Page 59 of Heiress Gone Wild

“I don’t doubt it,” she answered. “My father was a mining engineer, and gemstones were his passion.”

Mr. Prescott blinked as if nonplussed, and beside her, she heard Carlotta’s sharp indrawn breath—two clues she’d committed some sort of faux pas, but she couldn’t imagine what.

In the awkward pause, Mr. Prescott turned to Irene. “Mr. Deverill is with Mr. Fossin in his office, composing an inventory of the gems. Would you like me to inform them you are here?”

“No, there’s no need. We can wait a few minutes.” She glanced past him to one of the glass display cases. “Have you any emeralds to show me?”

“Of course.” He turned, stretching out his arm to allow her to precede him, and as they departed for the other side of the shop, Marjorie turned to Clara. “What did I say?” she whispered.

Carlotta answered before Clara had the chance. “It’s hardly necessary to inform people of your late father’s profession, my dear. I should advise discretion on that score.”

“But why?” she asked in surprise. “What’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Clara put in. “Oh, look,” she added, hooking one arm through that of her sister-in-law and steering her toward a nearby case. “Pearls, Carlotta. Your favorite.”

Marjorie followed, hoping to press Clara for further information, but she had no opportunity, for only a few minutes later Jonathan emerged from the back rooms, a sheet of paper in his hands. “Thank you, Mr. Fossin,” he was saying to a small man with an enormous mustache who walked beside him. “You will inform me when you’ve given the stones a full evaluation?”

Assured on this point, he turned, immediately spying Marjorie standing with Carlotta and Clara. “What the devil?” he said, laughing in surprise.

“We saw you from across the street,” Irene said as she joined them. “We couldn’t resist coming in.”

“Naturally,” he agreed, folding the sheet in his hands and tucking it in a pocket of his morning coat. “Women around jewels are like moths around flame.”

“We’re on our way to Claridge’s for tea with two of Marjorie’s friends from Forsyte Academy,” Clara put in. “Do join us. You won’t be the only man. Rex will be there, and Paul—one of Rex’s cousins.”

“For a moment, I thought I’d have six ladies all to myself,” he said. Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he stepped around them and opened the door. “Ah, well.”

They emerged onto the sidewalk, but as the other women began walking toward Claridge’s, Marjorie lingered, waiting for Jonathan. “May I walk with you?”

“Certainly.” He pulled the door shut behind him and moved to stand between her and the street, then they fell in step to follow the others. “I presume you want to know what Mr. Fossin had to say about the stones?”

“I’d love to hear, but that’s not it. I had a question to ask you.” She related the conversation inside the jeweler’s and the reactions of both Mr. Prescott and Carlotta. “What did I say?” she asked as he laughed.

“I don’t know why you have to ask. After spending a fortnight in her company, you must know Carlotta’s a snob.”

“I knew that after an hour. But Mr. Prescott’s hardly in a position to be snobbish.”

“I’d wager Prescott wasn’t disapproving so much as taken aback. Fossin and Morel deal with a very exclusive clientele. He’s probably unaccustomed to young ladies who announce their fathers’ professions.”

“No, but it’s not as if my father was a ditchdigger or a longshoreman. I could see how a snob might disapprove of that. But my father, for all his faults, was an educated man, and he had a worthy profession.”

“That’s just it. In Britain, a profession for a gentleman is looked down upon. So is a useful education, if you want the truth. England—the upper crust, anyway—prefers to send its young men to university to study poetry and learn dead languages.”

“But Clara has a profession,” Marjorie said, still bewildered.

“Even worse, since Clara’s a woman. I daresay she doesn’t talk much about it outside the family.”

“So, society knows about her involvement in Deverill Publishing, but as long as she doesn’t talk about it, people let it pass?”

“More or less. If you want society’s good opinion, it might be best to avoid mentioning your father was a mining engineer.”

“Carlotta said the same.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Sometimes, British life doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“If it’s any consolation to you, it doesn’t make much sense to me either, and I was raised in it. Not the aristocracy, of course, but close enough. My mother was a viscount’s daughter, though she was disowned when she married my father. We Deverills do like turning the aristocracy on its ear.”

“A fact you seem to take great delight in,” she commented, laughing as he grinned. “Lilies of the field, I think you said?”

“And was I not right?”

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