Chapter Twenty-Three

Something was afoot. Stanley watched the household staff slipping about furtively. Every time he came into a room, however, they stopped abruptly before scurrying away. More than once his appearance had stopped a conversation between various members of his family.

A moment earlier, he had stepped into the back sitting room only to have Mater insist that she, Sorrel—who was looking a little better than she had of late—and Marjie were in the midst of “female endeavors,” whatever the deuce that was supposed to mean, and would he be so kind as to leave them in privacy.

Something was definitely afoot.

Knowing he was de trop amongst the ladies, he wandered in the direction of the library. Philip had been seeing to estate business all morning and would, most likely, welcome a diversion. Stanley certainly needed one.

Marjie had looked particularly devastating, and he’d been more than a little put out that he’d been sent away without a single moment to talk with her or, at the very least, simply sit beside her.

“Good afternoon, Stanley.” Philip rubbed his face a la Father, as Stanley had seen him do many times before. Philip, it seemed, was under some stress. “How was your ride this morning?”

“Fine. Except that I had to listen to Layton bemoaning your absence. It was rather like listening to a debutante whose favored beau did not attend a ball. Pathetic.”

“I’m afraid Layton’s tender feelings for me get the better of him sometimes,” Philip said with an exaggerated sigh.

“What kept you inside all morning?”

“Our father’s unfortunate tendency to not gamble away his various properties.” Philip smiled a little at his own quip. “One of the Lampton holdings, Fallowgill in Yorkshire, is proving to be an ongoing headache for me. Turns out the land agent was embezzling money. Now I am attempting to ascertain if that is the reason Fallowgill has been a drain on the Lampton coffers or if it, as an estate, is simply doomed to be unprofitable.”

“You could sell it,” Stanley said.

“If it weren’t part of the entailment, I would.”

“Do you think any of us truly realized when we were boys that Father might actually have had problems?” How ignorant they all had been of the worries and concerns of the world around them.

Philip rose from his seat behind the large mahogany desk, stretching his neck and back, then walked to a window. “Did you come in here to talk about my crooked land agent, or did you have another motivation?”

“The ladies of the house threw me out of the sitting room,” he said. “They claim to be engrossed in some sort of female business, though I am convinced they are up to something.”

Philip leaned against the window frame. “Didn’t you quite recently say there are no secrets in this family?”

“Perhaps not among the men, but I am convinced the ladies are capable of leading us on a very merry chase.”

Philip glanced past Stanley toward the door. “What do you think of Stanley’s evaluation of his female relations?”

Stanley turned in his seat and saw Marjie standing in the doorway.

“I am not entirely sure if I am offended. A merry chase, indeed.” She stepped into the room. Stanley watched her, a feeling of contentment settling over him at her mere presence. “Might I steal Stanley from you?”

“Certainly. Everyone else has been stealing from me lately. I should warn you though; he suspects you—and the rest of us, most likely—of being involved in secretive activities.”

“What could we possibly have to be secretive about?” Marjie’s eyes fairly danced with mirth.

What were they up to?

“Stanley always was of a suspicious nature.” Philip actually winked at her. “Now go on and steal the boy if you’re going to. I plan to find Sorrel and see if she has anything for me to do—I am sick to death of estate business.”

Philip left the door ajar when he stepped out, as propriety demanded, but otherwise they were entirely isolated and alone.

“Everyone has refused to play backgammon with me,” Marjie said, “and I had hoped you would agree to indulge me in a game.”

That had been the first thing beyond “Pleased to make your acquaintance” that Stanley had ever said to Marjie.

Stanley stood. “Backgammon is a top priority of mine.”

He had expected Marjie to smile or perhaps even laugh at his response. She did neither. Quickly and without warning, she reached up and took his face in her hands before pressing a light, brief kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” he asked, because he wanted to know how to convince her to do it again, hopefully multiple times before his departure.

“Backgammon is a top priority of mine as well.” Marjie slipped her arm through his. “The back sitting room, if you please.”

Mater looked up from her embroidery and smiled when Stanley entered the sitting room with Marjie on his arm. Philip, Stanley was certain, muttered “backgammon” under his breath. Stanley had borne no end of goading from his eldest brother for his feeble attempts at wooing Marjie during that Christmas house party nearly a year ago.

“Be nice,” Sorrel said to her husband. They were seated together on a sofa near the fireplace. She had been far less prickly with Stanley of late. Being off her feet had, it seemed, alleviated much of her pain and, as a result, restored her good spirits.

Stanley held out Marjie’s seat for her before making his way around the table where a backgammon board had been set up already. He took his seat and glanced across the board at Marjie. “Have the three of you finished your ‘female endeavors,’ then?”

A hint of mischief lurked in her eyes. “For now.”

“You are being decidedly mysterious.”

“I know, and it is vastly enjoyable.” Marjie laughed, her eyes dancing and sparkling.

The game began, though Marjie seemed to be paying as little attention to it as Stanley was. They talked on subjects ranging from the weather to the ton and every topic in between.

He would miss these moments after he returned to duty. She would be happier in England—that was his one consolation. He had every intention of enjoying what time remained, though he needed to find a way to keep something of a distance, else his departure would hurt them both far more than it had to.

As they set up the board for a second game, Beck approached with a silver salver and a single letter, which he held out for Marjie.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the missive.

Marjie had received a great deal of mail in the past week or so. Stanley was certain it had something to do with the secret he had not been made privy to.

She could not have been more than a couple lines into the letter when she glanced up and turned ever so slightly in her chair to face the other occupants of the room. To Stanley’s surprise, they were all watching her with looks of anticipation. “Lord Devereaux,” she said.

Philip, Sorrel, and Mater all nodded. Glances were exchanged before everyone returned to whatever he or she had been doing before the arrival of the letter.

Stanley had stiffened at the mention of his erstwhile rival. At least he hoped Devereaux was a former rival. Better yet, he hoped Devereaux had never been vying for Marjie’s affection in the first place.

“Is your honorary older brother well?” Stanley tried to sound casual and unconcerned. He wanted to believe Marjie had no deeper feelings for Lord Devereaux than familial ones. They obviously cared about each other, but there was a decided lack of passion.

“Quite well.” Her eyes scanned the letter. “He is visiting with the Duke and Duchess of Hartley and is enjoying himself.”

“You say that as if it were unusual for him.”

She refolded the letter. “He has been very sad for a long time and far too closed off from the rest of the world.”

“You worry about him.” Marjie’s compassion led her to worry for any person she saw in need, especially those close to her.

“I do, just as I worry over Sorrel and Fennel and—”

“And me?” He straightened the line of checkers nearest his left hand, avoiding looking at her. He wanted her feelings for him to be different, to be more than compassion.

She pulled his hand away from its distracted fumbling and intertwined her fingers with his. Stanley looked up. An almost shy look touched her face. “Not at all like you.” Color stained her cheeks.

Stanley felt a smile tug at his lips. Marjie leaned over the table and closer to him. Stanley leaned toward her as well until a mere few inches separated them.

“I think, Captain Jonquil,” Marjie whispered, “you do not comprehend how very much I love you.”

“Even with no happy ending in sight?”

“Perhaps that is what is meant by ‘hopelessly in love.’”

Lud, she smelled good. Having her deep-blue eyes so very near his was hypnotic. The slightest movement would allow him to kiss her once more. How soon such an opportunity would be lost to him.

He leaned the slightest bit forward. Marjie did as well. Stanley’s heart rate increased instantly. Surely he couldn’t be blamed for claiming a kiss even in light of their pending separation. Out of the corner of his eye, Stanley spotted Philip watching them quite pointedly. He raised an eyebrow in a look of mingled warning and curiosity. Stanley did not need an interpreter. A gentleman did not kiss a lady in full view of others.

Stanley contented himself with placing a very proper, if slightly lingering, kiss on Marjie’s fingers. Her blush continued through their second and final game of backgammon. Shortly thereafter, Philip tossed out an invitation for Stanley to join him in the billiard room, an invitation he had obviously meant as more of a summons than a suggestion.

Philip closed the door after they arrived and halfheartedly undertook the game he had requested. How many times in one day, Stanley wondered, could a person play a game in which neither participant was truly interested? Stanley couldn’t even use a billiard cue with his dominant hand so entirely mangled.

Philip lined up a pathetically easy shot. “As Marjie’s only male relative, except for her school-age brother, and as her unofficial guardian, I suppose I ought to ask you what your intentions are.”

“I have no dishonorable intentions.” Could there possibly be a more awkward conversation to have with one’s older brother?

“Do you intend to marry her before you are sent away again?” The thwack of two balls colliding echoed around the room. Philip straightened and leveled him a look that was nothing short of an interrogative father figure.

“I can’t.” The admission was no less difficult than it had been when he’d said as much to Marjie. Still, the reasons spilled from his lips, the same ones he had given Marjie.

Philip leaned against the edge of the billiard table, the game entirely forgotten. “She would not be suited to that life. Either version. You have already explained your reasons for remaining in the army, and I cannot say I fault you for that. Still, it seems a harsh sort of punishment for the both of you.”

Stanley nodded. Harsh was a very apt word.

“At the risk of being a prosy, stuffy bore”—That was not a very promising preface. Philip pressed on—“I would offer you a little advice.” If his expression hadn’t been so empathetic, Stanley might have objected quite vocally. “As much as you must wish to have your fill of Marjie’s affections before your departure, I would suggest you tread lightly. Holding her hand or going for a walk in the gardens would be unexceptional. But kissing the girl in the sitting room, or the gardens, for that matter, along with anything remotely resembling a torrid embrace would, I fear, leave her tender heart more bruised than need be.”

“I am to act the platonic friend?” Stanley scoffed. “Could you have done so with Sorrel?”

“I did not say it would be easy, only that it would be best. Her attachment to you is as real as yours to her, but if you cannot offer her a future, Stanley, she must be allowed the emotional maneuvering room she will need to eventually move on.”

Stanley had told himself precisely that for weeks, but it was still hard to hear. “I want her to be happy.” Was he saying so for Philip’s sake or simply to remind himself?

“I know. I’ve known that since you first met her.”

“I was that obvious?”

Philip laughed. “Nothing indicates a Jonquil in love like rampant awkwardness.”

Stanley smiled but couldn’t sustain the effort. “You will take care of her, won’t you?”

Philip dropped a hand onto Stanley’s shoulder. “She will be fine. Only make sure that you write to us so we will know that you are fine as well.”

Stanley nodded. In the moment Marjie had kissed him over the short note he’d sent her, he had decided that until a jealous fiancé or husband requested otherwise, he would write to Marjie. The letters would be short out of necessity, and they would be skewed recitations of his experiences out of deference to her sensitive nature, but he would write. And he would hold his breath waiting for her letters, the tiny piece of her he was permitted to keep.