“And?” Gordon prompted.
“I’m back. That’s what matters. If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t, of course, but those little girls need someone who loves them, and I love them.”
“I know you do.”
And he loved her. He loved her so much he knew he should send her away before he hurt her, before she buried herself in Cape May and never found someone who wanted to love her.
He didn’t want to love her, didn’t want to face the pain and grief of being pushed aside for someone with better prospects, for a man worthy of her generous heart and loving spirit.
“You can stay.” Huskiness invaded his voice. “Tomorrow we’ll take the girls out on one of the excursion boats.”
“Ruby’s scared.” Marigold glanced at him, her eyes clouded.
“I know. It’s the best way to get her over her fear. And she must. She can’t go through life being afraid of boats.”
“Unless she wants to move to Kansas or something.” Marigold smiled.
“Even so. . . If she’s too frightened, we’ll come back.”
“It’s because of her parents, you know.” Marigold began to wash dishes again, her hands nearly elbow-deep in sudsy water. “She can’t accept that they won’t come back. I don’t know how to fix that for her.”
“Time, I think. But perhaps going on the water will help her understand. . .something.” Not wanting to leave, despite his business with Marigold concluded, Gordon picked up a dish towel and began to dry the stacked plates. “So tell me about the wedding.”
“Rose was beautiful. My mother had everything planned to perfection. Everyone asked me why I—” She ducked her head. Curls cascaded across her cheek.
“Why you gave up your marriage plans for near strangers?”
“I wasn’t the one who gave them up.”
“If he wouldn’t wait for you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“That’s what my sister said. But when he arrived at the wedding with—I told them I was committed to the girls here. And Lucian—” She heaved a sigh. “I didn’t want to stay any longer than I had to. I missed everyone here so much, and the river isn’t nearly as nice as the ocean.”
“Would you like to stay on even after I leave?” Gordon asked.
She jumped, sending a glass plopping into the water with a spray of suds that soaked the front of her gown.
He smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m only thinking about this, but if you really have nowhere to go, I can hire a companion for you, if you’ll stay on and manage the house. It will give the girls somewhere to go on school holidays.”
“They’d rather come home to you, Mr. Chambers. They need their family.”
“Odd you would say that when you have chosen to leave yours.”
“Yes, well, staying where everyone knows me was too—” She sighed. “I’ll go back if you choose to stay here.”
“I can’t stay.” He stacked several plates before he admitted, “This isn’t my house. It’s my father’s. He tossed me out of it and wouldn’t welcome me back if he were still alive. I’ll return to stay when I can buy a house of my own.”
“Hmm.” She collected a pan from the top of the stove and dunked it into the dishwater. “I can’t imagine any father tossing his son out of his house forever. Nothing is that bad.”
“I ruined someone else’s life, hurt the family’s reputation. . . .He was justified in his actions. Even Gerald sided with him.” He lifted the stack of plates and carried them to their cupboard before he said too much, before she asked him to say more.
She didn’t ask him anything. When he returned with a dry dish towel, she tilted her head to one side and smiled up at him. “I’ll tell you about my father sending me packing, if you’ll share your story.”
Twelve
Marigold didn’t know what possessed her to make such a personal suggestion to her employer. Yet he didn’t feel like her employer, standing there with a dish towel over his arm and his shirt cuffs wet. He looked like something she had never envisioned Lucian being—a spouse who was a companion, not just a vague figure across the breakfast table.
The revelation struck her like a rolling pin between the shoulder blades, and she blurted out, “I never loved him.”
Gordon dropped the glass he was drying. He dove for the shining fragments. Marigold dove for the pieces. Their heads collided.
“Oof.” Marigold jerked back, slipped in a patch of water, and landed on her seat.
“I am so sorry.” That treacherous corner of his mouth twitching, Gordon leaned down and offered his hands. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” She tried to get her feet under her. Her heels tangled in her skirts, and she moved no further than her knees.
“Here.” Gordon clasped her by the waist and lifted her to her feet—and didn’t let go.
She knew she should tell him she was all right, that he could release her without worrying she would fall again. She wanted to tell him she would go to her room now and not bring up anything personal.
She looked into his deep brown eyes, saw the sparkle even in the murky gaslight of the kitchen, and lowered her lashes, ready, willing, perhaps too eager, and not caring in that moment when his lips met hers.
The contact lasted no more than a heartbeat. It was the best moment in the past year and a half of Marigold’s life. She wanted to run off to her room, write the moment down, savor every detail of his tender expression, his scent of sunshine and lemons, his lips as gentle as a summer breeze, though they flooded her with a hurricane gale of longing.
“I. . .suppose that was completely inappropriate.” His voice emerged as though he spoke from a dry throat. “You work for me.”
“I can leave your employment.”
“You just lost your fiancé.”
“He never should have been my fiancé.” She spoke in a breathless rush, trying to get everything out before he walked away. “He wasn’t in love with me, or he’d have waited for me, instead of getting himself engaged to one of the Grassick girls. And I couldn’t have loved him, or I wouldn’t—”
No, she wouldn’t humiliate herself by admitting she loved him until he told her he felt more than an attraction for her. One humiliation at the hands of a male was quite enough for one summer.
“Have just let you kiss me,” she concluded.
“Perhaps not.” His smile was gentle, his fingers against her cheek gentler. “Now I understand why you came back. Facing that kind of humiliation must have been difficult for a proud lady like you. But I can’t let you hurt yourself by entangling yourself in my life. Kissing you was. . .wonderful. Believe me. I’d do it again in a moment if I thought it would benefit either of us. But it won’t, Marigold. It was an error in judgment, and I’m too good at making errors in judgment to be responsible for anyone other than myself.”
“No, no, I don’t believe that. You knew you had to stay here longer than you thought.”
“But stayed away too long.”
“You—”
“Hush.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “I won’t let you make an error in judgment, either. And saying things to me right now will likely be just that.”
She wanted to argue with him further but feared he was right, if that concerned how she felt about him.
Or maybe just thought she felt about him.
Yet because she cared, however deeply that caring ran, she couldn’t bear the pain flickering in his eyes, the pain of his words, claiming he made poor judgments. She wanted, needed, to say something to ease that burden.
She took a deep breath. “Perhaps you depend on yourself instead of the Lord for your decisions, and that’s why you think they go awry.”
“My relationship with the Lord is my concern.” His face tightened. “Go to your room, Miss McCorkle. I’ll finish clearing up in here.”
“But—”
“Go, or I’ll consider the worst of my choices has been to allow you to stay a minute after I got here.�
� He smiled without humor. “Which it probably was.”
“Gor—” With an effort, Marigold closed her mouth, turned on her heel, and raced up to her room.
For solace, she pushed aside the latter part of their encounter and concentrated on those moments of closeness. He’d kissed her.
Lucian had kissed her, too. They’d been engaged. She’d liked it.
When Gordon kissed her, she’d loved it. Because she loved him? She thought she did. She figured she had for most of the nearly four weeks she’d known him, if that was possible. At least for the past few days. At least since he’d opened the door to her and welcomed her back with a look she could only describe as joyous.
Because he loved her, too?
How she wanted to think so, but dared not. She must keep herself aloof, protect her pride, protect her soul. She would become the perfect maidservant, beginning with having the girls ready for the boating excursion the following morning.
❧
But the next morning, Ruby was missing. Marigold slipped into the girls’ room to wake them up and found no child in the second bed.
“When did Ruby get up?” Marigold demanded of Beryl.
“Dunno.” Beryl yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Sleeping.”
“Perhaps she went downstairs.” Marigold rushed down to the kitchen. “Is Ruby here?”
Mrs. Cromwell turned from the stove. “I haven’t seen her this morning. Maybe she’s with Mr. Gordon.”
“Where’s he?”
“In his library.”
Marigold darted through the door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house and charged into the library. “Where’s Ruby?”
Gordon dropped his coffee cup, spilling brown liquid across his desk and a map.
“I’m so sorry.” Marigold made the apology in a breathless rush. “Ruby isn’t in her bed, and Mrs. Cromwell hasn’t seen her.”
Before she finished speaking, Gordon was on his feet and reaching for the coat hanging on the back of his chair. “Finish searching the house. I’ll look outside. If she’s not there, I’ll go to the Morrises’ and get help.”
Ruby wasn’t inside. Beryl, Mrs. Cromwell, and Marigold searched from the attic to the cellar and found no sign of the little girl.
“She never goes anywhere alone.” Trying not to cry, Marigold stood on the front porch and insisted her brain work on a solution. “She knows better.”
“It’s my fault,” Beryl said and burst into tears.
“What do you mean?” Marigold put her arms around the child. “How can this be your fault?”
Beryl shook her head, sobbing. “I called her a baby for being afraid to go on the boat. I said—I said if—if we were nicer children Uncle Gordon wouldn’t go away. And. . .I’m so sorry.”
“Why did you say those things to her, Beryl?” Marigold sat back on her haunches and looked into the girl’s face. “Why were you so mean to her?”
“Because—because. . .” Beryl looked away. “She never liked the boats and keeps me from going on them.”
“I see.” At least Marigold thought she understood. “Well, Beryl, now none of us can go because Ruby isn’t here.”
Beryl bowed her head and scuffed at the floorboards with the toe of her shoe. “She’s probably in the elephant.”
“You know? You’ve known all along?” Marigold shot to her feet, her hands crushing fistfuls of her skirt. “Why didn’t you tell us? Never mind that now. We’ll talk about it later. Go to your room and stay there.”
“You’re angry with me.” Beryl recommenced crying.
“Yes, Beryl, I am. But right now, finding your sister is more important.”
“But she’s the one who’s naughty.”
“You’re both naughty.” Marigold spun on her heel and raced for the sidewalk.
The elephant, old and rickety, must be dangerous. Signs told people to stay away. It smelled of rotting lumber and rusting metal. Rats probably lived inside the enormous legs, and if Ruby tried to climb the steps, she was likely to fall through a disintegrating board and break something vital.
Marigold ran. She held her skirts as high as the tops of her shoes to keep herself from tripping on them. She passed people she knew and gawking strangers, ice cream sellers and barking dogs. She ran toward the blot on the Cape May landscape and ignored shouts for her to stop, calls of her name, warnings to slow down.
She started calling Ruby’s name the minute the elephant heaved into view. And she kept running toward the beast, past signs that warned people away, past the signs that had once advertised on the monstrous sides. She hollered for Ruby until her throat hurt.
At the door to one of the elephant’s legs, she stopped. Her heart raced. Her breath rasped in her throat.
The door stood open.
She laid her hand on the frame.
“You can’t go in there, miss.” A brawny workman shoved between Marigold and the door. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know.” She bent double against a stitch in her side. “Little girl. . . Lost. . . Think—inside. . .”
The man murmured something that sounded like a prayer.
A prayer!
Marigold leaned against the elephant’s scarred side and closed her eyes. She hadn’t stopped to pray. She’d determined to find Ruby on her own.
“Please, God, help me find her,” she whispered into her hands. “I need to—”
“I’ll go look, miss.” The workman pushed the door open further. “What’s her name?”
“Ruby. She’s only six.”
“Too young to be on her own.” He gave Marigold a censorious glance.
She frowned at him. “I didn’t let her be on her own. She slipped out of the house without us knowing.”
“Huh.” Mouth set as though he were eating limes, the workman tramped into the elephant.
His footfalls rang hollowly. His voice sounded as though he called into a bucket. The silence in response sounded even louder.
“Ruby.” Marigold stepped to the doorway of the elephant. The stench of mildew and rot assailed her nostrils. “I’m here. Don’t be frightened.”
She wanted to promise the child that she wouldn’t have to go out on a boat. But Marigold couldn’t make that kind of promise. It was up to Gordon, and he believed she should go out on the water to get over her fear. He said that way worked the best. He’d said it as though he knew what he was talking about.
She couldn’t imagine Gordon Chambers afraid of anything. He was too big, too strong, too sure of what he wanted. Or didn’t want—her.
“Ruby,” the workman called.
“Please, Ruby, answer if you’re here,” Marigold reiterated.
No small voice responded. The workman’s boots tramped back down the steps. The gunshot crack of a splintering tread ricocheted off the walls. The workman muttered something and leaped to the bottom of the steps.
“She’s not here, miss,” he told Marigold.
She resisted the urge to wipe a cobweb from his hat brim and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re sure? You looked everywhere? What about the other legs, the trunk, the top?”
“She’s not here.” The workman moved forward, compelling Marigold to step back. “I didn’t see any footprints in the dirt.”
“I see. Well then, thank you for looking.” Marigold turned away and plowed through the small crowd staring toward the elephant. Her heart ached. She pounded one fist into the other. “God, why do I keep failing? Why do I keep losing? Why do I—”
She heard herself, heard one word repeated again and again: I. . .I. . .I. . .
She stumbled to a halt on the pavement and leaned against a lamppost, her knees too weak to support her, her pride enough to keep her from sinking to the ground in front of all the holidaymakers. She tried to think. Her head whirled. Sun and sound intensified until the brightness and volume of shouting youths, shrieking children, and chattering adults would explode like dynamite inside her head.
“Marigold—that is, Mis
s McCorkle?” Gordon Chambers touched her arm. “Are you all right?”
“No. Yes. I—”
There was that word again, selfish, self-centered, prideful.
God, how far do I need to fall?
She raised her gaze to Gordon’s face, her vision blurred. “We have to find Ruby. Beryl said she’d be in the elephant, but she’s not there.”
“You didn’t go in, did you?” Gordon looked alarmed.
Marigold shook her head.
“Good. It can’t be safe. But how do you know she’s not there?”
“A workman came around and looked for me.” Marigold wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “But now where do we go?”
“Where else does she like to be?” Gordon asked.
“The lighthouse?”
They turned toward the towering structure at the point of the cape, where it guided ships to a safe passage into Delaware Bay.
“I don’t like it, but there are always so many visitors there she would be safe.” Gordon rubbed his temples as though his head hurt. “Shall we go look?”
“Yes, please.” Without thinking, Marigold tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, as they headed for the lighthouse at a trot. “We have gone there twice. She likes looking out to sea to find dolphins.”
“I used to do that as a youth, too. I missed the dolphins once I left here. Of course I saw them on my travels, but somehow seeing them from the lighthouse was more enjoyable. Maybe because I saw them from so far away no one on land could see them yet. It was like being first.”
“You love it here, don’t you?” Marigold spoke so softly, she doubted he heard her over the boisterous visitors surrounding them. He said nothing for several blocks, then without warning, he covered her hand with his and inclined his head.
“Then why leave?” She spoke in a low voice, afraid to speak louder for fear of breaking the contact between them.
Which meant she should break it. She should not be loving the sensation of Gordon Chambers, her employer, cradling her fingers between his large palm and muscled forearm. Not wishing he would kiss her again.
Newcomer Page 13
