The question seemed to amuse Mrs. Forsyte, for her stiff, pursed lips relaxed into a hint of a smile. “I fear it might not be acceptable to Miss McGann. Be that as it may,” she went on before he could point out that her pupil, being a child, didn’t have much say in the matter, “your duty to her is more than a mere formality, Mr. Deverill.”
“I only meant that my purpose today is to meet her and assure myself that she is settled and happy. For the present, I cannot see that much else is required of me.”
“No? By the terms of the will, she has inherited a considerable fortune, a fortune you are to oversee.” He could have pointed out that his own monetary worth was equal to that of his late partner, and he had little reason and no desire to embezzle the child’s inheritance, but he suspected such assurances wouldn’t impress Mrs. Forsyte.
“As you have read,” he said instead, “the money is in trust. No one can touch the capital, not even me. And though I am to manage her investments as I did her father’s, there is little I can do without Mr. Jessop’s approval, for he is also a trustee. Miss McGann’s fortune will continue to be protected.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the money itself, but of its effect upon her.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
Mrs. Forsyte leaned forward, folding her hands atop her desk. “I have been a headmistress for many years, Mr. Deverill. Some of the girls who come here are accustomed to money and what it means because they are raised with it. Others are not so aware. Miss McGann is in the latter category. She is not what I would call naïve; nonetheless, her father wished her shielded as much as possible from the temptations and evils of this world, and I have attempted to accommodate his wishes to the best of my ability. She’s known for some time that she is set to be a very rich woman one day, but her life here has not, I fear, prepared her for the reality of being an heiress.”
“As her guardian, I’m not sure I’m prepared for that reality either, madam. But I shall do my best.”
“You will have the assistance of your sisters, I presume?”
Jonathan didn’t see how his sisters came into it at this juncture, nor was he sure how great a role they would eventually play, but he saw no point in saying so. “You know of my sisters?”
“Mr. Jessop has informed me. Your eldest sister is a duchess, I believe, and your second sister a viscountess?”
“Yes, and I assure you that I will be discussing the girl’s future with both my sisters while I am in England. Now, may I see her?”
Seeming satisfied at last, she stood up, bringing him to his feet as well. “If you will wait here,” she said as she circled her desk and started for the door, “I will send Miss McGann to you.”
She departed, leaving him alone, and Jonathan walked to the window. It was a fine May morning, and as he stared out over the manicured grounds, watching girls in pinafores strolling with their teachers, he could understand why Billy had selected this place to house and care for his daughter. Given its secluded location, high stone walls, and no-nonsense headmistress, it was as much like a convent as it was a school, and a far more appropriate situation for a motherless young girl than anything her father could have provided for her.
What Jonathan could not understand was why Billy had chosen him to be the girl’s guardian.
In their seven years as friends and partners, they’d done plenty of drinking, gambling, skirt-chasing, and hard, hard living. Neither of them had ever expressed the desire to settle down.
Billy, obviously, had tried domestic life and failed at it. For his own part, Jonathan had abandoned any notions of settling down the day he’d left England, and during the past decade, the three years he’d spent mining silver was the longest he’d stayed in one place.
On the other hand, the two men had trusted each other like brothers. They’d had no choice, really. When a pair of men stumbled on the biggest deposit of silver ore since the Comstock Lode, protecting it from claim jumpers and ruthless mining conglomerates had required mutual and absolute trust.
Then, too, there was the money to be considered. They’d pulled millions of dollars of silver ore out of that mine in Idaho, and since Billy had no money sense, Jonathan had been the one to invest their profits. He’d done a pretty fair job of it, so the decision to put him in charge of the girl’s trust fund made sense, he supposed.
And Jonathan knew his background and upbringing had played a significant part. Billy had said as much, expressing the hope his daughter could one day benefit from Jonathan’s connections in British society. But how valuable were those connections? He’d been away ten years, for heaven’s sake. And it wasn’t as if he ever intended to live in that world again.
He stared down at the girls and their teachers below, and he could only be grateful he didn’t have to take charge of the child straightaway. She’d be in school here for several more years, giving him plenty of time to plan, make arrangements—
“Mr. Deverill?”
Jonathan turned from the window, but instead of the pigtailed schoolgirl he’d expected to find, he saw a woman of about twenty standing in the doorway, a woman of such remarkable beauty that he sucked in a startled breath.
Her skin had the luminescent quality of pearls, but its texture looked as soft as silk. Her hair, piled in a mass of curls atop her head, was a bright, glorious red that flamed like fire in the sunlit room. Her eyes were large and dark and surrounded by thick brown lashes, and her generous mouth was wide, lush, and rose-pink. In the ascetic severity of the headmistress’s office, she seemed vibrantly alive.
The severe black coat and skirt she wore were in keeping with her surroundings, though they did her beauty little justice, and when he spied the monogram on her lapel, he realized she must be a teacher here.
She had no pupil in tow, however, and when he looked past her, he saw no child peeking shyly at him from behind her skirts or waiting in the corridor beyond.
“Mr. Deverill?”
Her voice returned his gaze to her face and his attention to the matter at hand. “I am Jonathan Deverill,” he answered, frowning in puzzlement. “But I think there has been some mistake. I have come to see Miss Marjorie McGann.”
“So you have,” she agreed, laughing. “And here I am.”
He blinked, taken aback. Her words could have only one meaning, and yet, they made no sense. But as he noted again the rich red of her hair and the deep brown of her eyes, her resemblance to Billy suddenly hit him like a punch in the gut.
