broke off and shook his head, rubbing four fingers over his forehead as if confounded. “You’re not quite what I was expecting.”
“I could say the same,” she countered with feeling.
“I’m sure,” he said, lifting his head, any trace of humor gone from his face. “Since I’m the last person your father ought to have chosen to take care of you.”
Until she’d met him, Marjorie might have disagreed, for the discovery that her father’s British partner was to be her guardian fit with her own dreams for her future remarkably well. But now that she’d met Mr. Deverill in the flesh, she began to think he might be right.
If she had to have a guardian at all, she’d hoped he would at least be easy to manage. Her gaze roamed Mr. Deverill’s strong, lean face and came to rest again on the hard line of his jaw, and she feared this guardian was going to prove about as manageable as a recalcitrant mule.
“I didn’t realize girls your age were allowed to remain in finishing school,” he said, bringing Marjorie out of these ruminations and causing her to frown in puzzlement.
“I’m not a girl,” she corrected with some asperity. “I’m a woman.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his voice grim, his blunt brown lashes lowering as he glanced down. “So you are.”
“Oh, I see,” she murmured, suddenly enlightened. “You were expecting braids and pinafores?”
“Something like that. Why are you still in school? Don’t young ladies have to graduate at some point?”
“I did, three years ago. I have been a teacher here since then.”
“A practical course to choose.”
“Very practical,” she agreed, the admission bitter on her tongue. “Though hardly a choice, since there was nowhere else for me to go. My father, you see, did not want me with him.”
“I doubt it was a matter of what he wanted, but of what was necessary. The life your father led was hardly an appropriate one for a young lady to share.”
Marjorie could not quite agree. By going West, she would have at least seen something of life. For thirteen years, her only view of the world had been the walled-off gardens of the school, the local parish church, and an occasional foray to the museums and theaters of Manhattan. Roaming about out west would not have been her first choice, but it would have been more exciting than living here, and she and her father would have been together, a real family.
Still, had she been given a choice, she’d have preferred her father come East. Granted, they couldn’t have had much of a life here in New York, for though the mansions of new money millionaires were lined up along Fifth Avenue like carrots in a garden row, the daughters of those millionaires weren’t living in them. Shut out of New York society by the Knickerbocker set, most of them were in England or on the Continent, married to titled husbands or searching for them, and if the letters from her schoolfellows were any indication, they were having the time of their lives.
Her father could have done the same for her, but despite all the letters she’d written asking him to come back, his infrequent replies had contained only promises and excuses, and Marjorie had finally been forced to face the brutal truth: her father simply preferred a life without her.
She swallowed hard, pride keeping hurt at bay. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “But what happens now? Before she sent me to you, Mrs. Forsyte told me you’re going to London?” When he nodded, she felt a rush of relief. “That’s just what I was hoping.”
His mouth tipped at one corner in a sardonic curve. “Terribly eager to get rid of your new guardian, I see. Well, I can’t say I blame you.”
“Get rid of you?” she echoed, bewildered. “Hardly that, since I’m coming with you.”
“What?” He gave a laugh of disbelief. “My dear girl, there’s no point in carting you along at this stage. I’m only in London for a brief visit with my sisters, then I’m off to Africa.”
Marjorie refused to have a perfect plan ruined by trivialities. England was just the place for girls like her, girls who had heaps of money but no position or place. Mr. Deverill’s sisters, she knew from the society pages, had valuable social connections, ones invaluable to a New Money heiress hoping to find a husband. At last, things she’d spent years only daring to dream of could become reality. She could have a place in the world, a family of her own, and a life of her own choosing.
“Excellent,” she breathed, laughing, relieved. “When do we sail?”
“As I said, you’re not going. You must remain here for the time being.”
“Here?” Marjorie stared at him, her excitement ebbing as disbelief took its place. “But why?”
“Because an unmarried man and a young, unmarried woman cannot travel together without the presence of a chaperone, and I have no time to find a suitable woman to fulfill that role. Delaying my journey to South Africa would be unwise.”
“Why are you going there, anyway?” she asked. “They say war’s going to break out between the British and the Boers before the end of the year.”
“Which is why I must go now. Your father had a great deal of money in South African investments, and if war breaks out, those investments could become worthless. There’s no time to be lost. Speaking of time—”
He broke off, pulled his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and flipped it open. “I must go, if I’m to catch my train.”
“You’re leaving?” It wasn’t possible. This could not be happening. “Already?”
“I must,” he answered, his relief at the fact painfully obvious as he tucked his watch back in his pocket. “I still have to meet with Mr. Jessop about your trust before my ship sails tonight. I’ve brought your father’s belongings to you. He didn’t have much in the way of personal effects, but—”
“I don’t want his things.”
The interruption, or perhaps the sharp, brittle quality of her voice as she spoke must have surprised him, for his brows lifted a fraction. Marjorie tensed, her hands curled into fists at her sides, so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms. “I’ve no use for them.”
He didn’t inquire further, much to her relief. “Still, I will leave them here, in case you change your mind.”
She wouldn’t, but she accepted that arrangement with a nod.
“I will write to you, of course,” he went on. “If there’s anything you need while I am away, contact Mr. Jessop. And when I return, I’ll make new arrangements for you. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss McGann. We will see each other again soon.”
“Wait,” she cried in dismay as he bowed and turned to depart. “You can’t just leave me here.”
“It’s the only thing to be done, I’m afraid. But you needn’t be concerned about your future,” he added as he paused by the door to retrieve his hat from the coat tree. “This afternoon, Mr. Jessop and I will discuss what’s to be done for the best. I will inform you of the details of our discussions in my first letter.”
“But I already know what’s for the best,” she countered, following him as he started out the door. “Just because you arrived here thinking I was a child, it isn’t necessary for you to treat me like one.”
He halted in the corridor and turned to face her. “Forgive me,” he said, but immediately spoiled his apology by qualifying it. “But I didn’t even know of your existence until a month ago, and I had assumed from what your father told me that you were a schoolgirl. The fact that you are instead a woman grown makes things much more complicated. Totally different arrangements will now have to be made for you, and that will take time.”
Marjorie didn’t have much experience dealing with the opposite sex, but she had enough experience with the evasions of children to recognize when a grown man was doing it. “How lovely to know I’m so important that you could spare me half an hour on your way from one side of the globe to the other. Since you intend to just leave me here, I wonder that you bothered to come at all. You could have shipped my father’s things and sent me a letter. Wouldn’t that have sufficed?”
“It certainly would have been more convenient,” he countered dryly, ignoring her sarcasm. “But that would not have been commensurate with my responsibilities as your guardian.”
“You, talking of responsibilities as you walk away from them,” she muttered. “That’s rich.”
Her words seemed to hit a nerve, for he stiffened. “I realize you don’t feel I’m living up to those responsibilities just now, but it can’t be helped. As I said, I thought you were a child still. My reason for coming was to meet you, make the acquaintance of the headmistress, and reassure myself that you are well-situated for the time being.”
“But I’m not.”
“No? Are you neglected here? Abused? Mistreated?”
As he asked these questions, Marjorie stared at him helplessly, wondering how to answer, and a sick knot formed in her stomach as she realized there was probably no answer he’d accept. A guardian wouldn’t consider that she lived like a cloistered nun any sort of mistreatment. Quite the opposite.
Think, Marjorie, she ordered herself, think how to make him change his mind and take you with him.
“It isn’t a matter of mistreatment,” she said at last, striving to sound calm and reasonable when she felt nothing of the sort. “Mrs. Forsyte has always been very kind. But as you’ve now seen, I’m not a child. I’m twenty years old. It’s time I left here and made a life of my own, don’t you think?”
“Of course, and I agree. As I said, I will discuss the situation with Mr. Jessop this afternoon, and while I am away, I will consider his advice and decide what’s to be done with you.”
Marjorie took a deep breath, trying to set aside her disappointment and face what she feared might be unalterable facts. “And how long will you be gone?”
“Eight months, perhaps. It’s hard to say with things so unstable there, but—”
“Eight months?” Marjorie interrupted, too dismayed by that appalling estimate to be polite, and any thought of accepting facts went straight out the window. “Eight months?”
He shrugged. “I wish I could be more definite, but I don’t wish to make you any promises until I’ve assessed the situation. I will keep you apprised, of course, and return as quickly as I am able.”
To her mind, eight months was anything but a quick return, and given that she’d be spending that time in the staid environs of Forsyte Academy, the same place she’d spent nearly two thirds of her life, it seemed an eternity. She’d made the best of things here, and she enjoyed teaching, but it wasn’t the life she wanted.
She wanted to do what her school friends had done. She wanted to make her come-out, go to balls and parties, meet young men and know what it was to be a desirable woman. She wanted romance, courtship, marriage to a man who loved her, and children of her own. She wanted a home, a family, and a place to belong. She wanted…damn it all, she wanted to be wanted.
She’d given up any hope of such things in the wake of her father’s continued absence and perpetual excuses, but with his death and the knowledge that his British partner was to be her guardian, Marjorie’s hopes for a different life had reawakened. Now that they had, she couldn’t bear to put them aside.
Desperate, she tried again. “Why can’t I just go with you now?”
“The mining towns of Africa are even less appropriate for a young lady than those of the American West and even more dangerous. And as I said, who would chaperone you? It’s simply not possible.”
She waved aside Africa, which was probably a very exciting place and quite suitable for hunting lions but hardly the place for a young woman wishing to hunt for a husband. “There’s nothing unsuitable about London, especially not at this time of year. I could make a debut, enjoy the season—oh, why not?” she burst out in frustration as he shook his head.
“Miss McGann, I appreciate that you want the amusements of good society, and you shall have them, I promise. But such things must wait.”
“The London season is starting now. It’s the perfect time to make a come-out, find a husband. I might be like my friends,” she added, savoring all the romantic possibilities that lay ahead, “and marry a man with a title and estates—”
His groan cut her off. “What is it about titles that you Americans find so alluring? They’re meaningless drivel.”
“But they’re not. A titled husband gives a girl like me a position, something I could never have here in New York, no matter how much money my father left me.”
“Even so, it’s far too soon to be discussing such things. You’re only a month into your mourning period, which is a time of seclusion and grief.”
Marjorie could have assured him she’d had plenty of seclusion already. She could also have pointed out that she had no intention of spending any time grieving for a man who had left her over thirteen years ago and who hadn’t spared a moment of consideration for her since. But because her new guardian was already impatient to be gone, she restrained herself. The only crucial thing now was to persuade him not to leave her behind.
“I can mourn just as well in London as I can here,” she said, trying to sound reasonable and dutiful. “I could stay with your sisters. Surely a duchess and a viscountess would be appropriate chaperones.”
“Chaperoning a girl, even one in mourning, is a serious responsibility. My sisters must be given the chance to decide freely if they want to take it on, especially for a girl they’ve never met, an American girl who knows nothing of British life, an heiress wealthy enough to be prey to fortune hunters. I have not seen my sisters for ten years, Miss McGann, and I have no intention of greeting them after all that time by imposing the burden of your care upon them without first obtaining their consent and cooperation.”
She was a burden. Of course she was. Her father’s neglect had told her that long ago, and yet, it stung to hear it said aloud. Marjorie looked away, blinking hard, frustration dissolving into despair. “Nothing’s changed,” she said. “I’m still stuck in limbo, watching life pass by while I sit here, growing old.”
“There’s no need to be melodramatic. Eight months isn’t all that long. I’ll try to return sooner if I possibly can. And the time will pass much more quickly for you here, where you at least have an occupation. In London, you would have nothing to do except sit at home, watching others enjoy the season. Such a situation would only add to your discontent. And it’s not as if you won’t have time. You can’t be more than twenty years old.”
“I’m nearly twenty-one. A year from now I’ll be on the verge of spinsterhood.”
He actually smiled at that appalling prospect. “You’ll have no trouble finding a husband when the time comes,” he assured her. “Especially one with a title. Believe me,” he added, his smile taking on a cynical curve, “the peers of England will find your fat American dowry just as desirable next season as they would during this one.”
Marjorie had no intention of marrying a man who wanted her only for her money. She wanted love, too, and she saw no reason why she couldn’t have both, but her new guardian spoke again before she could correct him on that point.
“I recognize that you can’t remain here forever. Naturally, an heiress such as yourself requires a proper position, and your mourning period gives us the time to consider how best to create the right one for you. If Mr. Jessop and I decide a London season is appropriate, and provided my sisters are willing to launch you, I will arrange for you to make your debut next year. We can discuss these plans in detail when I come back.”
When I come back…
Those words echoed to her from the past, the exact same words her father had spoken to her thirteen years ago.
When I come back…
He never had. And now, he never would.
Pain flared up inside Marjorie, pain and anger, emotions so hot and so fierce that she had to fold her arms tight across her ribs to hold them in check.
She would not cry, she vowed. She would not cry for a man who in thirteen years had barely spared her a thought. And she would not be abandoned again, living on promises and clinging to hopes of a someday that never came.
“I’m sure you’re disappointed,” he said in the wake of her silence, the gentleness of his voice like salt in her wounds. “And, believe it or not, I know how hard it is when all one’s dreams seem to have been snatched away. But I won’t let that happen to you, I promise. We will see you properly settled, but you will have to be patient while I determine the best way to make that happen.”
Marjorie wasn’t about to let any man, even her guardian, decide what was best for her, especially when said man seemed disinclined to solicit her opinions on the subject. Still, she could see that his mind was made up and arguing would be pointless, so she heaved a sigh of feigned resignation as she set her brains to work on a new plan. “I suppose you’re right. You’d better go,” she advised, pasting on a brave smile. “You don’t want to miss that train.”
“Is there anything you need before I depart?” he asked. “Do you have pin money?”
“An allowance? Mr. Jessop sends me ten dollars a month.”
“Is that all?”
She didn’t tell him it was more than enough. She hadn’t spent even a fraction of her allowance in the years she’d been here, for what was there to spend it on? “I’m afraid so.”
“I’ll arrange a larger allowance for you when I meet with Mr. Jessop. You’ll begin receiving it straightaway.”
Marjorie gazed at him with every appearance of gratitude. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. It’s the least I can do.”
“You will write?” she asked, clasping her hands together, trying to look the part of the forbearing little woman.
“Every month. And as soon as I am able to form a definite itinerary, I will inform both you and Mr. Jessop. But if you ever need to reach me directly, send a cable to Cooks’—in London until the fifteenth, and then in Johannesburg after that.”
“You sail tonight, you said? Safe travels, Mr. Deverill,” she added when he nodded. “I hope you’re on one of the White Star ships? I’ve heard they are very fine.”
“I believe it is a Cunard ship, actually. The Neptune, or the Poseidon—something like that. Now, I really must be off.”
“Of course.” She held out her hand, expecting him to shake it, but to her surprise, he bowed over it instead, lifting it to his lips, and despite that she found her new guardian aggravatingly uncooperative and willfully obtuse, she also felt an unmistakable thrill when his lips brushed her knuckles.
A kiss on the hand might be a trivial thing to most young ladies, but it was the first remotely romantic thing that had ever happened to her, and it underscored all the reasons why she wasn’t about to wait another eight months for her life to begin.
“Farewell, Miss McGann,” he said as he let go of her hand. “We shall meet again soon.”
With that, he turned away, stepped into the corridor and started toward the stairs.
“We certainly will, Mr. Deverill,” she murmured under her breath, leaning through the doorway, her gaze narrowing on his broad back as he walked away. “And far sooner than you think.”