Page 82 of Heiress Gone Wild

You live the way you do because you’re searching for something to replace what you lost. But I have no intention of wandering across the globe with you while you keep looking for it.

And who could blame her? Jonathan knew to have her, he would have to answer the question he’d spent years avoiding.

What do I want?

He wanted Marjorie, but the answer to his question was deeper even than love. Love, marriage, children, domestic life—these things would never be enough if he didn’t have a purpose, an ambition of his own. He might be able to put on tweeds and ride to hounds during weekends at the country estate, but he knew being the country gentleman could never be his entire way of life. He needed something more.

His goal was to find it before the house party, and to that end, he spent many hours at his club, seeking out the company of other members who were also men of business, but though many of them wanted his investment capital, he was in search of a greater challenge than contributing money to someone else’s company. He wanted to create something of his own, build something his children could expand and carry into the next century, but it also had to be something that excited him, and nothing he came across seemed to meet his criteria. Like his country tweeds, none seemed to fit, and by the time he boarded the train for Hampshire to join the others at Ravenwood, he was forced to accept that what he was attempting wasn’t going to be achieved as quickly as he’d hoped.

Nonetheless, during the train journey, he went through the stack of prospectuses he’d been gathering, and to his surprise, he found one that did appeal, one he’d received weeks ago. Given his preoccupation with Marjorie, he’d almost forgotten it, but as he read through it on the train, he realized it might be just what he was looking for. It was not, sadly, a perfect solution, particularly where Marjorie’s vision of the future was concerned, but it could be the middle ground he’d been seeking, and it had exciting possibilities.

Still, even if he’d just found his future, convincing Marjorie to share it might take months, or even years, and as the carriage Irene had sent to fetch him from the station arrived at Ravenwood, Jonathan was forcibly reminded that time was not on his side.

As the landau swept around a wide expanse of lawn where guests were having tea, playing tennis, and enjoying the fine summer afternoon, Marjorie’s bright hair caught his eye. Dressed in a white tennis dress, a racquet in her hands, she was on the court, standing behind the baseline chalked on the grass, talking with some chap in cream-colored dittos and a natty tie.

As his carriage rolled past, Jonathan saw the other man lean intimately close to Marjorie, and he felt a jolt of jealousy so strong, he nearly came out of the carriage.

The thing that restrained him was the knowledge that Marjorie probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. She hadn’t been impressed when he’d tossed the Count de la Rosa down a corridor, and if he acted like a jealous boor during her birthday weekend, he would do himself no favors.

Jonathan forced himself to relax his hold on the door handle, knowing Marjorie would be meeting dozens of other men in the weeks and months to come, and there was nothing he could do but accept the fact with as good a grace as he could muster and hope he was the one she chose.

The carriage rolled to a stop, bringing him out of his reverie, and when he looked up, he saw Irene running across the gravel drive to greet him, a most welcome distraction.

“Nice little cottage you’ve got here, Irenie,” he said, nodding to the four-story Italianate structure behind her that sprawled in every direction.

“Terribly grand, isn’t it?” she agreed, glancing over her shoulder as he exited the vehicle. “I sometimes call it The Mausoleum just to tease Henry.” She glanced past his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend,” she murmured.

“Friend?” Glancing back, he gave a chuckle. “Not a friend, Irene. That’s Warrick, my valet.”

“You hired a valet? Now?” She laughed merrily. “Whatever for? Do you need your suits pressed in Africa?”

“I’m not going. I canceled my trip.”

Her laughter died at once. “You did?”

“Yes. You see, I—”

A cry of surprised delight interrupted him, and Irene hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re staying longer? What wonderful news!” She gave him a smacking kiss on one cheek, then the other. “How much longer? Never mind,” she added at once. “I won’t press you. But you know you can stay with us as long as you like, don’t you?”

“Careful,” he warned. “I may become one of those tiresome guests who never leaves.”

“If that happened, no one would be happier than I,” she said, turning to hook her arm through his. “Now, do you want to go up to your room first? Or would you rather walk down to the south lawn and join the others for tea?”

“Tea,” he said at once, for he wasn’t about to leave Marjorie to some young dandy in dittos.

As he and Irene crossed the lawn, he noticed that the tennis seemed to be over. Marjorie was now sitting with Clara and Rex on the lawn by the tea table, but he could take no comfort in that, for her tennis partner was right beside her.

Henry, David, and Carlotta were there as well, and Jonathan greeted them first. Then, after he’d accepted Carlotta’s offer to pour his tea, Irene took him around, introducing him to any of the guests he hadn’t already met, beginning with those at the table, and ending with the lithe blond dandy sitting beside Marjorie on the blanket.

“Jonathan,” Irene said, “this is Mr. Cecil Ponsonby. Cecil, Mr. Jonathan Deverill, my brother.”

Ponsonby stretched out his hand without bothering to stand up. “The duchess’s brother, eh?”

“I am.” Jonathan leaned over the fellow, his most genial smile on his face, warning in his eyes, as he gripped Ponsonby’s hand hard enough to make the other man wince. “I also happen to be Miss McGann’s guardian.”

He thought he heard Rex make a choked sound, but his attention was fixed on Ponsonby, who wilted under the scrutiny. The moment Jonathan let go, then poor lad jumped up, mumbled something about needing to find his sister, and sped away across the grass, shaking his sore hand. Jonathan watched him go, feeling far more satisfaction than he probably ought.

“Your tea, Jonathan.”

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