Page 13 of Heiress Gone Wild

With that, Marjorie gave up any attempts to explain that—not being an idiot—she’d already foreseen and taken precautions against all these dangers. “And as I said, your wishes would have put my new life much too far into the future.”

“And you think following me to London is going to change that? The next eleven months aren’t going to be any different for you merely because you moved across the pond.”

She frowned, her frustration supplanted by bafflement and dread. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in mourning, Miss McGann. In England or America, at least six months of seclusion is expected.”

“I’ve been in seclusion most of my life. I have no intention of continuing that way any longer.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a bit?”

“Am I? I watched all my friends leave Forsyte Academy and go on with their lives while I remained behind. They have done the London season, danced with dukes, and dined with princes. Many of them have fallen in love, married, and made exciting lives for themselves. I, meanwhile, have gone nowhere and done nothing. I’m an heiress, too, but for all the good it’s done me, I might as well be poor. Why do you think I saved every penny I could of my allowance and my teacher’s salary? Even before my father died, I’d intended to escape. I was about to begin making my own arrangements so that when I turned twenty-one, I could leave Forsyte Academy.”

“And go where?”

Marjorie met his confounded stare with a hard one of her own. “Well, not to my father, since I didn’t even know where he was.”

He looked away, a clear sign her words made him uncomfortable, but she was in no frame of mind to care about that right now. “When the two of you left Idaho, no one would tell me where you’d gone. Mrs. Forsyte said she didn’t know, and Mr. Jessop refused to say, suggesting I send any letters through him. My father, he said, was moving about and difficult to reach—a lie a child could see through.”

“It wasn’t a lie—at least,” he amended when she gave him a skeptical look, “not until he went into the sanitorium.”

“Another thing no one saw fit to tell me.” Her voice rose a fraction—the aggravation of having been kept continually in the dark by those who thought they were protecting her. “So, I made my own plans to join my friends in England. Most of them are married now, and I knew one of them would agree to chaperone me there.”

“And what did you intend to do for money?”

“I was gambling on the fact that even my scapegrace of a father wouldn’t allow me to be destitute in another country. Once the deed was done, he’d have to have Mr. Jessop give me a bigger allowance and a dowry. But then, he died. I didn’t even know he was sick—” She broke off, startled at the failing of her own voice, frustrated by the lump that rose in her throat.

“My father is gone,” she managed after a moment, shoving down any stupid sentiments about her useless parent. “I now have the chance for a life of my own choosing. Did you really think I’d be willing to wait?”

“What I thought was that you would have the sense to stay put until I had things arranged for you.”

“In other words, you thought I’d do what I’m told and let you—a perfect stranger—decide what’s best for me?”

“As your father relied upon me to do. I will not break my word because you have an unaccountable desire to defy me, propriety, and common sense.”

Marjorie could have told him she hadn’t even begun to be defiant yet, but she refrained. “So, keeping me hidden away is how you intend to bring me to heel? What shall you do when we reach London? Lock me in an attic?”

“I hope you won’t make it necessary.”

Marjorie stared at him, appalled. “All the way until August? You wouldn’t dare.”

“I should advise you not to test me on what I would and would not dare, Miss McGann. And I’m not sure what you think August has to do with anything.”

She frowned. “Because that’s when I turn twenty-one.”

“Just so,” he agreed, nodding. “What of it?”

“A woman comes of age at twenty-one.”

“Legally, yes. But per your father’s will, the bulk of your money is held in trust for you until you turn thirty.”

“Thirty?” Marjorie stared at him in horror. “But I’ll be an old maid by then!”

“Until you turn thirty,” he said, giving her a smile she could only describe as infuriatingly smug, “I decide how much income you receive. You seem surprised.” He nodded to the documents on his desk. “I take it you didn’t read far enough to get to that part?”

Marjorie rallied, sticking her chin up. “You intend to use my own money to control me, is that it?”

“I will use whatever works.” He tilted his head, looking at her speculatively. “How much fun do you think you’ll be able to have in London on ten dollars a month?”

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