Page 92 of Heiress Gone Wild

“Then I’d better dress myself,” she said. “You go down and tell Lady Galbraith I’ll be ready in a few minutes, so she can have the gig brought around.”

“Her ladyship already did that. It’s waiting in the drive.” Semphill pulled out two walking suits. “Do you want to wear the green wool or the tweed?”

Ten minutes later, dressed in her green walking suit of summer-weight wool, Marjorie, breathless and excited, was stepping up beside Clara in the gig. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you anything,” Clara replied as she snapped the reins and the gig jerked into motion. “Jonathan said it’s a birthday surprise. Happy birthday, by the way.”

Marjorie laughed. “Well, this isn’t such a surprise. I don’t know where we’re going, but I do know what he wants to show me.”

“Do you, indeed?” Clara’s smile widened knowingly, making her blush. “We’re going to Beaulieu, if that enlightens you at all.”

It didn’t, and since Clara refused to say any more, she could only wait in delicious suspense as the carriage rolled through the countryside. Like yesterday, the day was fine and warm, the air was sweet and fresh with a hint of the nearby ocean.

Marjorie tilted her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the sun on her face and the sweetness of anticipation and the exhilarating joy of being loved and in love. She couldn’t imagine ever being happier than she was at this moment.

Beaulieu proved to be a charming little village a few miles from Southampton, and after traveling along its high street of shops, pubs, and thatched roof cottages, Clara steered the gig onto a wooded lane. They went another mile or so, crossed over a charming stone bridge, and turned to pass through a pair of wrought-iron gates.

Marjorie caught her breath. Ahead of her, a tree-lined lane led straight to a classical Georgian home, rectangular in shape, with a Corinthian portico in front and a rotunda above it. Behind one corner of the house, she could see a splendid view of lawns and gardens that led down to sprawling green fields and hedgerows. Far in the distance, she could see the Port of Southampton, and beyond it, the glittering water of the Solent and the faint outline of the Isle of Wight.

I’m home, she thought with sudden, joyful certainty.I am home at last.

In the circular drive, another gig was parked, showing that Jonathan was already here, and Marjorie could hardly contain her excitement. Clara hadn’t even pulled the brake before Marjorie jumped down and raced toward the house, opened one of the two entrance doors, and walked into a rectangular entrance hall.

“Jonathan?” she called, her steps and her voice echoing through the empty, unfurnished house. She paused in the center of the hall, her gaze lifting from the wide staircase ahead of her to a mezzanine with a brass grillwork railing and a stunning domed ceiling of glass panels overhead. “Jonathan?”

“Here,” he called, and she turned, her gaze lowering again to the mezzanine, where she saw him leaning on the rail, watching her. “It’s called Ainsley Park,” he said with a nod to their surroundings. “The house was designed by Wyatt. Not up-to-date at all, I’m afraid, but that’s easily done.” He spread his arms. “What do you think?”

She laughed. “I don’t know yet. I just walked in.”

“Wait there. I’m coming down.”

He moved along the mezzanine and vanished from view as Clara’s footsteps sounded on the travertine floor behind her.

“It has beautiful lines, doesn’t it?” Clara remarked, glancing around as she paused beside Marjorie. “One can really see the architecture when there’s no furnishings to get in the way.”

She had no chance to respond as more footsteps sounded, and she turned, watching Jonathan descend the staircase. As he came toward her, he glanced at Clara, who immediately gave a cough.

“The grounds seem quite lovely,” she said. “I believe I’ll take a stroll.”

“I’d suggest the front gardens,” Jonathan replied, his eyes meeting his sister’s in a meaningful glance Marjorie didn’t understand.

Clara seemed to understand it, however, for she gave a nod and turned, heading back the way she and Marjorie had come in.

The front door had barely closed behind her before Jonathan was pulling Marjorie into his arms. “How do you feel this morning?” he asked, smiling a little.

“All right. A bit sore.” She blushed, feeling shy and flustered. “But happy.”

“Me, too.” He bent his head and kissed her mouth, then drew back and took her hand. “Come on. There’s so much I want to show you, and we don’t have much time.”

“No, I suppose we don’t,” she agreed as he pulled her toward the stairs. “Irene has a birthday lunch planned for me with the ladies before everyone starts leaving for the station. Did Torquil have something for the gentlemen?”

“It’s not that. But I’ll explain later.”

He showed her the upstairs floors first, and as they walked through the two adjoining suites that would form their apartments as husband and wife, Marjorie felt more certain than ever that she’d come home. They agreed that the nursery needed to be moved closer to their own rooms, and at least four of the twenty-six bedrooms would have to be converted to baths, then they headed back down to the ground floor.

“All the reception rooms flank the terrace,” he told her as they paused at the back of the main hall where a wide corridor stretched in opposite directions toward the wings. “Drawing room, library, and music room to the right, and billiard room and ballroom to the left. This,” he added, pulling her into a spacious room of teak floors and white millwork, “is the drawing room.”

Marjorie’s attention was caught at once by the French doors that stretched along the back, showing off the magnificent view beyond. She crossed the room, unlatched one of the doors, and walked out onto the flagstone terrace, Jonathan behind her.

---