Page 81 of Heiress Gone Wild

“No?” The baroness leaned closer to tap her finger on the opened magazine in Marjorie’s lap. “French letters,” she said in a teasing whisper. “You should not be reading about such naughty things.”

Marjorie frowned, bewildered. “I don’t understand. What could be naughty about letters? Although they are French,” she added, “so I suppose that explains it. Though why anyone would want to buy someone’s letters, French or otherwise, I don’t quite see—”

The baroness’s merry laughter cut her off. “Oh, darling Marjorie, I have missed you. You are such a delightful innocent.”

Marjorie was growing tired of being called an innocent. It was irritating that everyone around her seemed to know far more about life than she did. Worse, no one ever seemed willing to explain anything. Obviously, a French letter was something she wasn’t supposed to know about. Still, if anyone would be able to enlighten her, it would be the baroness. “But what is naughty about these letters?” she asked in a whisper. “You must tell me.”

“They’re not letters at all.”

“But what are they, then?”

“They do not concern you yet,” she said, frowning and trying to look severe. “For you are not married. For me, however,” she continued with a wink that ruined any attempt at severity, “a French letter is a very convenient thing.”

“But you’re not married,” Marjorie said, still confused. “You’re a widow.”

“I may be a widow, darling, but I’m not dead!”

“I see.” She didn’t, quite, but she was beginning to get an inkling—a vague one—of what they were really talking about, and it had something to do with men.

The baroness’s next words confirmed this theory. “Men ought to be the ones who take care of such details, but they can never seem to be relied upon. So, I keep a few French letters myself, because after all, one never knows. And a baby... ach, that would not do. It would be most inconvenient at my time of life.”

“Oh.” Marjorie colored up, thinking of Jonathan’s words about babies, and about what had and had not happened between them in the library. Wanting specifics about babies, French letters, and all other such forbidden subjects, she leaned closer, but she was given no chance to ask further questions.

“Oh, I’m so glad that’s over,” Irene’s relieved voice interrupted as she came around the sofa, and Marjorie suppressed a groan of frustration at the interruption and slapped the magazine shut. “I do hate first fittings. A muslin makes it so hard to tell what the gown will look like, and one’s always afraid it’ll be a disappointment. Baroness,” she greeted the other woman with a smile. “How lovely to see you.”

“Duchess.” The baroness stood up. “Please let me say how happy I was to receive your kind invitation to your house party at Ravenwood. I am so looking forward to it. I only regret that I will not be able to arrive until Saturday.”

“But you will arrive in time for the ball?” Marjorie asked.

The baroness gave her an affectionate smile. “I would not miss that for the world.” She turned to Irene. “My train arrives at 4:15.”

“I shall send a carriage to the station for you,” Irene told her. “We are looking forward to having you.”

“Baroness Vasiliev?” another voice inquired, and one of the showroom’s sylphlike mannequins came into view. “Vivienne is ready for you, if you will come this way?”

The baroness stood up. “Forgive me, ladies. It seems I must leave you.” She turned and bent down to give Marjorie an affectionate kiss on each cheek. “I will see you soon. And once you have made the come-out, you will be meeting many young men and looking to marry, so remember our conversation today, for it will serve you well in years to come.” She gave Marjorie another wink and turned to follow the showroom model toward the fitting rooms, adding over her shoulder, “And remember, never rely on a man more than you rely on yourself.”

In the wake of her departure, Irene gave a little laugh. “What on earth was that about?”

“Nothing,” Marjorie said, donning a neutral expression as she tossed the magazine onto the table. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter 20

Refusing to give up was all very well, but during the fortnight that followed Marjorie’s rejection of his proposal, as Jonathan considered what he might do to change her mind, he found himself rather at a loss.

Pressing his suit at once would likely harden her further against him, so he was forced to resume a respectful distance. And since courtship was going to be required of him, a task that would demand all the strength he possessed, he knew he could do with a bit of distance, too.

Because of that, when the family made the journey down to Ravenwood a week before the house party, he did not accompany them, but chose instead to arrive the same afternoon as the other guests.

Being a man of action, playing a waiting game did not suit him, but he tried to keep busy. He bought Marjorie a birthday present, he picked up her cut gemstones from Fossin and Morel, and though it might prove an unjustified optimism on his part, he bought an engagement ring.

As he’d promised her, he canceled his trip to South Africa and hired one of Torquil’s solicitors to make the journey in his stead. To further demonstrate his sincerity and his willingness to become at least somewhat domesticated, he hired a valet and tried to accustom himself to letting someone else tie his ties and fasten his shirt studs.

On his new valet’s recommendation, he paid another visit to his tailor. He ordered an entire wardrobe suited to autumn in the country, and as he was fitted for tweeds and riding boots, he tried to envision himself hunting grouse and riding to hounds.

He looked at various London houses for sale or lease, but as he walked through stately rooms of Victorian elegance, he knew that whatever else he might have to do to accommodate Marjorie’s vision of married life, decorating their home in the stuffy, ornate style of the British upper crust couldn’t be part of it. Flocked velvet wallpaper was just a bridge too far for any man.

As he worked to fashion a life that Marjorie could be persuaded to share, her words echoed through his mind again and again.

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