Her heart stopped. Had she landed in the lap of a ne’er-do-well? Merciful saints.
He shifted under her and then stiffened, grabbing at his leg with a groan.
She tightened her grip on his shoulders, forgetting all about her worry. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you again?”
This time, when his arms squeezed her back, they were gentle, comforting even. “No. You did nothing. My leg...I’ve suffered a prior injury. Don’t trouble yourself.”
She relaxed against him, her chest coming into contact with his. Then she realized what she’d done and stiffened again, pulling back as far as his arms allowed. If ever a more awkward embrace had occurred, she’d be shocked. “An injury? How unfortunate for you. What can I do to make our...er...untangling easier?”
He shifted slowly under her, drawing one knee up and pushing her body closer to his. “Just give me a moment.”
She looked up at the dark ceiling. “All right.”
His hands left her back. “Hold onto my shoulders.” He scooted more upright inch by inch. Then he paused. “This is going to take a minute. Perhaps you should tell me about yourself while I just get situated.”
She nodded. Normally, talking to a complete stranger was not a skill of hers but something about the dark and his disheveled state made her just a touch more comfortable. “My name is Mary but all my friends call me Marigold.”
“Why is that?” he asked, shifting her weight to the left. His hands came to her waist as he did so and heat filled her cheeks at the intimacy of the touch. His hands were large and strong.
She leaned closer, and under the scent of dust, she caught hints of sandalwood, leather, and just a touch of citrus. Orange perhaps. Very nice, indeed. “Why? Because I am a wallflower, of course.”
He stopped. “I see. So they’ve given you the name of a flower. That makes sense, I suppose. Fitting, too. You smell like a bouquet of summer flowers.”
She drew in a short breath, her eyes blinking in the darkness. Marigold could only make out his rough outline. A strong jaw, broad shoulders, thick arms. She tried to study his face to see if he was sincere or not.
But in the dim light, she couldn’t tell. “Thank you. No one has ever complimented my smell before.”
“Really?” he asked and suddenly he lifted her up off his lap and stood her on her feet. Then he too stood, the small interior forcing them to stand close together. Which after the position they’d been in, didn’t seem all that odd.
She shrugged, looking down at his boots. “Well to be fair, I don’t receive many compliments at all, so it isn’t—” She clamped her mouth shut. Why was she still talking? This was exactly why she rarely spoke and how she managed to frighten away the few men who actually paid attention to her.
He wasn’t even a lord or a member of the peerage in any way and he was about to run from this shed screaming in terror.
He let out a chuckle that didn’t sound the least bit scared but somehow was worse. He was laughing at her. The fire in her cheeks streaked down her neck.
“You don’t receive compliments?” He laughed again. “I’m curious as to why. You feel nice enough. Smell good. You were rather kind and gracious about the entire situation. It’s not every day that a man trips on a woman and sends her fumbling into his lap.”
Marigold covered her mouth with her hand. While they were the most practical of compliments, not at all fit for her books or what she’d dreamed in her imagination over and over, the words still filled her with a lightness she hadn’t thought possible. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered. “Now, Miss Marigold Clearwater, I hope you understand that I must bid you adieu. I’ve spent the last several days travelling here and I’ve a great deal of work to accomplish now that I’ve arrived. But as this house party is set to last several more days, I am sure I shall see you again.”
Marigold nodded. Automatically, she answered, “I look forward to it.” What sort of work did he mean? Was he a gardener? A laborer on the property? Under what context would they see each other again? “But I do hope the next time, we can avoid...” She was doing it again. Saying what should be left unsaid.
He chuckled again, an ease in his deep baritone. “I quite agree.”
Then he stepped around her and opened the door once again. Light shown in and she caught a glimpse of his back. He was tall, to be certain, and broad. His rich dark hair, while overly long, fell in shiny waves past his collar, looking windswept and...well...beautiful.
His clothes were dusty and travel worn, but she realized that they were a military uniform.
Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder and she just caught sight of his profile. Strong jaw, full lips, aristocratic nose and his arched brows made her gasp. He was as handsome as he was tall.
He quirked a quick smile and then the door closed again.
Sagging back in the bench she’d been sitting on just a few minutes ago before a soldier had swept in, she lifted a trembling hand to her face.
In a mere five minutes, everything had changed.
Because a man had held her in his lap, complimented her, and smiled at her.
She gave her head a little shake. If she weren’t careful, she might cast herself in one of the stories she loved to read. She’d be the heroine and he’d... She stopped.
Dropping her hand, she’d clenched her fingers into a fist. She was allowing the romances of her friends to sweep her into a story of her own making. But the truth was, that hadn’t been a romantic interlude but a mistake that had been quickly corrected.
Both her friends were about to marry. She’d have no more companions at parties, no more wallflower allies to hide behind ferns with her.
Marigold shook her head. If she had any hope of securing a husband as well, it was time for her to stop daydreaming and begin her search for an appropriate suitor in earnest.
Chapter Three
Marigold.
Max grinned at his reflection in the glass above the fireplace. Hours later and the thought of their interaction still made him laugh.
He stroked his newly shaved chin and turned his head to the side to catch a glimpse of the neatly trimmed hair and that was far better suited to the elegant suit his valet had chosen for him.
It seemed his mother had indeed prepared for his arrival, which made him suspect all over again that coming home to a house full of eligible young ladies was not the innocent mistake his mother made it out to be.
He heard the door open and shut behind him.
“Tell me honestly, big brother. Are you hiding in here or have you just snuck off to admire your own reflection?”
He turned around with a grin at his sister’s teasing and was struck anew by how grown up she looked in a pale green gown. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Tell me honestly, little sister. Do you have any suitors of whom I should be aware?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like Mother.”
He clapped a hand to his heart. “Take it back.”
They shared a silly smile and Max had this notion, not for the first time since his return, that no time had passed at all.
Sarah eyed him from head to toe, her gaze growing soft with sentiment. “Father would be so proud of you, Max.”
His chest tightened. And then there were moments like this one when it felt as though an eternity had passed since his last visit home.
He turned back to the mirror, avoiding his own gaze and the dark emotions he might find there. “Are you hiding as well then?” he asked, trying for the teasing tone they’d been using just moments ago.
Her smile was small and sad when he turned to face her. “Something like that.” She moved toward him, her eyes lightening with laughter. “But mostly I was determined to find you before joining that crush out there.”
On cue, music started up in the other room.
“I don’t suppose this evening’s fete will be a casual affair,” he said.
Sarah laughed. “The return of the great and be
loved son? The arrival of the new marquess?” She shook her head, still laughing. “I think not. Mother has been looking forward to your arrival for ages now, and she is far too eager to see you matched and settled to let this occasion go by without a celebration.”
His smile felt strained. “Yes, that was what I gathered as well.”
His sister came over and straightened his cravat. “Did you get any sleep?’
He opened his mouth and shut it again as he tried to figure out how much he ought to tell her about his attempt to nap in the old shed.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What is that look in your eyes?” Her brows hitched up. “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to cause mischief already. You’ve only been back home for half a day.”
“Not mischief, no,” he said. “Though I did meet someone...” Delightful. Funny. Odd. He finally settled on, “Interesting.”
“Oh? And who might that be?” She sank gracefully onto a settee.
“What do you know about a Miss Mary Clearwater?” He couldn’t quite stifle a smile at the thought of her, so sweetly awkward and so genuine and so...charming, in her own odd sort of way.
“Miss Clearwater?” Sarah looked confused.
“I believe she also is referred to as Marigold by her friends.”
“Oh yes, I know who she is, she was just not...” She hitched her lips to the side with a shrug that reminded him of the little girl she’d once been. “She was not who I expected you to mention, that is all. She’s not exactly the talk of the ton, if you know what I mean.”
“Why not?”
If Sarah noticed his defensive edge on Marigold’s behalf, she ignored it. “Well, she is hardly the type of lady young men take notice of, now is she?”
He blinked. He did not know. Ignoring his sister’s questioning stare, he tried to think of a way to explain that while he had encountered the young lady, he had not actually seen her.
Well, not entirely. He’d caught glimpses in the shadows and had peek of light brown hair and a rosy cheek when the door swung inward to admit some light. Not exactly enough to sketch a rendering, but enough to get the sense that she was pretty enough. Maybe a little plain, but surely her guileless manners and her sweet nature made up for that.
“Are you telling me Miss Marigold is...” Because I am a wallflower, of course.
Her words came back to him. They’d been said so simply, so without bitterness. As if her being a wallflower was to be expected.
He shot his sister a sidelong look. “She is a wallflower,” he finished.
She nodded. “That’s right. Quite kind if you get her talking, but that is the problem, you see. She seems very shy. Very unassuming. I’d wager that most gentlemen aren’t even aware she is a guest here this week.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. No, he could very well imagine why they would be ignorant of her presence at this house party.
She’d likely been hiding in that dingy shed all week.
He let out a rueful laugh as he shook his head.
Sarah leaned forward. “Why this sudden interest in Miss Clearwater? Did you speak with her?”
He had a flash of soft skin and warm breath, the heady scent of flowers and the silky brush of hair against his rough cheek. “You could say that,” he murmured.
“Did you not find her...odd?” Sarah asked. Her tone held no malice, only curiosity.
“Perhaps a bit, but I also found her uncommonly sweet.”
“Mmm,” she murmured. “I have heard that she has a good nature, it is a pity she is so...” She waved a hand in the air and Max imagined she was searching for a polite word to describe Marigold’s state.
In the end, she gave up with a sigh. “She will be even more pitiable tonight than ever, I imagine.”
He frowned. Pitiable and Marigold should not be uttered in the same breath. “Why is that?”
“Because all anyone is talking about is the recent engagement of her two closest friends. You heard Mother this morning. Besides you, it’s all anyone is talking about,” Sarah explained. “And from what I can tell, they are her only two friends.”
Max’s frown turned into a glower. Her only friends? Surely that couldn’t be true.
Sarah sighed. “Poor dear must be feeling terribly envious.”
He huffed. “Not everyone dreams of marriage, Sarah.”
Her brows hitched up. “Most ladies do.”
“Well, perhaps she is not like most ladies.” He had no idea why he was arguing with his sister over a young lady he hardly knew. But some part of him bristled the thought of anyone pitying Marigold.
“Perhaps not,” Sarah conceded. “But I heard this is her third season. After a time I’d imagine being the outsider at functions such as this one grows tiresome.”
He scoffed. “I’d imagine events such as this one are tiresome to begin with.”
Sarah’s lips curved up in a little smile, but she did not laugh as he’d hoped. “If you speak with her again...”
He arched his brows in question when she trailed off. “Yes?”
“Just be careful with Miss Clearwater, that is all,” his sister finished with a sigh. “She is a sweet but sad sort of creature and I would not wish to see her suffering from false hopes just because she amuses you.”
He let out a loud exhale, uncertain for a moment whether he ought to be insulted. He chose not to be. He knew what his sister meant, and he knew her intentions were kind. If Marigold really were desperate to marry, it wouldn’t do to let her believe he had a serious interest in courting her.
Not when he had no intention of choosing a bride anytime soon.
They were silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
Their mother’s entrance shattered the calm like a crash of thunder. “There you are,” she called out as she sailed into the room with a beaming smile and an air of excitement that left him...well, terrified. He’d rather go back to the frontlines and face the entire French army than to hear what had set his mother into such an excited state.
He had a notion that excitement was because of him. And the ladies she had lined up for him to entertain this evening.
Just like that, the exhaustion from this morning was back tenfold. “Mother, you look as beautiful as ever,” he said dutifully as Sarah came to her feet for her mother’s inspection.
“I have quite the evening planned for your homecoming, dear,” the marchioness said with a mischievous grin that looked remarkably similar to the one he caught in his own reflection from time to time.
“Mother, I am not in the mood for parties, let alone any matchmaking efforts you might have planned.”
“Nonsense,” she said as she linked her arm through his and began tugging him toward the door. “There is no matchmaking in the works. Merely some lovely young ladies who are very excited to meet the dashing young marquess.”
His sigh and Sarah’s laughter at his expense were drowned out by the swelling music that greeted them as they walked down the hallway toward the ballroom.
“There’s a young Lady Abigail I’d very much like you to meet,” his mother said in a hushed tone as they reached the entryway.
And there it was. The first contender his mother would throw his way. A panicky sensation made him wish to tear off his cravat and run for the nearest exit.
That abandoned shed sounded awfully appealing right about now.
But he would not run. He’d taken enough time to pursue his own interests—disappointing his father in the process. Now that he’d inherited the title, his time was up.
He had duties. Obligations. Responsibilities.
He’d had those in the army as well, but they’d been of his choosing and not the path assigned to him since birth. Somehow, the choosing mattered.
He bit back a groan and ordered himself to stay put as they reached the top of the steps where the Master of Ceremonies waited to announce their arrival.
All eyes were on them as the orchestra’s music died off.
This was his moment. The moment his mother had been waiting for. The moment his father would surely be watching from heaven.
He straightened his shoulders and stiffened his spine.
He would not let them down. He would not let his father down...not again.
“Do you see all the young ladies?” his mother whispered at his side.
He let out a weary exhale. He would not disappoint them, but there was no way he would rush into marriage on top of all the other changes he’d need to adapt to now that he was home.
He plastered a pleasant smile on his face as he looked out over the crowd. Without meaning to, he found himself seeking out one young lady in particular.
He was not even certain he would recognize her if he saw her but then...
There.
In the back, by the wall...half covered by a fern.
His fake smile softened to something far more genuine.
That was Marigold. He recognized the wide eyes, the slight figure...the way she seemed to be attempting to melt into the shadows.
Two young ladies were at her side, far more striking in appearance, and yet he could not take his eyes off the pretty little brunette with the big eyes and the soft pink lips that uttered nonsense when she was nervous.
His mother leaned over. “Have you found anyone who’s struck your fancy? A potential bride perhaps?”
He tore his gaze away from Marigold to meet his mother’s hopeful stare.
Was Marigold a potential bride? Hardly. He wasn’t ready. His world was changing too quickly and he could hardly focus on romance and courting now.
His mother shrugged and turned back to the waiting crowd with a smile.
He did the same. Yet again, he sought Marigold out in the crowd. She might not be his potential bride, but he could not tolerate the idea that she was unwanted or worse...lonely.
“No pressure, dear, I just want you to speak to some ladies,” his mother whispered as the footman stepped forward to announce their names. “Enjoy yourself.”
His smile grew as his gaze focused on Marigold in the back. Enjoy himself?
A Wallflower's Wish Boxed Set: Three Regency Romances Page 25
