Her appearance repaired and Emma’s approving smile received, Marianne clutched her prayer book and hurried from her room. With a deep breath to compose herself, she held her head high and glided down the steps to the front entry hall. A quick glance revealed Jamie and Papa seated before the blazing hearth, deep in genial conversation.
Marianne opened the book and mouthed the words of the morning prayer as she entered the room, not looking their way. Last year, Jamie’s parting words had encouraged her to greater faith, and she must let him know she had followed his advice.
The rustle of movement caught her attention. She cast a sidelong glance toward the men, who now stood to greet her.
“Why, Papa, I didn’t realize—” She stopped before completing the lie, while heat rushed to her cheeks. “Forgive me. I see you have a guest. Will you excuse me?” She could not look at Jamie for fear that her face would reveal her heart.
“Come, daughter, permit me to present my guest.” Papa beckoned her with a gentle wave of his bony, wrinkled hand. “You may recall him from last summer. Lady Marianne, Captain James Templeton of the East Florida Colony.” His presentation was accompanied by a shallow cough, and he held a lacy linen handkerchief to his lips.
Gripping her emotions, Marianne permitted herself to look at Jamie. His furrowed brow and the firm clenching of his square jaw sent a pang of worry through her. Was he not pleased to see her? Worse still, his gaze did not meet hers. Rather, he seemed to stare just over her head. Surely this was a ploy to divert any suspicion from the mutual affection they had spoken of only in whispers during his last visit.
“Good morning, Lady Marianne.” His rigid bow bespoke his lower status, but his rich, deep voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I hope you are well.”
Offering no smile, Marianne lifted her chin. “Quite well, thank you.” She closed her book and turned to Papa, her face a mask. “Will you be busy all day, sir?”
The fond gaze he returned brought forth a wave of guilt. “I fear that I must go to Whitehall for most of the afternoon. Is there something you require, my dear? You have but to ask.” His blue eyes, though pale from age, twinkled with his usual eagerness to please her.
Marianne’s feigned hauteur melted into warm affection. Truly, Papa did spoil her. Yet she lived in dread that he would never give her the one thing she desired above all else: the tall should-be knight who stood beside him. “No, dear. I am content.” She sent a quick look toward Jamie, who continued to stare beyond her. “I will leave you to your business affairs.”
Before she could turn, Papa coughed again, and she stepped closer, frowning with concern. He waved her off. “Never mind. I am well. But I have need of your assistance.” He clapped a pale hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Captain Templeton has just arrived, and I have offered him lodging. Your mother is occupied with one of her charities, and your worthless brother has not put in an appearance for several days. Would you be so kind as to make certain the good captain is taken care of?”
A laugh of delight almost escaped Marianne, but she managed to release a sigh intended to convey boredom. “Very well, Papa. I shall see that he has accommodations.” She graced Jamie with a glance. “Do you have a manservant, or shall we procure one for you?”
A hint of a smile softened his expression. “My man awaits out front in our hired carriage, Lady Marianne.”
“Very well, then. I shall instruct our butler, Blevins, to receive him.” She reached up to kiss Papa’s wrinkled cheek, breathing in the pleasant citrus fragrance of his shaving balm. “Do not let His Majesty weary you, darling.”
“Humph.” Papa straightened his shoulders and pushed out his chest. “I am not yet in my dotage, despite what you and your mother think.” Another cough accompanied his chuckle. “You have to watch these women, Templeton. They like to coddle a man.”
“Yes, sir.” Jamie’s tone held no emotion.
Marianne resisted the urge to offer a playful argument back to Papa. The sooner he left, the sooner she would have Jamie to herself. Yet how could she accomplish that and maintain propriety? She lifted the silver bell from the nearby table and rang it. A footman stepped into the room. “Tell Blevins we have need of him.”
“Yes, Lady Marianne.” The footman bowed and left the room.
“Blevins will attend you, Captain Templeton.” Marianne kissed Papa’s cheek again. “Enjoy your afternoon, Papa.” She shot a meaningful look at Jamie. “I am going to the garden to read.”
Gliding from the room with a well-practiced grace, she met Blevins in the entry hall and gave him instructions regarding Captain Templeton. “I believe the bedchamber at the end of the third floor is best. Do you agree?” With the room’s clear view of the garden, Jamie would have no trouble knowing when she was there.
“Yes, Lady Marianne. I shall see to it.” Blevins, of medium height but seeming taller due to his exceptionally straight posture, marched on sticklike legs toward the drawing room, his gait metered like a black-clad soldier who heard an invisible drummer.
Seated on the marble bench beneath one of the barren chestnut trees, Marianne drew her woolen shawl about her shoulders and tried to concentrate on the words in her prayer book. But at the end of each Scripture verse, she found herself beseeching the Lord to send Jamie to her. As a guest in their home, he could visit her here in the garden without impropriety. Anyone looking out any of the town house’s back windows could see their actions were blameless.
After a half hour passed, Marianne shivered in the early spring breeze, closed her book and stared up at Jamie’s window, willing him to look out so that she might beckon him down. Perhaps he did not know they could meet here without censure. Yet had Papa not requested her assistance in making him feel welcomed? Tapping her foot on the flagstone paving in front of the bench, she huffed out an impatient sigh. She had told him she would be in the garden. Why did he not come?
A rear door opened, and Marianne’s heart leaped. But it was John, one of the family’s red-and-gold-liveried footmen, who emerged and approached her with a silver tray bearing a tea service and biscuits. “Begging your pardon, Lady Marianne, but Blevins thought you might like some refreshment.” John set the tray on the marble table beside her. “May I serve you, Lady Marianne?”
“Thank you, John. I can pour.” Perfect. An answer to prayer. “I should like for you to inform my father’s guest that he has missed his appointment with me. Please send Captain Templeton down straightaway.”
“Yes, Lady Marianne.” The ideal footman, John bowed away, his face revealing no emotion.
In a short time, Jamie emerged from the house. But instead of striding toward her with all eagerness, he walked as if facing the gallows, looking beyond her toward the stables, the hothouse, the treetops, anywhere but at her. By the time he came near, Marianne had almost succumbed to tears. Instead, she stood and reached out both hands to greet him.
“Jamie.” His name rushed out on a breath squeezed by joy and misery.
“You summoned me, Lady Marianne?” He stopped far beyond her reach and bowed. “I am at your service.”
She clasped her hands at her waist and laughed softly, but without mirth. “Such a cold tone to match a cold day. Where is the warmth that once graced your every word to me?”
For several moments, he stared at the ground, his lips set in a grim line and his jaw working. He seemed to compose himself, for at last he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
“My lady, I beg your forgiveness for my inappropriate conversations with you last summer.”
“But—”
“Please.” He raised his hand in