His smile faded fast. It was true, Marigold had been in constant demand for the remainder of the night.
Every time Max was able to escape from a boring conversation or put a halt to the unceasing small talk and polite chatter, he sought her out.
Every time she was dancing.
Each time it was with someone new.
He was glad. Of course he’d been glad. She deserved to enjoy herself and watching her come out of her wallflower shell was a privilege. She’d practically glowed with life and good humor as she danced her way through every eligible gentlemen on the premises.
Except for him.
But then again, she’d already danced with him once last night. And besides... His lips twitched upward as the memory surfaced once again.
She’d kissed him.
He could hardly be jealous when he was the lucky one who’d received a kiss, now could he? He grinned up at the cloudless sky.
Certainly not.
“You are not going to tell me anything, are you?” Sarah grumbled.
He shot her a sidelong look and took pity on her. “If I tell you something, you must promise not to tell Mother.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “You have feelings for Marigold.”
He stopped walking to face her, his excitement fading at having his big reveal spoiled so thoroughly. “How did you know?”
It was her turn to pat his shoulder in sympathy. “I’d be surprised if everyone didn’t know with the way you were watching her all evening and the way you held her as you danced.” She trailed off with a romantic sigh, but he was frowning.
Had he been that obvious? The thing was, he didn’t honestly care who knew that he’d developed an attachment toward Marigold, it was just alarming that his sister had realized it before he had.
It was only when she’d kissed him that he’d realized just how much his heart had been yearning for that connection. And it was only this morning that he’d finally admitted to himself that what he felt for her went far beyond attraction and was nothing like mere friendship.
While holding her in his arms, while kissing her sweet lips, while opening up to her in a way he’d never been able to talk to anyone... What he’d felt for her last night he still couldn’t quite name.
This emotion was too all-encompassing to label. It was something so fresh and so pure, so new and so heady, so wondrous and so...terrifying.
He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He could admit, a small part of him was still reeling from it all. But his sister?
Well, she was laughing at him. “You could not have been more obvious,” she said with a shake of her head.
“But I told you last night that I was only trying to help her—”
“I know that was what you said, but I am not blind, you know.”
His brow furrowed as they continued walking. If it was that obvious, then he would need to act quicker than he’d thought.
“What is the issue, Max?” Sarah asked. “You are in need of a bride, Marigold seems like a lovely young lady and she is definitely available. Her mother made that very clear.”
He frowned at the mention of her mother. He’d hated hearing how Marigold was living in her shadow, though he understood the feeling well.
“Her mother will be quite pleased to learn a marquess wishes to court her daughter,” she continued.
“Our mother won’t be pleased,” he said.
Sarah gave a little snort of laughter. “Which would only make Miss Clearwater more appealing to you, I should think.”
He grinned. “Did Mother bring up the topic of me and Miss Clearwater again?”
Sarah shrugged. “Not last night, and last I checked she was still in bed this morning.” She flashed him a wicked smile. “But do not fret. I’m sure you will be hearing from her on this topic soon enough.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
They stopped just inside the graveyard’s gate as if they both wished to dally a little longer before facing their father’s grave.
Sarah turned to him. “So you are serious about her then? You really wish to court Miss Clearwater?”
Yes. He opened his mouth to say it and...stopped. He hesitated. Not because he did not care for her—he did. Perhaps more than he was comfortable admitting, even to himself. But this was not part of the plan. He’d decided that he would not rush into marriage.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“I am not certain I am ready for such a large step,” he admitted.
Sarah’s brows hitched up, but she said nothing.
“I mean to marry one day, of course. I just don’t want to rush into it when there are so many new responsibilities and obligations to see to. My life has changed so drastically in such a short time.”
He waited for her to chide him, to give him a lecture of some sort...
None came.
“Have you told her you need time?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about much of anything.”
She nodded, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “You think she would not wait?”
He ran a hand through his hair and tilted his head up to the sky as he considered that. “I am not sure it would be fair to ask her to.”
Sarah’s lips pursed and her eyes grew distant with thought. Finally, she said, “I cannot speak for Miss Clearwater, but for my part I know I would rather wait for a true connection than marry in haste merely to be married.”
He nodded.
“Talk to her,” she said softly. “I am sure the two of you will work through any issues if she feels as strongly for you as you do for her.”
He matched her small smile, but a flicker of wariness stole over him. What if she did not feel the same?
He’d watched her dance last night; he’d seen the transformation in her after their talk. There was no denying that she was reinventing herself. Perhaps that was all that kiss was about. Her attempt to be a new Marigold...or Mary. Perhaps she was leaving her wallflower self behind.
Sarah turned to their father’s grave and he gave his head a shake before doing the same.
He walked toward the grave resolutely. There was no use avoiding the inevitable.
They shared a long moment of silence, each lost in thought and prayer. He wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed before he noticed the bouquet of wildflowers atop the grave. They were fresh and beautiful and for one ridiculous moment he felt like they were a sign.
A signal from above that his father was at peace. That all was forgiven. That all that remained was love.
He ran a hand over his face. Ridiculous notions. They were no doubt left by his family. “Were these from you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, but they must have been left here today. They look freshly cut.”
“Perhaps Mother—”
“She is still asleep, remember?”
His heart did a funny twist in his chest. Marigolds were the primary flower threading the bouquet. “I know who left these.”
He shut his eyes as a wave of tenderness crashed over him. Of course she had. Marigold was nothing if not thoughtful and caring.
These were from her. And they were a sign, just not the type he’d thought.
They were the visible reminder he needed that life was short. That their connection was real and strong. That in some ways he suspected she knew him better than he knew himself.
He took a step closer. “Thank you, Father. For everything. And I am so sorry for the way I left. I hope you know...” He cleared his throat, Marigold’s words coming back to him. “No, I know that you know...I love you.”
He walked away to leave Sarah to say her piece. He heard her murmuring softly behind him when he caught sight of Marigold in the distance. She was walking with her friend, Lily, their heads bent together as they headed back to the house.
He hurried to catch up, urgency propelling him forward.
“Marigold!”
/> Both women halted. As one they turned to face him, but it was only Marigold he could see as he drew near. Her smile was sweet, if shy, and her gaze filled with kindness but...
He was not sure what he was hoping to see. Hope, perhaps. A sign that she shared the same overwhelming lightness at being close, a flicker of awareness that this thing between them was as undeniable for her as it was for him.
“Ladies,” he said when he reached them. “Might I join you for your walk?”
Marigold bit her lip. “I wish that you could, but I am on my way to meet my mother. I’m afraid I am already late.”
“Ah. Well then...” He shifted closer but realized that her friend moved closer as well, so they were now crowding Marigold.
Marigold’s eyes widened slightly and her cheeks turned pink when his gaze dropped to her lips.
He couldn’t help it. He’d been unable to think of anything but that kiss for so long. The sweetness of it, the rightness of it.
He longed to do it again.
Now, preferably.
Lily cleared her throat. Loudly.
His chest grew uncomfortably tight as his gaze shot up to meet Marigold’s. What he wouldn't give for another moment alone.
“Was there something else you needed, my lord?” Lily asked.
He shot a look in her direction. Was he imagining things or was she...glaring at him?
He looked back to Marigold, who was most definitely not glaring.
“I wished to say thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze holding hers, hoping beyond hope that she understood all he was trying to say with these simple words. “I’ve just come from my father’s grave and...” He cleared his throat, casting a quick self-conscious glance over at her glaring friend before meeting Marigold’s eyes again. “Thank you.”
She dipped her head, her cheeks turning a shade pinker as she smiled. “It was my pleasure, my lord.”
“Mary!” They all heard her mother’s voice calling from the main house and Marigold flinched.
“I really must go.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. She turned to leave and that urgency came back and nearly choked him. He could not let her leave. Not like this.
“May I speak with you later.” He glanced meaningfully at Lily. “Alone.”
Marigold’s eyes widened but she nodded quickly. “I should like that.”
“I will find you then,” he said. That smile was back, and it was undeniable.
He was happy. Happier than he’d ever been. He might not be ready for a wife, but he’d certainly found his bride.
He watched her as she walked away, his mind already spinning with what he would say and how he would say it.
“I understand you are Marigold’s new friend.”
Lily’s words had him turning to her with a start. Or rather, it was her tone that had him tensing.
There was no doubting the animosity in her gaze as she narrowed her eyes on him in a way that was... Well, it was alarming, really. He’d faced down enemies on the battlefield, but few had looked as fierce as this pretty redhead.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “She is quickly becoming a very dear friend.”
“Hmph.” She tilted her chin up as she regarded him. “Well, as one friend to another, I feel I ought to warn you that Marigold is...” She pursed her lips. “Kind.”
He blinked. Max already knew that, but he didn’t quite catch her true meaning. “I thank you for the warning.”
Her brows drew down in a glower at his attempt to lighten the mood. “What I mean is, she is often kind to a fault. She is loyal and sweet and just about the most wonderful friend a girl could ask for.”
“I appreciate that, Miss—”
“So don’t hurt her.”
Her sharp command had him jerking back in surprise. “Hurt her? I did not mean—I would never try and—”
She sniffed, already turning away from him. “I certainly hope not, my lord. For your sake. But I will say this once...” She turned back with a glare. “You ought to leave Marigold be. She is trusting by nature and fragile because she gives so fully of herself. She’s meant for a man who can return that love. She deserves a man who will make her his wife and give her a family, not someone who merely wishes for a friend who will dote upon him. Do I make myself clear?”
She walked away without waiting for an answer.
She had made herself clear. Exceedingly. She found Max lacking as a potential husband.
He winced, looking back at the grave where his sister still knelt, his own words coming back to him to taunt him with their selfishness.
He did indeed understand what Lily meant, and worse...
He wasn’t certain she was wrong.
Chapter Ten
Marigold easily found her mother next to the hedge that bordered the path to the graveyard. She was difficult to miss as she once again called out Marigold’s given name. “Mary!” Her voice echoed over the fields and a heat filled Marigold’s cheeks as several other guests turned to look at them.
“I’m here, Mother,” Marigold said in that quiet way which would hopefully mitigate her mother’s loud booming voice.
“Where have you been?” her mother huffed, sharp and high, as she turned toward her daughter. “I’ve been calling for you.”
“I’m aware,” Marigold said, trying to keep her face neutral. Looking pained would only give her mother purchase for a lecture on personal responsibility.
Her mother harrumphed and then turned back toward the house, gesturing for her to follow. “While you’ve been...off, I have had several requests from potential suitors to spend time with you.”
“I wasn’t off,” she defended. “I was putting flowers on the marquess’s gravestone. It will mean a great deal to the new Marquess of Arundel to see them.”
Her mother sniffed. “I suppose that wasn’t an awful idea but honestly, Mary, you’re setting yourself up for failure.”
“Failure?” she asked, stopping even as her mother continued walking. “What does that mean?”
Her mother faltered, for once softening her posture, and then turned back to her daughter. She spoke more softly than she had all morning. “It means you are unlikely to actually land a marquess.”
Marigold ducked her head as she stared at the ground to hide the wave of hurt that washed over her. She was sure her mother wanted to protect her but to have so little faith in Marigold, it was just... She let out a sigh. It was likely exactly right. The marquess had been nothing but clear about his desire to remain just friends. “Whether he is a suitor or not, he is an excellent ally,” she replied.
Her mother’s brows went up. “That is true, dear. Honestly, I am surprised you thought of it. Strategy is not usually your strong suit.”
Marigold shook her head. Technically, it hadn’t been her idea at all, but Max’s. She’d not tell her mother that, however. The other woman had so little faith in her daughter already.
Marigold began moving once again, the house coming into view as they fell in step together and continued in silence up the lawn.
Several seconds of blessed silence passed.
“As I was saying,” her mother finally spoke. “You are to have a garden walk with Major Mayfield this afternoon and tea with Lord Wright directly after.”
Her heart sank a bit. That left very little time for her to have that conversation with Max. The one he’d specifically asked for. “And the marquess, did he request an audience?”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “No. He didn’t. Honestly, Mary, you must try to attend the other suitors. After three seasons, you finally have a few, please do not squander this opportunity.”
Those words bit into her as her shoulders hunched. “Thank you for your faith, Mother,” she said before she’d thought the words through. She never spoke to her mother in such a manner and she knew the instant she said them that there would be trouble.
Her mother turned to her, hands on hips, her voice far louder than necessary. “I’ve financed
three seasons where all you did was hide behind potted plants. Do not patronize me now. You owe it to me and your late father—”
Marigold knew it was serious when her late father was mentioned. So did about twenty guests who were milling about the gardens. “Mother,” she whispered. “Please.” Her eyes darted this way and that. “People are staring.”
Her mother drew in a sharp breath. “I only see one solution.” At least she had lowered her voice.
“What is that?” Marigold could feel the color draining from her face.
Her mother patted her hair, checking her coif. “I will have to talk to the marquess myself and see what his intentions are. I can’t have you pinning your hopes on a dead end.”
Fear seized her chest. “No,” she called out before she could take the word back.
Her mother’s hand sliced through the air. “It’s time you grew up, Mary. Stopped burying your nose in those ridiculous books and dreaming up romantic fantasies about dashing marquesses. Two very good suitors have presented themselves and they’ve actually sought me out to ask permission to spend time with you.”
Marigold walked silently next to her mother. The problem with her mother, always, was that there was some real truth and wisdom in her words, harsh as they were.
Max was not interested in her hand and the major and Lord Wright very well might be. The problem was that neither of those men created the breathless excitement that Max so effortlessly brought out. And she just couldn’t imagine sharing her hopes and dreams with either of them the way she had Max.
“I just meant that you don’t need to speak with him. I know he’s not a suitor. We’re friends and—”
“Still,” her mother lifted her skirts as she picked up the pace. “A conversation might be in order. He did pay you special attention.”
Marigold bit her tongue. Sometimes, it seemed as though her mother just wished to disagree. If Marigold said white, the elder Clearwater would swear the color was black.
She wanted to continue to protest but she didn’t wish to fight anymore, and she would not win. It would be far better to simply...hide.
A Wallflower's Wish Boxed Set: Three Regency Romances Page 30
