Think,Marjorie, she ordered herself.Think how to make him change his mind and take you with him.
“It isn’t a matter of mistreatment,” she said at last. “Mrs. Forsyte has always been very kind. But I’m twenty years old. It’s time I left here and made a life of my own, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. As I said, I will discuss the situation with Mr. Jessop, and while I am away, I will consider his advice and decide what’s to be done with you.”
Marjorie took a deep breath, trying to set aside her disappointment and face what might be an unavoidable delay. “And how long will you be gone?”
“Eight months, perhaps. It’s hard to say with things in South Africa so unstable—”
“Eight months?” Marjorie interrupted, too appalled by that estimate to be polite. “Eightmonths?”
“I wish I could be more definite, but I can’t, not until I’ve assessed the situation. I will return as quickly as possible, I promise you.”
To her mind, eight months was anything but a quick return, and given that she’d be spending that time in the staid environs where she’d already spent two-thirds of her life, it seemed an eternity. She’d made the best of things here, and she enjoyed teaching, but it wasn’t what she wanted for her life.
She wanted to do what her school friends had done. She wanted to make her come-out, go to balls and parties, and meet young men. She wanted romance, courtship, marriage to a man who loved her, and children of her own. She wanted a home, a family, and a place to belong. She wanted... damn it all, she wanted to bewanted.
Desperate, she tried again. “Why can’t I just go with you to London now? I could make my debut, enjoy the season—oh, why not?” she burst out in frustration as he shook his head.
“Miss McGann, I appreciate that you want the amusements of good society, and you shall have them, I promise. But such things must wait.”
“But the London season is starting now. It’s the perfect time to make my come-out, find a husband. I might be like some of my friends,” she added, sidetracked for a moment by all the delicious romantic possibilities ahead, “and marry a man with a title and estates—”
His groan cut her off. “What is it about titles that you Americans find so alluring? They’re meaningless drivel.”
“But they’re not. A titled husband gives a girl like me a position, something I could never have here in New York, no matter how much money my father left me.”
“Even so, it’s far too soon to be discussing such things. You’re in mourning, hardly the time to be enjoying the London season. The mourning period is an interlude of seclusion and grief.”
Marjorie could have told him she’d had plenty of seclusion already. She also could have said she had no intention of spending any time grieving for a man who’d left her over thirteen years ago and who she hadn’t seen since, a man who had never spared much consideration for her anyway. But because her new guardian was already impatient to be gone, she restrained herself. The crucial thing was that he not leave her behind.
“I can mourn just as well in London as I can here,” she said, trying to sound reasonable and dutiful. “I could stay with your sisters. Surely a duchess and a viscountess would be appropriate chaperones.”
“Chaperoning a girl, even one in mourning, is a serious responsibility. My sisters must be given the chance to decide freely if they want to take it on, especially for a girl they’ve never met, an American girl who knows nothing of British life, an heiress wealthy enough to fall prey to fortune hunters. I have not seen my sisters for ten years, Miss McGann, and I have no intention of greeting them after all that time by imposing the burden of your care upon them without first obtaining their consent and willing cooperation.”
She was a burden. Of course she was. Her father’s neglect had told her that long ago, and yet, it stung to hear it said aloud. Marjorie looked away, blinking hard, frustration dissolving into despair. “Nothing’s changed,” she said. “I’m still stuck in limbo, watching life pass by while I sit here growing old.”
“There’s no need to be melodramatic. Eight months isn’t all that long, and the time will pass more quickly for you here at Forsyte Academy, where you have a vocation. And it’s not as if you won’t have plenty of time to enjoy life. You’re only twenty.”
“I’m nearly twenty-one. A year from now I’ll be on the verge of spinsterhood.”
For some reason, that made him smile. “You’ll have no trouble finding a husband when the time comes. Especially one with a title,” he added, his smile taking on a cynical curve. “Believe me, the peers of England will find your fat American dowry just as desirable next season as they would this one.”
Marjorie had no intention of marrying a man who wanted her just for her money. She wanted love, too, and she saw no reason why she couldn’t have both, but her new guardian spoke again before she could clarify that vital point.
“Naturally, an heiress such as yourself requires a proper position, and your mourning period gives us the time to create one for you. If Mr. Jessop and I decide a London season is appropriate, and provided my sisters are willing to launch you, I will arrange for you to make your debut next year. We can discuss these plans in detail when I come back for you.”
When I come back...
Those words harkened to her from the past, the exact same words her father had spoken to her when she was seven years old, the last words he’d ever said to her in person.
When I come back...
He never had. And now, he never would.
Pain flared up inside Marjorie, pain and anger, emotions so hot and so fierce that she had to fold her arms tight across her ribs to hold them in check.
She would not cry, she vowed, not for a man who in thirteen years had barely spared her a thought. And she would not be abandoned again, clinging to hopes of a someday that never came.
