A Marquess for Marigold: The Blooming Brides Book 2

by St. Clair, Ellie

  She had taken a seat behind the relative safety of the pianoforte while Violet hid in the other corner of the stage. Iris had no qualms about performing and was standing in between her two sisters, who were sitting next to her like bookends, as far from the center as possible.

  “Welcome, gentlemen, to The Wild Rose Inn,” Iris said now, a smile covering her face. Marigold caught Jacob’s eye, and he gave her a reassuring nod.

  “Tonight we are going to begin with a special song just for you — The Soldier’s Adieu.”

  Then, with a flourishing wave of her hands, Iris bid Marigold start playing, which she did, though rather haltingly — Marigold was proficient but not overly skilled on the piano, for she had always been working or interested in many other pursuits besides practicing music.

  Iris, however, had a beautiful voice, one that hauntingly filled the small room, giving even Marigold shivers, gooseflesh rising on her arms as her sister sang.

  When the song came to a close, Iris introduced another, one that this time Marigold and Violet had to provide harmonies for, which they did, though much more quietly than their sister.

  “Now, I have a treat for you,” Iris said, and Marigold wondered just what else she could have in store. “My sister, Marigold, will play and sing for you a special song that she had been singing since as long as I can remember. When First Sweet Love. Marigold?”

  Then she clapped her hands as she strode over to a nearby chair and sat down, while all eyes turned to Marigold, who sat there, swallowing hard. What was wrong with Iris? She was well aware that Marigold had no wish to perform at all, let alone a solo.

  Her hands came upon the keys, her fingers trembling. She began to play a few notes, but when the time came for her to join her voice with the piano, she froze. She cleared her throat, counted to three, then began again. This time she was able to meet the music, though her voice came across thin and quiet.

  “Louder!” came a call from the back of the room, and Marigold nearly stopped entirely at the words. Louder? How could she… she fought the urge to stand up and flee from the room, which she wanted to more than any other sensation she thought she had ever had in her entire life. Damn Iris. She—

  Just as she thought tears were going to begin trickling down her face, Marigold felt a hand on her back and a figure beside her. And suddenly Jacob was there, sitting next to her, his presence like a blanket of safety wrapping around her. Then he did the last thing she would have ever expected of him. His big hands came next to hers on the keyboard, and he began to play the notes an octave above her, matching what she played note for note. And then his voice joined hers, its strong, smooth, velvety baritone beautiful in its own right while also highlighting any good there was to hers.

  She looked up at him, astonished, but he kept his eyes down on the keys as he played. Never before had Marigold been so grateful for the actions of another, so astonished, and so… in love.

  No. She couldn’t love him. That would be folly. When Daisy had fallen in love with her duke, Marigold had been astonished, yet pleasantly surprised at how well it had all worked for them. But in this case, with the marquess, it could never be. For even if he opened up his mind to be with her, he would also have to open his heart — which he had made all too clear he was not yet prepared to do, and likely never would.

  She closed her eyes for a second, but then her fingers skipped one of the keys, and she forced herself to open them and concentrate — she would have much more time to ruminate on these feelings that had decided to make themselves known, despite how much she opposed their arrival.

  Marigold looked at Jacob out of the side of her eye, and he gave her the briefest of nods, encouragement that her voice, her playing was just fine, and it bolstered her confidence. When they finally finished the song that seemed to stretch interminably long, he stood from the piano bench and held his hands toward her, suggesting that she should take a bow, although she certainly did not feel deserving of any applause.

  Iris returned to the stage as Jacob left it, and Marigold ensured with her glare that her sister understood just how displeased she was with what she had forced Marigold to do.

  “How lovely is our Marigold?” Iris asked the other gentlemen before her, men that Marigold couldn’t even turn to look at. “And Lord Dorchester, you certainly have hidden talents, do you not?”

  Iris smiled at Marigold as if saying, “See, that wasn’t so bad?” Although, in fact, Marigold had much different feelings on the matter.

  Thankfully there wasn’t much time left in the musicale, and at the very least, Iris knew enough not to put Violet on the spot, for Violet would likely have run from the room in a panic were she told she had to perform by herself.

  The musicale, if it could be called such a thing, finished to a decent amount of applause, although Marigold realized that most of these men had likely lacked any sort of female company for a good amount of time. The sisters began filing out of the room, but Marigold stopped when she saw Jacob leaning against the doorframe near the exit.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, looking at his chest at first, before tilting her head to meet his eyes. “You saved me.”

  “It was nothing,” he said with a shrug.

  “I didn’t realize you were musical,” she said, amazed at the layers that made up this man.

  “My mother loved music,” he said softly, obviously not wanting to discuss this with the rest of the soldiers listening in. “She shared it with her children, and it’s always remained with me, although I haven’t had much opportunity to partake in it as of late.”

  “You should sing and play more often,” she said with a gentle smile. “The pianoforte is, of course, available to you whenever you so wish it.”

  “We shall see,” he said cryptically, and Marigold took that as a signal that it was time for her to leave. She nodded at him and departed, though her heart remained with him in the room, as much as she attempted to tug it along with her.

  * * *

  Jacob himself could hardly believe that he had just taken part in a musicale. Had someone told him that he would be participating in such a thing even just a couple of months ago, he would have laughed bitterly at them.

  But he had been sitting there, at the back of the room, witnessing the panic crossing Marigold’s face when her sister left her there on her own, and he was compelled to be there in order to help her, instead of letting her sit and suffer, as she was clearly doing.

  Marigold had a pretty voice, one that was light, airy, and drifted over the room and into one’s very soul. She obviously had no passion for the music — at least, not when it was shared with a roomful of strangers.

  He had been shocked, however, how much stronger her voice had become when it joined with his, how her confidence had risen. Never before had he any inkling she lacked confidence, but it was obvious that in this case, she had required a bit of assistance. And he had been more than happy to provide it. He had given up on the thought of making others happy. Jacob had assumed that he wasn’t good for much anymore, except when it came to putting his life on the line for others, as he had in warfare.

  But in this instance, it had warmed his soul to be there for her, to know that he could still do some good in this world.

  Perhaps it felt too good. Over the past few weeks, he had enjoyed his time with Marigold — so much so that he was forgetting himself. He had allowed himself to enter this world in Southwold at The Wild Rose Inn, to enjoy stolen moments on the beach or in the marsh, and forget that another world awaited him — a world of responsibility to his charges and empty estates that were only growing colder and lonelier the longer he remained away.

  At some point in time, he would have to return to them, leaving Marigold and this escape. The damn physician had been right — he had needed this time. He was breathing better than ever before, but it was more than a physical healing. His soul was beginning to heal, though that left him just as uneasy as it did gladdened. For then, what did the future h
old if it was not mourning the woman he had loved? He had stirrings toward Marigold, that was certain, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to actually feel anything toward her, for that would only leave him in the same precarious position as he had been in before — open to the risk of it all falling down again, leaving him as bereft as he had been when his wife died.

  That, he wouldn’t allow to happen once more.

  It all left Jacob with the question of just what to do next, and when he was supposed to make such a move. As much as he thoroughly enjoyed the life here in Southwold, he was also aware that he couldn’t stay here forever.

  It was, perhaps, providential then, that a letter arrived for him in the post the next day.

  He opened it in the sitting room, where he was looking out the window, ignoring many of the other soldiers who were playing a game of whist.

  He quickly recognized the crest of his own estate, and figured it must be from a steward, perhaps with one issue or another — they often sent him a question when they could not make a decision themselves.

  Jacob opened it to find that it was from his man-of-business, but instead of one issue, it had a list of items to which he must attend. It was a line on the bottom that caught his eye.

  There are many matters that are requiring attention, and the tenants are becoming rather anxious to bring such items before you. I am doing all I can to see to them, but if I was able to provide them with a date in which you might return, this will allow them some confidence that all shall be firmly resolved in due time.

  Jacob sighed. Even his man-of-business was practically summoning him to return. Which he should. He had to. He had been neglecting his estates. He had been distracted by Marigold and by how she made him feel. He had no real desire to return, but it seemed he was beginning to lack the choice as to whether or not he would. The question was — what was he going to do about Marigold?

  13

  “Marigold.”

  Jacob had been waiting until the end-day meal to approach her, knowing that she would be busy until that time. But he had to have this conversation with her before he lost any courage to do so.

  “Can we speak?”

  She looked at him sharply, and he was aware of just how serious his words had sounded. She simply nodded and asked him if he would wait for an hour and then meet her on the beach. He agreed and spent the next hour trying to determine just exactly what he was going to say to her.

  He stood now, looking out on the ocean, which today was being moved by just enough breeze for the waves to lap softly on the beach, causing a peaceful rhythm to flood through him, somewhat easing the discord that had filled him since he had received that letter. All his man-of-business’ words had truly done was, however, bring to surface what he had already known to be the truth.

  Jacob’s instincts, honed from battle, alerted him to a presence, and he turned when he sensed Marigold approaching from behind him. She was wearing a cream muslin dress, which now was beautifully clinging to what he knew would be long, lean legs underneath.

  His eyes traveled up her person, coming to a stop on her fine cheekbones, above which her voluminous deep-blue eyes stared at him with anticipation. Her hair glinted red in the setting sun, and she reminded him of a sea nymph with the way she bewitched him with just one look.

  Marigold stopped in front of him, tilting her head ever so slightly, a sad smile on her face.

  “You’re leaving,” she stated, and he folded his arms behind his back as he looked down at her. She seemed so small, so sad, that he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, but he knew to do so could be his own undoing, for then he wouldn’t be able to ever let her go.

  “I have to,” he said stoically. “I knew I must eventually, of course, but I received correspondence today that tells me there are matters which I must address. I have done what I can through my stewards, but it is time that I see to my responsibilities myself.”

  “I understand,” she said, though her eyes dropped from his to gaze out beyond his shoulder at the sea behind him. “I will certainly miss you.”

  Were her eyes filling with tears? Jacob hoped not, for he had no idea how he was supposed to handle that.

  “Marigold…”

  “It’s fine,” she said, with what he could tell was a forced smile on her face. “We had our fun, did we not?

  “I have come to… to care about you,” he said, feeling a lump forming in his own throat as he said the words, realizing as he did so how much truth was within them. “You have helped me see that life can be worthwhile again, despite all that I have lost.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, “because I most certainly agree.”

  As though he had been awaiting his cue, Clover then came bounding out of the inn and through the sand toward them.

  “Clover will certainly miss you,” Marigold said, and now a tear really did fall from her eye, but this time, knowing it was for the dog, he didn’t feel quite as upset — although she was right. He would likely miss her little dog as much as the dog might miss him.

  “Throw a stick for him now and then, and he’ll be happy enough,” he murmured. “In fact, in time he’ll forget I was even here.”

  “I don’t think he will ever forget it,” she said, and then he had a feeling that she was not speaking so much of the dog, but of herself — though what was he supposed to do about that?

  “When will you leave?” she asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

  “A couple of days, I suppose.”

  “I see.”

  “Marigold, I…” he stepped toward her, not knowing what he was supposed to say, only knowing that he could no longer keep this distance between them. He reached his hands up, cupping her cheeks, leaning in so that their faces were nearly touching. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said, his words emerging before he even had time to think of what he was saying.

  She looked up at him now, raising one hand and stroking his cheek with her soft fingertips.

  “It sounds like you don’t have much choice.”

  Before he could say anything else, she stood on her toes and brushed her lips against his, so softly that he nearly didn’t feel it. He rested his forehead against hers, not knowing what else to say or what else to do. This was his own fault. He had known from the start that he should have kept distance between the two of them, but like a fool, he had allowed himself to become close to her, and now they were both going to have to suffer the consequences.

  “I know what you are thinking,” she said as she eased away from him, her fingers now rising and rubbing the lines on his forehead as though she could erase his worries. “That you would prefer there was no pain upon our separation. But as you said, Jacob, you have learned to live again. And, unfortunately, with life comes a bit of pain. I hope you never again have to go through anything similar to the emotions of losing your wife, but, from time to time, there will be moments which are more difficult than others. Like now.”

  She paused, looking back to the inn.

  “I believe I shall return. But please, whatever you do — do not leave without saying goodbye?”

  He nodded. That was one promise he supposed he could make.

  * * *

  Marigold kept her composure until she reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the family’s bedrooms. Despite the fact that he had clearly desired to stay on the beach with Jacob in the hopes of a session of stick throwing, Clover had seemed to sense her despondency for he had followed her back inside and now bounded up the stairs ahead of her. Marigold took the stairs nearly as quickly so that she could reach the solitude of her room before she threw herself on the bed and allowed the tears to fall.

  She had known he was going to leave, but why, oh why, did it have to be now — just when she had discovered the depth of her feelings toward him?

  * * *

  Jacob wasn’t sure how long he stood on the beach after Marigold had returned inside, and simply watched the waves. That had been much more difficult t
han he had thought it would be — not so much on the part of Marigold, for she had answered with the same practical stoicism and gentleness that he was used to from her.

  No, he was surprised at how difficult it had been for him to say the words, to watch her turn around and walk away from him. It wouldn’t be the last time they spoke, for it would take some time for him to arrange transport home and gather his belongings, but it would, perhaps, be their last time alone together.

  Jacob thought of his life back at home at his estates, then compared it to the life he had been living here at The Wild Rose Inn over the past couple of months. The contrast was shocking. His Cambridge estate was a stunning masterpiece, he knew, yet was primarily empty corridors and rooms filled with beauty and items his family had collected over the years, now seen and touched by very few people.

  He remembered the days prior to his departure for the war, when the servants would walk silently around him, avoiding him, and no one came to visit because he would practically throw them out on their arse.

  It had been a lonely existence. One that he thought he would welcome upon his return, but now… now he wasn’t so sure.

  He would, at least, have the dogs. He was beginning to think on them with fondness once more instead of the trepidation he had when he first arrived here. He supposed he had been worried about what returning and seeing them would cause him to feel, whether all of the melancholy of his wife’s death would come rushing back with the constant reminder of seeing them every day.

  But now, after spending time with Clover and with Marigold, he was actually looking forward to their reunion. They had been his wife’s dogs, true to her heart, but he loved them just as well.