by Merry Farmer
“I’ll take Master James up to bed, ma’am, sir,” Ruby announced, sniffling through her tears. “The poor thing has been through so much.”
“We’ve all been through a lot,” Alex said. He broke away from Armand and Malcolm to approach Marigold and close his arms around her.
“You should be more careful of your injuries,” she scolded him, but sagged into the solid warmth of his body all the same. He was as worn out as she was, hadn’t bathed in more than a day, and the scent of the hospital still clung to him, but Marigold couldn’t bring herself to pull away. So much could have gone wrong. She could have lost her life or worse, but by the grace of God, she was home again, with James safe, tucked in her husband’s arms. That was all that mattered to her.
“My wounds will heal,” Alex said, then let out a breath on a tired laugh. “But I will admit, they’d heal much faster in bed.”
“Up you go, then,” Armand stepped forward, tapping Alex’s shoulder to get him to release Marigold. “Your doctor prescribes sleep.”
“You’re my friend, not my doctor, Armand,” Alex said with a teasing smirk. “But I’ll do as you say. I owe you an incredible debt of gratitude.”
Armand brushed the sentiment away with a modest gesture. “Just doing my part.”
“I’ll help you to bed, sir,” Mr. Phillips stepped in, as fussy as a mother hen.
Alex exchanged a wide-eyed look with Marigold, as though he’d better do what Mr. Phillips wanted or risk his wrath. Marigold pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
“I’ll be right up,” she said as Mr. Phillips bundled Alex up the stairs. She turned to Lady Stanhope. “Will you come back in the morning? I’d like to find a way to properly thank you.”
Lady Stanhope shook her head and came forward to take Marigold’s hand. “There’s no need to thank me for anything. You made it out of that hellhole in one piece and brought James out with you. That’s all the thanks I need.”
Those words stuck with Marigold as she made her way upstairs, dressed for bed, and joined Alex, who was already mostly asleep by the time she carefully cuddled against him. They’d been beyond foolish to handle the situation the way they had. Both of them should have left finding and rescuing James to professionals, like Lord Malcolm. But what was done was done, and they were safe. It was a miracle of epic proportions.
That thought was the last Marigold had before sleep claimed her. She slept harder than she had in weeks, her body and mind completely worn out. When she awoke, Alex was still in bed beside her, though sitting up and reading a newspaper. The sunlight streaming through the window was more of the afternoon variety than morning.
“Good heavens, what time is it?” she asked, rolling to her side but not quite summoning the will to sit.
Alex lowered his newspaper to stare at the clock on the mantel across the room. “Past noon,” he said. But it wasn’t the time so much as the bitter scowl on his face that caused Marigold to sit up, instantly awake.
“What’s wrong?”
Alex sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in keeping it from you, even though you’ll be calling for blood when you see it.” He shifted the newspaper so that she could read as well as she inched to his side.
Marigold hugged his arm as she stared at the open newspaper, wondering what its pages could contain that could possibly upset her that much.
A moment later, she saw it. The headline read, “MP Hero in Rescue of Colleague’s Wife.”
“What?” she exclaimed, snatching the newspaper and leaning closer to gape at the story.
It began with, “Minister of Parliament, Daniel Turpin blasted away rumors of his scandalous character by rushing to the aid of Mrs. Alexander Croydon yesterday as she was accosted by thieves in the street.”
“That isn’t even remotely true,” Marigold nearly shouted at the newspaper. “Not even a tiny bit.”
She scanned the next few sentences of the article, which went on to praise Turpin’s heroism and suggest that his actions could finally put an end to the obviously false rumors that had plagued him through the summer. Marigold could only read half of the lies spewed across the page before she pushed the newspaper aside with a disgusted grunt.
“How can anyone believe such tripe?” she demanded.
“I have a terrible suspicion that many people will,” Alex growled. “And an even worse suspicion that Shayles planned the entire thing specifically to achieve this outcome.”
Marigold stared at him, incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me that our James was kidnapped and we were lured into the trap of rescuing him specifically so that that devil of a lord could orchestrate favorable press for his crony?”
Alex sighed, folding the newspaper and tossing it aside. “The one ray of sunshine in this debacle is that not all of the newspapers agree. A few question the incident. Shayles’s scheme might not have worked the way he must have hoped it would. Only an election will tell.”
He circled his arm around Marigold and pulling her against his good side. He winced and moved stiffly, but Marigold was grateful to be able to snuggle against him, angry as she was.
“I’m not saying that Shayles wouldn’t have hurt James to punish me, if given half the chance,” Alex began. “But he’s a great deal smarter than the average criminal. And murder is not his forte.” He paused, his expression hardening as though he were thinking about what Lord Shayles’s forte was.
“I was inside that house,” Marigold told him in a hushed voice. She swallowed. “I saw things I wish I hadn’t. That’s an evil place, and anyone involved with it is an evil man.”
Alex hugged her closer. “I wish I could disagree with you.”
“Can’t anyone do anything about it?” She turned pleading eyes to him.
“Malcolm has been trying for years,” Alex said. “Katya as well. Though if you ask me, they could do a lot more if they’d work together to bring Shayles down instead of bickering with each other.”
Marigold couldn’t have agreed with him more, but she rushed on with, “What about the police? Don’t they care what kind of a place that is?”
Alex blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Shayles pays them to look the other way. Pays them quite a bit.”
“Then the government should do something,” Marigold argued.
“My darling, there’s nothing we can do.” He turned to her, brushing a hand over her heated cheek. “Not until Shayles is caught breaking a law.”
“But he is flagrantly defying every law of God and man that I can think of.”
“I know, I know, but no one can prove it. Yet.” He kissed her forehead. “But we will, my love. We most certainly will.”
Marigold huffed, balling her body against Alex’s side in frustration. After everything they had been through, the least they could be rewarded with was for bad men to be brought to justice and for good to prevail. But it seemed that they would have to wait a bit longer for their ultimate victory.
“Here,” Alex said, reaching for the paper once more. “You might be interested in this as well.”
He turned a few pages, then lay the paper flat, pointing to a small article in the middle of one page. Scowling, Marigold read the dry headline, “Political Climate Shifts in Signal of Sea Change”.
At first, there was nothing that would have even remotely assuaged her disappointment or given her any faith in the world. It was simply a dry political article rehashing everything the Liberals had tried to do in the last parliamentary session and all the ways they had been defeated by the opposition. But halfway through the article, Marigold’s brow inched up.
“An election?” She turned to Alex. “They think there’s going to be an election next year?”
Alex hummed, then said, “Read on.”
Marigold turned back to the article. A few sentences on, Turpin was mentioned by name. The author of the article was certain Turpin and his cronies would lose their seats, as the world was changing but they refused to c
hange with it.
She finished the article and let out an impatient breath. “This is the least satisfying bit of good news I’ve heard in a long time,” she grumbled.
To her surprise, Alex laughed and hugged her. “It means that, even though Turpin somehow managed to come out of the trouble he caused smelling like a rose, his days are numbered.”
Marigold frowned, but Alex’s smile was making it hard for her to stay angry. “I still don’t feel satisfied.”
Alex opened his mouth to reply, but jerked to a stop. A wry grin played across his lips. “Putting aside the fact that I cannot help but reply to that statement by saying as soon as my injuries have fully healed, I will make certain that you are utterly and completely satisfied in every way—” Marigold blushed and filled with heat and anticipation. “—we will have another chance to nab Turpin, and Shayles. I’m certain of it.”
The determination in his expression and the promise in his eyes was enough to leave Marigold prickling with restless energy, and anxious for her husband to recover completely from their misadventures as soon as possible.
“We’ll continue to fight him, and we’ll win,” she said.
“We will.”
She risked further injury—or worse, fanning flames that he wasn’t ready to tackle—by surging toward him and kissing him soundly. Sure enough, Alex pivoted to take her more fully into his arms, returning her kiss with a potency of emotion that left Marigold aching to make love to him.
They were spared the temptation of ignoring injuries and doctor’s orders as their bedroom door clicked open. James rushed into the room, leaping onto the bed, as Ruby chased after him.
“No, no, Master James,” she scolded, red-faced. “We knock first.”
“Mari!” James shouted. “Macky!” The bed bounced and jostled as James crawled across to throw himself into Marigold’s arms.
Alex grimaced with pain, but that grimace turned into a smile as soon as James stopped wriggling. Whatever pain he was in, he ignored it to draw his son carefully into his arms, hugging him as though the threat against him were still present.
“Good morning, my darling boy,” he said, kissing James’s head.
Marigold’s heart squeezed in her chest, and she followed Alex’s lead, kissing James’s head and face. Pure joy filled her heart. As horrific as the last two days had been, they were over. James was there with them, perhaps a little worse for wear, but as happy as they were to be together.
“Macky, we go home now?” James asked, crouching in the snug space between Marigold and Alex.
Alex glanced to Marigold with a smile that felt like the sun shining through clouds at the end of the storm. “I think that sounds like a grand idea.”
“Won’t you be needed in London?” Marigold asked, running her fingers through James’s hair.
Alex shook his head. “Not until Parliament reconvenes this winter. And even if I was needed,” he went on, “I need to be with my family right now. At Winterberry Park.”
“Really?” Marigold grinned at him, arching a brow.
Alex leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. “It suddenly occurs to me that there are things in this world more important than politics.”
Marigold settled into his side, drawing James fully into her arms. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Epilogue
Christmas in Wiltshire was far more beautiful than Marigold ever could have dreamed of. Winterberry Park was decorated from top to bottom with holly, ivy, silver bells, and the bright red berries that gave the estate its name. A Christmas tree that reached up to the ceiling took up one entire corner of the front drawing room, where Marigold, Alex, James, and their guests were gathered to celebrate the season. Its candles burned cheerfully, something Marigold could enjoy much more easily with two footmen keeping close watch from either side to make sure none of the branches caught fire.
“Surely there must be a safer way to illuminate trees,” she said to Alex, hugging his arm as they stood side by side, watching James playing with the new toys Father Christmas had brought him and, miraculously, sharing them with the village children who had been invited for tea that afternoon.
“With all the modern inventions sweeping the land, someone will likely come up with something electric soon,” Alex commented.
“I’m sure Mr. Edison over in America will come up with something,” Lady Stanhope commented as she joined Marigold and Alex in admiring the tree. “That man is a marvel.”
“Perhaps you should invite him for a visit, Mama.” Lady Stanhope’s son, Lord Rupert Stanhope, grinned at his mother, then turned a conspiratorial grin to Marigold. “Mama does enjoy entertaining famous and fascinating people at my house while I’m away at university.”
“What this incorrigible scamp means to say is that the doors of Briarcroft Abbey will always be open to those who can provide scintillating conversation,” Lady Stanhope said, smacking her son’s arm.
Lord Rupert made a show of rubbing his arm with a pitiful expression, but he couldn’t hold it. He was back to grinning at his mother in adoration within seconds. She winked at him with all the pride a mother could manage. Marigold had to raise a hand to her mouth to hide her giggle at the exchange.
Even more so when Bianca and Natalia Stanhope joined their group, and fifteen-year-old Natalia said with a dramatic grimace, “Ugh, Mother, are you being embarrassing again?”
“Of course, my dear,” Lady Stanhope told her with a smile. “It’s what I do whenever you join me in public.” To Marigold, she said, “It’s our family tradition, you know. I simply couldn’t go anywhere without embarrassing my children to death.”
Natalia made an undignified noise and looked away. She was the spitting image of her mother, especially when put out, but Marigold didn’t suppose the young woman would want to hear that.
“You should be grateful that Mama dragged you out in public at all,” Rupert said. “Seeing as neither of you two are out as of yet.”
“I will be next season,” Bianca said. “And I plan to make a sensation.”
“I’m certain you will,” Marigold told her. Bianca had her mother’s dark hair and striking blue eyes, but her features were softer and more feminine. She was on the cusp of being a dazzling woman. Lady Stanhope would have her hands full in no time.
“I’m not sure if I should join this group to improve my Christmas spirits or break it up as a threat to our nation,” Lord Malcolm said as he approached the group. A young woman with strawberry blonde hair who didn’t look much older than Bianca or Natalia held his arm, bright spots of pink on her cheeks. She had Lord Malcolm’s expressive eyes and nose, but her mouth was wider, and her lips fuller.
Natalia made another undignified sound, twice as loud as the last one, and shook off her sister’s arm. She deliberately turned her nose up at Lord Malcolm, then marched off, crossing the room to join Edward and his friends.
“Like mother, like daughter,” Lord Malcolm murmured, sending Lady Stanhope a sly look.
“Of course not.” Lady Stanhope met his look with a grin Marigold was certain was intended to inflame. Though whether she was inflaming his temper or his sensual side was unclear. It was probably both. “I have learned to be far subtler with my disdain.”
“No you haven’t,” Lord Malcolm grumbled, crossing his arms.
“Papa,” the young woman on Lord Malcolm’s arm scolded him under her breath. She glanced bashfully toward Lord Rupert. “I beg your pardon.”
Lady Stanhope arched an eyebrow at Lord Malcolm, but kept her lips pressed tightly shut. She darted a glance to her children, giving Marigold the impression that if they hadn’t been standing there, the fireworks display would have continued. She had the feeling that enough family drama was on display in front of her to make the stages of the West End jealous.
“Lord Malcolm,” she said, unable to keep the grin from her face as she performed her duties as hostess and brokered peace. “Is this the daughter I’ve heard so much about?”
> Lord Malcolm sent Lady Stanhope one last look before smiling at his daughter and presenting her to Marigold. “It is indeed. May I present Lady Cecelia Campbell. Cece, this is Mrs. Croydon.”
“I’ve heard ever so much about you,” the young woman said, bobbing a shy curtsy.
It was a complete shock for Marigold to discover that a man of Lord Malcolm’s forcefulness had a daughter who was obviously shy. Then again, perhaps having so much energy around all the time in the form of a parent had left her with little to say. All the same, Marigold held out her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our home.”
“It’s a shame that we couldn’t have the whole gang here for the holidays,” Lord Malcolm went on.
“What gang?” Lord Rupert asked.
“I’m sure he means the group of us who were chased out of England with pitchforks and torches to go fight in the Crimean when we were your age,” Alex answered.
“Oh, Mama’s friends?” Lord Rupert asked.
“Don’t let Natalia hear you call them that,” Bianca laughed under her breath.
“They all were, they all are my friends,” Lady Stanhope. She smirked at Lord Malcolm. “Most of them, at any rate.”
Marigold had to stifle another laugh. Poor Lady Campbell looked embarrassed, but Lord Rupert sent her a reassuring smile. So reassuring, in fact, that Marigold was tempted to laugh harder. She wondered if Lady Stanhope and Lord Malcolm were aware of the attraction between their children.
“Peter won’t leave Mariah’s side while she’s expecting,” Alex said with far more seriousness than anyone else was displaying. “And Basil is, of course, still missing.”
“And devil take him,” Lord Malcolm grumbled, suddenly gruff.
