Page 46 of Heiress Gone Wild

“Jonathan?”

At the sound of his name, they both turned to watch a slender blonde in a teal-blue tea gown come tearing down the stairs, the butler and two female servants following at a slower pace.

One glance was enough to tell Marjorie this was one of Jonathan’s sisters. She had the same golden good looks, hazel eyes, and brilliant smile as her brother—a smile that showed clearly how she felt about his return and should have reassured him at once.

“Oh, Jonathan!” She halted before them, but instead of making the restrained and elegant greeting a lady of thetonwould be expected to offer, she threw herself into her brother’s arms with wholehearted abandon. “You’re home, you’re home at last.”

He wrapped his arms around his sister, his body seeming to lose some of its tension as she planted smacking kisses on both his cheeks, and when she hugged him again, Marjorie saw his eyes close and his lips tighten as if in relief and profound affection. “Irenie,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair.

She laughed again. “It reallyisyou. Only you ever call me Irenie.”

She pulled back, glancing over him. “Oh, my,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest as if overcome. “Look at you.”

“Look at you,” he countered. Smiling a little, he doffed his hat, stepped back, and bowed. “Your Grace.”

“Oh, stop.” She tossed her head, making a sound of laughing derision at the address. She glanced at the servants who had halted a discreet distance behind her, then she leaned closer to her brother and whispered, “Even I’m not used to that title, not even after six years. Every time I hear it, I look around, expecting to see the duke’s mother standing nearby. And besides, you’re my brother. You’re not supposed to call me ‘Your Grace.’”

“I’ve been away a long time. Forgive me for forgetting the proper protocol for titles.” He grinned. “Duchess.”

She groaned and turned to Marjorie. “He’s such a tease. You must be Miss McGann. How do you do? Forgive me for not greeting you properly just now.”

“Not at all.” She curtsied. “Your Grace.”

The duchess gave her a smile, reminding Marjorie again of her brother. “Didn’t I just say I’m not used to that address? And your father was like a brother to Jonathan, so you’re practically part of the family. No, you must call me Irene.”

“If you wish. I hope you will call me Marjorie?”

“I’d be delighted to do so. Now that we’ve dispensed with the formalities, let us come to practical matters. Jonathan’s telegram earlier today informed me that you’ve no maid? Well,” she added, when Marjorie shook her head in reply, “we can remedy that easily enough.”

She turned, gesturing to the servants hovering in the background. “You’ve already met Boothby, our butler? He’ll look after you, Jonathan, since you’ve no valet with you.”

“That’s not necessary, Irene,” Jonathan said at once. “I’ve never had a valet in my life, so I’m quite accustomed to dressing myself. And I’m sure Boothby has plenty to do without the added inconvenience of looking after me.”

“Very well.” She gave a nod to the butler, who gave a bow and stepped back, then she gestured to the older of the two female servants. “This is our housekeeper, Mrs. Jaspar, who will see that the footmen have put your luggage in the proper rooms.”

At once, the housekeeper departed to carry out that instruction, and Irene beckoned the third servant forward. “And this is Eileen, our second housemaid. She’ll attend you, Marjorie, until we can find you a proper lady’s maid. Now then,” she added as the servant gave Marjorie a curtsy and a tentative smile, “would you care for some refreshment, or would you prefer to go to your room to freshen up and change before dinner?”

Marjorie hesitated. She was famished after their long journey, for no formal breakfast had been served this morning, and the train from Southampton had not possessed a dining car. She also couldn’t help a profound curiosity about the other sister, but she knew curiosity could not allow her to intrude on the first moments of a family’s reunion.

“I think I would prefer to go up and change,” Marjorie answered. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Eileen will show you to your room, and I will see you this evening. We dine at eight, but the family usually begins gathering in the drawing room about half past seven for cordials. Do join us there, if you wish.”

Marjorie gave the duchess and Jonathan a nod of farewell and turned away, but before she could follow Eileen up the stairs, the front doors opened behind her, and a tall, willow-slim woman in a tailored beige walking suit came into the entrance hall. “I don’t understand why editors always have to make such a fuss,” she said, speaking over her shoulder to the tall, blond-haired man following her through the wide doorway. “You’d think I’d told him to get stuffed.”

The man laughed. “You did worse than that, Clara. You told him he was being difficult.”

“That’s not what I said. But he is so aggravatingly old-fashioned. We must keep up with the times, and that includes printing photographs in our publications. Besides—” She broke off as she turned and spied Jonathan and Marjorie. Her steps faltered, and her body went still. She offered no ebullient greeting as her sister had done. She did not even smile.

Marjorie felt Jonathan tense beside her. She heard his sharp, indrawn breath and his slow, resigned exhale.

“So, the prodigal returns at last,” the woman murmured as she pulled out her hat pin and removed her wide-brimmed hat of leghorn straw. Her absurdly tiny nose gave a sniff as she wove the pin through the hat brim. “Better six years late than not at all, I suppose.”

“Hullo, Clara,” he said.

She made no reply, but her hands stilled.

Oh, no, Marjorie thought, feeling the tension in the air.

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