“I think that girl has a sense of adventure,” he went on relentlessly. “I think that girl would love the life I’m offering her, if she could just stop clinging to some dream of how things should be, a dream she got from her friends.”
Marjorie sucked in her breath. “That’s not true.”
“I think it is.”
She didn’t answer, for what was there to say? Instead, she stared at him, and he stared back, their mutual anger and differing views like a chasm between them, one that widened with each silent second that passed, tearing her heart apart.
“Go,” she cried at last, unable to bear it any longer. “Go to Gibraltar. Just don’t expect me to be waiting until you decide to come back.”
“I am going,” he said, holding her gaze. “But I’ll be back in a month, and we will have this conversation again. And again, and again, because I am not giving up. I am going to keep hoping that the unpredictable girl I fell in love with is still as much in love with me now as she said she was last night. And that one day, if I keep trying, she’ll love me enough to give her heart to me and trust me and come with me to the ends of the earth and back again to this house that we both love.”
“Stop,” she cried. “Just stop.”
“That’s my plan, and I’m sticking with it, because, contrary to certain assumptions made about me by the woman I love, I am a man who can stick. And by God, I’m going to prove that to her if it takes me the rest of our lives.”
With that, he turned and walked away, and as she watched him go, Marjorie’s heart broke at last, shattering into a thousand pieces.
Chapter 24
The ladies were already gathered under a tent in the rose garden for her birthday luncheon when Marjorie and Clara arrived back at Ravenwood. With no time to change, both women hurriedly thrust their hats, jackets, and gloves into the arms of a footman, straightened their skirts, and turned toward a pair of mirrors hanging in the entrance hall to smooth their hair.
But when Marjorie looked at her reflection, her puffy face and tear-reddened eyes reminded her that her hair was the least of her problems, and she had the sudden, craven desire to plead a headache and run to her room.
Last night, she’d thought herself ready to experience everything life had to offer—the bitter and the sweet, the love and the pain. But now, the wild, fearless, seductive woman of last night was gone, and she was not only uncertain and afraid, she was also a heartbroken mess.
I think that girl has a sense of adventure.
Adventure? Whoever said she wanted adventure? She wanted a home.
We’ll travel, yes, but we’ll always come home.
At once, a picture of Ainsley Park came into her mind—not the classical façade or the interiors, but the beautiful terrace, and its view of the port and the ocean and the horizon that stretched endlessly beyond.
I do wish you’d get this idea that we’ll be homeless vagrants out of your head, because that’s not how it would be at all.
Marjorie was by no means certain of that. And he’d never addressed her concern about children either. She set her jaw, brushed a few wayward, sea-frizzed curls off her forehead, and reminded herself that her father had been right about one thing. A life roaming the globe was no life for children.
I think we can afford a nanny to come with us, don’t you?
“Marjorie?”
Clara’s voice broke in to her thoughts, and she stiffened, shoring up her resolve, then she donned a smile and turned her head, but when she looked into the eyes of the woman beside her, she knew Clara wasn’t fooled.
But then, how could she be, after she’d found Marjorie sobbing on that beautiful terrace in the wake of Jonathan’s departure? To her credit, she’d asked no questions, and their carriage ride back had been blessedly silent, but Clara’s sympathy and compassion were obvious in her eyes.
“You go ahead,” Marjorie said, keeping her artificial smile in place. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
Clara hesitated, then gave a nod and departed, and Marjorie returned her attention to the mirror. She worked a bit longer to smooth her hair, but at last, she gave it up, and turned away.
She walked through the house, out to the terrace and down to the rose garden, and with each step, she told herself it didn’t matter where he went or what he did and that she didn’t care anyway—all the same lies used by a little girl who’d been left behind.
As the rose garden came into sight, as she saw the table set with white linen, silver, and Spode and the footmen darting around with plates of dressed salmon and chilled asparagus, she was reminded that this was her life now, the life she’d wanted and chosen. A life of luncheons and balls and working for charity, of doing the season and marrying a peer and running a country estate.
I think that girl would love the life I’m offering her, if she could just stop clinging to some dream of how things should be, a dream she got from her friends.
Marjorie held her head high and walked a little faster.
By the time she reached the open tent where the ladies were seated, she had gathered her pride and anger around her like a defensive wall. And though her friends must have seen the pain in her still-puffy face, no one asked her any questions.
