by Merry Farmer
Marigold sighed and straightened. “Neither can I. And really, I’m far too old to be listening at doors.”
Lavinia stood as well. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do but wait.”
“More’s the pity.” Marigold grinned. Her heart was so light that she wanted to jump up and down or twirl in circles. She settled for clapping her hands to her mouth for a moment, then squealing, “I’m going to be married.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Lavinia rushed forward to hug her.
The two of them embraced, then Marigold gestured for Lavinia to follow her down the hall and across to the parlor. “Levins, could you have tea sent up, please?” she asked the butler as they passed through the entryway.
“Certainly, miss.” Levins bowed and headed for the kitchen stairs.
“Does it bother you to marry a man so much older than you?” Lavinia asked once they’d seated themselves in the formal parlor.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, adding to the joy in Marigold’s heart. “Not at all,” she sighed happily. “Mr. Croydon is distinguished and experienced, not at all like those drooling, hideous caricatures of old men who heroines in novels are constantly being sold off to.”
“Yes, but aren’t you worried about his experience?” Lavinia asked with a hint of dread, her cheeks flushing bright pink.
Marigold was instantly taken back to their moment in the elevator the night before, the way his eyes had bored into her, full of carnal knowledge, the way she’d wanted to give in to him in every way possible. Just thinking about it sent flutters through her.
“Not at all,” she whispered, leaning toward Lavinia conspiratorially. “I think his experience could be one of his greatest assets.”
“But aren’t you the least bit frightened by it all?”
“Why should I be?” Marigold straightened, tilting her head up with a faux haughty look. Her insides quivered all the same. “Those things are a natural part of a sophisticated woman’s life. I’m sure it’s nothing at all to be frightened by.”
Lavinia’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “I’m not so sure. You remember the things Irene Danville used to say when we were at school.”
Marigold fought not to laugh. She and Lavinia had attended Mrs. Collingswood’s Finishing School together years ago. Marigold had been a year away from graduating when Lavinia had enrolled, and in spite of their age difference, they’d become fast friends. The other girls had teased Lavinia with stories expressly designed to give her nightmares. Irene in particular had enjoyed spinning tales of her older sister’s depraved husband who ravished her in hundreds of dastardly ways, none of which Marigold believed for a moment.
“Irene Danville is now a happily married woman with three children and another on the way,” Marigold laughed. “I’m sure she’s eating her own words now.”
“Still,” Lavinia said, folding her hands soberly in her lap. “If what Mama tells me is true, a husband can be a difficult burden to bear.”
Marigold’s lips twitched as she fought not to laugh at her friend outright. “Mothers everywhere attempt to frighten their daughters into chastity because they know that if the truth got out, we’d all be like…like Lady Stanhope.”
Lavinia gasped and her eyes went wide, then she dissolved into laughter. “Don’t let Lady Stanhope hear you say that. Or Mama, for that matter.”
“Lady Stanhope would hold her head high and tell me I am absolutely right,” Marigold said, nodding for emphasis. “I intend to follow her example instead of the one put forth by the fainting Mamas of the world.”
“By taking a string of lovers?” Lavinia teased.
Gretta, the Bellowes’s maid, chose just that moment to enter the room with the tea tray. Her brow shot up and she nearly missed a step.
Marigold raised a hand, laughing. “We’re just being silly, Gretta. Don’t worry. I have no plans to take a string of lovers.”
“Yes, miss,” Gretta said, resting the tea tray on the table between the chairs where Marigold and Lavinia sat.
“Although,” Marigold added in a whisper, “I may end up with a husband very soon, depending on how Papa’s meeting goes.”
Gretta’s face lit up. “Congratulations, miss. I’m happy for you. Would you like me to pour?”
“I can do it,” Marigold said, letting Gretta know she was free to go with a nod. She turned to Lavinia and whispered, “Soon I’ll be able to do a great many things.”
Lavinia giggled so hard she snorted, which only made both of them giggle more.
“I would still be terrified out of my mind on my wedding night,” Lavinia said once her tea was poured and in hand. “The whole thing involves removing your clothes in front of a man,” she whispered, her face going red.
“What’s the trouble with that?” Marigold asked with false calm, even as the idea of undressing in front of Alex filled her with nervous tremors. She really would have to do a better job of training her emotions to be as bold and casual as her outward demeanor.
Lavinia blinked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “That means naked,” she whispered. “With someone else looking at you. Someone else male.”
“So?” Marigold shrugged, raising her teacup, and trying hard to keep it from shaking. “Turnabout is fair play. You get to see the man naked as well.”
Lavinia had just sipped her tea, and spit it out in shock. She laughed to the point of tears, and Marigold joined her.
The two of them were giggling madly, blinking back tears and incapable of rational speech, when Alex and her father appeared in the doorway. The shock nearly made Marigold drop her teacup, and if Lavinia hadn’t already set hers aside and leaned back into the chair as she laughed uproariously, Marigold was certain her friend would have tumbled to the floor. As it was, the two of them struggled to compose themselves and stand.
“Why is it that my otherwise steady daughter is always reduced to silliness when you are in her presence, young lady?” Marigold’s father demanded.
Marigold knew her father well enough to see that his frown was teasing and his eyes were filled with fondness and approval, but Lavinia began to choke as her laughter turned to horror. Marigold leapt to her side, throwing a supportive arm around her friend’s back and thumping it to make the coughing stop.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” her father said with a chuckle. “Just having a bit of fun. You know me. It’s a glorious day, after all. I’ve just palmed off Marigold on this irascible rake.”
Marigold sucked in a breath and glanced from her father to Alex. Indeed, Alex stood with his hands behind his back, an incredibly pleased smile on his face. His blue eyes sparkled as though he’d won a parliamentary debate and a prize at a county fair all in one.
“You said yes?” Marigold asked her father, her voice an octave higher than it should have been.
“I did.” Her father nodded, then gestured to Alex. “Behold, my dear. Your future husband.”
“Oh, Papa, thank you.” Marigold checked on Lavinia, and when she was sure her friend was all right, she skipped across to kiss her father’s cheek. When that was done, she turned to Alex, wanting to kiss far more than just his cheek.
“I trust you are pleased?” he asked, a thousand times more formal than she wanted him to be. He certainly contained himself far better than he had in the elevator.
“Very pleased,” Marigold answered with a cool nod, taking her cue from him.
“Your father and I discussed it,” he glanced to her father, “and he has consented to having the banns published as soon as possible so that we can be married in three weeks’ time.”
A ripple of excitement shot through Marigold. They’d discussed the night before that they should have a short engagement because of the fire between them, and it hadn’t been a joke. She should be thinking about her imminent rise in social status, should have focused on the good she could do once she had his power and influence behind her. But the only thoughts that flooded her mind were all of Irene Danville’s
stories of debauchery, and how she was but three short weeks away from learning the truth.
“I have so much to do, then,” she said all the same, drawing herself up to her full, regal height. “Preparations will need to be made. A church will need to be reserved, and a venue for the wedding breakfast and reception.” She glanced to Lavinia. “Dresses, flowers, food. There’s so much to do.”
“I will gladly help you in whatever way I can,” Alex said with a nod.
“I may need your influence to pull this off,” Marigold said, her heart beating up a storm.
“Have a seat, then, and we’ll get started,” her father said, gesturing toward the sofa. He turned and called over his shoulder, “We need more tea in here.”
They fluttered into motion, taking their seats and beginning discussions about what would, out of necessity, be a smaller event than a man in Alex’s position should have had. Not more than three minutes had passed, however, when, instead of Gretta with more tea things, a handsome man in this thirties with bright auburn hair and a simple but finely-tailored suit, who Marigold had never seen before, stepped into the room.
Alex rose instantly. “Phillips, what brings you here?”
“Urgent business, sir,” Phillips said. His look was grave, and he darted an anxious glance to Marigold and Lavinia.
Alex frowned and stepped over to him. “Mr. Phillips is my valet and man of business,” Alex explained briefly, then focused on the man. “What news?”
“It’s Turpin,” Phillips said. “He’s brought the restriction bill up for a vote.”
Alex’s expression flooded with alarm. “But it’s not on the docket for today. It hasn’t even been approved.”
“I know, sir. I believe that when he saw you were not present this morning, he figured he could throw a spanner in the works.”
Alex cursed under his breath, causing Marigold’s brow to shoot up. He rubbed a hand over his face, then turned to her with an anxious, apologetic look. “I’m sorry, my dear. I have to address this immediately.”
The fact that he’d referred to her as his dear was quickly eclipsed by the way he marched for the door. Marigold stood, following him. “Go,” she said. “I understand completely. Some things are far more important than planning a wedding.”
They paused in the doorway, and he turned to her with a smile. “I thank you for your understanding.” He hesitated, then reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”
“I’m sure you will.” Marigold smiled, squeezing his hand when he lowered it.
A moment later, he was gone. Marigold watched as he and Mr. Phillips strode down the hall. Levins stepped forward with Alex’s coat and hat, then escorted them to the door.
In the silence that followed, Marigold let out a sigh. One instant she’d been filled with joy, and the next it was almost as if nothing had happened. Everything had changed so fast, and with one snap of the door closing, it was life as usual.
“I can see you actually want to marry the man,” her father spoke behind her. Marigold turned to him, catching his slightly-pitying expression. “But Alexander Croydon will not be an easy man to be married to.”
A prick of anger followed her father’s words. “What are you talking about, Papa?” She feigned casualness once again as she walked back to her chair and took a seat, reaching for her cold tea. “Alex is a marvelous man. He is important and influential.”
Her father smiled sadly at her. “You may find that important and influential men are married to their work as much as to their wives.”
“Then I will be married to his work as well,” Marigold declared, tilting her chin up in defiance.
Her father chuckled and shook his head. “Your mother, God rest her soul, loved me dearly. But even before her illness, she came to see my work as her bitterest rival. It threw a wedge between us that I deeply regret.”
Marigold’s heart squeezed at her father’s sad declaration. She had been only seven when her mother had died and had only limited memories of her. In the over twenty years since then, she’d liked to think that her father had never remarried because he’d loved her mother dearly, even though he’d always insisted it was because the demands of his work wouldn’t have been fair to any woman married to him. A chill slithered through Marigold as those words took on new meaning.
“I’m sure everything will be fine between Alex and I,” she said with a shrug. “I’m as interested in politics as he is, and Parliament only sits for a few months out of the year. Our life together will be happy.” Her smile returned, warming her.
“There are other things that could ruin—” Her father stopped mid-sentence and pressed his lips together. He let out a breath and shook his head. “I’m being too hard on him,” he said, smiling and sitting forward to help himself to a biscuit from the glass bowl on the tea tray. “I’m quite certain that you and Mr. Croydon are a fine match, and that you will never want for anything, my dear. Don’t you agree, Lady Lavinia?”
“Oh yes. I agree entirely,” Lavinia smiled.
“This is a perfect match,” Marigold added, trying to feel pleased for herself.
One thing stuck out in what her father had said, though. Or rather, one thing didn’t stick out. He hadn’t mentioned anything about love.
Chapter 5
Three weeks wasn’t enough time to plan a wedding, but somehow, Marigold pulled it off. Alex had no idea how, not so much because he was mystified by Marigold’s organizational skills—although he was—but because in the time since he’d spoken to her father, he’d barely had time to have tea with her, let alone sit down and plan a wedding.
“Are you certain she’s going to show up and go through with it?” his younger brother, Edward, asked as the two waited at the front of the modest church in Kensington, close to the Bellowes house.
Alex wasn’t certain at all. Their whirlwind courtship seemed like a dream he’d awoken from to find parliamentary business tearing along as usual. Turpin had pulled his strings and made his deals with the devil to push back the vote on the women’s rights bill while vexing the Liberals with his own suggestions for a repressive bill. The whole thing had caused a fierce debate that needed Alex’s complete attention on a daily basis. And although he still very much wanted to marry Marigold, doubt had been creeping up on him since speaking to Percy Bellowes. Had they flown into the whole thing half-cocked? Was his proposal fueled by needs he could have satisfied at any of the higher-quality brothels in town? Would Marigold regret shackling herself to a man as committed to government as he was to her?
And those questions didn’t begin to scratch the surface of larger, more personal doubts. Did he have anything left to give a woman after Violetta? What would Marigold make of James?
James. Bloody hell, in the whirlwind of their speedy courtship and parliamentary business, he’d forgotten to tell Marigold about his son.
“That’s the face of a man about to embark on a voyage of marital bliss.” The wry comment came with a hard slap on the back from Malcolm Campbell.
Alex flinched, face heating over the fact that he’d been caught staring, horrified, into space by one of his oldest friends. “It’s no more serious than the way you looked the night you married Tessa,” he fired back.
Malcolm’s teasing grin turned into a sad smile of regret. “There were extenuating circumstances for Tessa and I, God rest her soul. You, on the other hand,” His mischievous look returned, “have no such worries. You’re marrying a beautiful heiress who, reportedly, has a good head on her shoulders. So why the frightened bunny look?”
Alex rolled his eyes and stared flatly at his friend. “So help me, Malcolm if you ever refer to me as a ‘bunny’ again….” He let his threat hang for a moment before adjusting his stance and steering the conversation away from him and his worries. “I heard about the business with Peter’s nephew.”
A bitter look entered Malcolm’s eyes. “William was murdered by Shayles, pure and simp
le.”
“Can you prove it?” Edward asked.
Malcolm clenched his jaw and rubbed a hand over his face. “Not yet. But there’s no doubt in my mind.”
“Is that why Peter isn’t here?” Edward asked.
Malcolm’s expression lightened. “No, Peter isn’t here because he’s too busy consoling his bride and beginning preparations for the new heir.”
Alex laughed at the surprise revelation. “I hope for his sake that there are no problems this time.” They all knew the heartbreak and misery Peter had gone through with his first wife’s barrenness. What surprised Alex was how quickly Peter had managed to bring about the potential joy of an heir with his new wife. His friend would be a much better father than he’d ever been to James. “I wish them all the best,” he added.
“And I wish you the best.” Malcolm thumped his back once more. “It’s about time.”
Alex crossed his arms. “Have you been talking to Katya?”
A look that was halfway between hunger and defiance flashed in his eyes. “Not if I can avoid it.”
Edward snorted and shook his head. “Only a fool runs from the one person wiser and more cunning than them.”
Malcolm glared at Edward for a moment before clearing his throat and saying, “Speaking of people who run, no word from Basil, eh?”
Alex blew out a breath at the change in conversation. “I would have sent him an invitation if I had the slightest clue where the fool has run off to.”
None of their group of friends had the slightest idea where Basil Waltham had disappeared to. He’d been missing for more than two years now, ever since embarrassing himself pitifully over a certain Miss Elizabeth Gray, now Lady Royston, and even though they were all constantly on the look-out for him, it was as if the man had dropped off the face of the earth.
“At least Armand made it,” Malcolm went on, turning and waving to their tall, serious-looking friend, seated beside Katya in a pew several rows back, engaged in deep conversation with her.
Armand was perhaps the most unique of Alex’s friends, having studied medicine and gone into practice before suddenly inheriting a title and estate, and the peerage that went with it all. He was as adept at arguing in the House of Lords as he was treating complicated illnesses, specifically in the fledgling field of gynecology. But it wasn’t Armand who caught and held Malcolm’s attention.
