Nine

I heard your brother will be back in less than three weeks.” Mrs. Ferguson gripped Lorraine’s arm as they walked toward the pond to prepare for the first rowboat race. As Lorraine had hoped, the guests were enthusiastic about the athletic events she’d arranged, and a friendly rivalry had developed between the two teams. The fact that they were now tied meant that the rowing contest was garnering more than its share of attention. Every one of the guests planned to be there, whether as a participant or a spectator.

Lorraine had expected that. What she hadn’t expected was that Mrs. Ferguson would want to arrive as early as Lorraine, but it seemed Mrs. Ferguson wanted to discuss Mike.

Though Lorraine suspected the older woman was as steady on her feet as Lorraine, she tightened her grip and inclined her head, as if she were about to reveal a secret.

“Harold and I are going to stay an extra week so we can taste Mike’s food. According to the Boltons, no one makes trout the way he does.” Mrs. Ferguson chuckled. “When the Boltons were here last year, Lydia tried to convince your brother to become her private chef. He refused, but she’s not one to give up. I expect she’ll try again.”

The Boltons had arrived at Lilac Hall two days earlier, and, as soon as she’d learned that Lorraine was Mike’s sister, Mrs. Bolton had waxed eloquent about his culinary skills.

“I doubt she’ll be more successful this year.” Knowing how much of himself Mike had poured into Lilac Hall, Lorraine could not imagine him leaving, unless Betty was unhappy here. “I suppose it’s possible, though. Marriage may have changed Mike.”

“Love can do that. Harold’s love brought me more happiness than I dreamt possible, and it definitely changed me. Once we were married, I turned into a matchmaker, trying to bring that same kind of happiness to all my friends.” Mrs. Ferguson gave a deep sigh, her lips curving into a smile. “Seeing you and Jonah together reminds me of the first few months of Harold’s and my courtship.”

Courtship? The thought startled Lorraine so much that her feet refused to move. She stopped and faced the woman whose company she’d enjoyed until she’d introduced that ridiculous subject. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mrs. Ferguson. Jonah’s not courting me.”

As two birds squabbled over possession of a branch, the older woman smiled. For a second, Lorraine thought her amusement was at the birds’ antics, but Mrs. Ferguson’s next words proved her wrong. “Perhaps he’s not courting you yet, but he will. There’s no hiding the kind of love you two share.” She patted Lorraine’s arm. “It’s heartwarming to see a couple so much in love.”

The woman was mistaken. Lorraine and Jonah weren’t in love. They were . . . Lorraine wasn’t certain how to describe their relationship, but it was not love. Of that she was certain.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, but we’re not in love.”

Mrs. Ferguson’s smile turned into laughter. “Oh, my dear, I may need spectacles to read, but these old eyes are still sharp. I know what I see. When you’re in the room, as far as Jonah is concerned, there’s no one else there. His gaze follows you everywhere, and you’re not much better. You look at him every chance you get.”

Lorraine couldn’t stop herself from blushing. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious.” She hoped—oh, how she hoped—that no one else had noticed. Especially Jonah. It would be horribly embarrassing if he misunderstood.

Knowing she owed the other woman an explanation, Lorraine said, “It’s true that I think about Jonah a lot, but that’s only because he’s different from the men I know. He argues with me. He challenges me. He . . .”

“Makes you feel alive.” Mrs. Ferguson completed the sentence.

There was no reason to deny it. “Yes, he does.”

Her smile triumphant, Mrs. Ferguson patted Lorraine’s arm again. “You’re in love, my dear. Trust me on this. I know a bit about love.”

Lorraine closed her eyes for a second, trying to absorb the impact of Mrs. Ferguson’s declaration. Had the older woman seen something Lorraine had tried to ignore? Was it possible that what Lorraine felt for Jonah was in fact love? She forced her eyes open and gazed at the path she’d first walked with Jonah. The lilac buds were larger now, a few hinting at the glorious purple blossoms that would cover them within a week or two. There were more birds than there’d been that night, and sunlight had replaced the moon’s pale glow. It was the same scene, yet different. Was she the same woman, only different? Was she a woman in love? It could be true. No other man had dominated her thoughts the way Jonah did. No other man had the starring role in her dreams. And no other man had made her feel the way Jonah did, simply by smiling at her. But none of that changed the fact that they had no future.

“He’ll never court me.” As she pronounced the words, Lorraine realized how much she wished it weren’t true.

Mrs. Ferguson raised both eyebrows, as if she doubted Lorraine. “Why ever not?”

“Because his parents expect him to marry one of his distant relatives, and I . . .” Lorraine paused, unwilling to explain about Cousin Alan. She’d had a nightmare last night, picturing grown men sobbing as they left Alan’s gambling den, their fortunes gone, their futures destroyed, and when she’d wakened, she’d wondered whether she could live with herself if she allowed that to happen. She wouldn’t admit all that, and so she settled for saying, “I know what my parents would have wanted me to do.”

Mrs. Ferguson’s lips thinned, and for the first time since Lorraine had met her, she looked stern. “It’s your life, Lorraine. Don’t throw away your chance at happiness.”

There had to be a way to stop this. Jonah frowned as he dipped his brush into the deep purple paint to put the final touches on the lead horse’s garland. He ought to be concentrating on that, not thinking about Lorraine. It was ridiculous the way he couldn’t get her out of his mind, even more absurd the way everything reminded her of him. When he heard guests laughing, Jonah remembered that Lorraine was responsible for that laughter. Walking toward the pond brought back memories of the evening he’d taken her there to bathe her blistered hands. And just this morning when he’d wiped the soap from his face with a slightly stiff towel, he’d recalled her laundry fiasco and the way she’d refused to let even that defeat her.

Jonah touched the tip of the brush to the horse, creating a lilac petal. This was what he was supposed to be doing, not trying to imagine where Lorraine was, not remembering how soft her hand had been the day he’d pressed his lips to her fingers. It was bad enough that he spent his daylight hours thinking of Lorraine, but now he even dreamt about her. Last night Jonah had dreamt that he was back at Traywood. That wasn’t unusual, for he often dreamt of home, but last night had been different. Lorraine had been at his side, greeting guests. In his dream, she had been his viscountess. The tenants had seemed contented, Lorraine had been radiant, he had felt at peace. And then Jonah had wakened to an immense sense of loss. He could not marry Lorraine.

Jessica, Jocelyn, and Julianne would not be heartbroken if he did not choose one of them. They’d all find other matches. But Jonah’s parents would be deeply disappointed. They’d raised him with the story of Manderleys marrying Manderleys, explaining that it was more than a tradition. It was a matter of honor, an unwritten contract that had been in place for centuries. No matter what his heart wanted, Jonah could not turn his back on generations of tradition. He could not dishonor his parents and the Manderley name. Not even for Lorraine.

“Good evening, Jonah.” The object of his thoughts entered the carousel pavilion, the smile on her face telling him her thoughts had been more pleasant than his own. She hurried across the room, then slowed her pace, studying each side of the horse he was painting, even bending down to examine the horseshoe on the raised front leg. “This is absolutely magnificent. I didn’t think it was possible, but it’s even more beautiful than I’d expected.” Lorraine’s words were so filled with enthusiasm that Jonah knew she wasn’t simply flattering him. She tipped her head to one side and squinted, as if scrutinizing the horse. “Did you paint your initials on it?”

Jonah nodded. It might be prideful, but he had wanted to leave his mark. “I did more than that. Look closely at the lilacs.” He’d carved and then painted a garland of lilacs around the horse’s neck, and in the midst of them, he’d added “J Mann” in small black letters. It didn’t matter that that was not his true name. Jonah Manderley, the future Viscount Traywood, hadn’t carved this carousel. This was the work of Jonah Mann.

“It’s perfect.” Lorraine gave him a radiant smile as she said, “Everything about this carousel is perfect.”

Jonah could feel himself beaming with pleasure. Though he was dreading the end of his stay in America, he was happy that he’d be leaving part of himself here. He was even happier that Lorraine was so enthusiastic about his creation.

“The parts are scheduled to arrive in two weeks. From what I’ve been told, it should only take a day or two to assemble them.” The platform and the rods were coming from one manufacturer, the steam engine that would power the merry-go-round from another. By the end of the month, the pavilion would house a working carousel.

“I’m sorry Mike and Betty won’t be here for the unveiling. They’d love those horses.”

Jonah heard the wistfulness in Lorraine’s voice and wondered what had caused it. Surely she didn’t consider it a tragedy that Mike and Betty would miss the merry-go-round’s first few days.

“They’ll have plenty of opportunities to ride when they return. Mr. Parker has agreed that the carousel will be open to the public every Sunday afternoon. That’ll give everyone, including Lilac Hall’s staff, a chance to enjoy it.” Though Lorraine appeared pleased by that, Jonah felt no need to tell her it had been the one stipulation he’d made when he’d first discussed building the carousel. He’d wanted to ensure that everyone, regardless of their station in life, could ride his painted ponies.

Lorraine glanced around the room, counting. “Will all the horses be ready in two weeks?”

Jonah tried not to frown. He was behind schedule, and he suspected that Lorraine knew it. What she didn’t know was that she was the reason. He’d spent far too much time daydreaming about her when he should have been carving. “It’ll be close, but I should make it.” He would, even if it meant forgoing sleep. “I have one pony left to carve.”

“And this one needs paint.” She gestured toward the small horse leaning against the far wall.

“That’s the lead horse’s companion,” he said. “It has the same design, only everything is smaller because it’s for the second row.”

Lorraine laid a hand on the unpainted horse’s back, almost as if she were planning to ride it. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant. “Would you let me paint the apprentice side? I’d really like to.”

Though his instinct was to refuse, to remind her that he wanted this carousel to be 100 percent his work, Jonah found himself reluctant to pronounce the words that would dash her hopes. Instead, he felt warmth well up inside him at the thought that Lorraine might have a part in creating his carousel. She’d proven she wasn’t a quitter, and if her painting wasn’t as skilled as his own, chances were no one else would notice.

“Please, Jonah,” she said, her eyes solemn. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Jonah sucked in a breath as her words registered. It wasn’t coincidence that she had used the one word that had such special significance to her and Mike. This was important—vitally important—to Lorraine. Jonah’s last reservation evaporated. “All right,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on her, “but on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“You’ll paint both sides. This will be your horse.”

The happiness that lit her face left Jonah no doubt that he had made the right decision. “Really?” she asked.

“Really.”