A tear trickled down the old lady’s cheek. “I was meant to protect you. Forgive me.”
The woman placed a hand on Marigold’s face. Her fingers and palm were not as rough and weathered as she would have suspected from her outer garments.
“How did you know my mother?” Marigold asked, staring into the woman’s eyes and feeling as though she had seen them before.
“I am your godmother. Your mother was my niece, the illegitimate daughter of my brother-in-law.”
“Oh,” Marigold looked to her hands. Perhaps her mother’s illegitimacy is why her cousins disliked her so much.
“Your cousin is your legal guardian and would not let me near you, but I have maintained a watchful eye.”
“Dottie?”
“Yes. And others.” The woman stood and threw her arms around Marigold. “Oh, my dearest. You have matured into a beautiful woman with a kind heart.”
Tears pricked Marigold’s eyes. She had a family. She had never been alone. “Will you tell me who you are?”
The woman stiffened and pulled back. “I am the Dowager Duchess of Inverness, but please call me Helen.” She grabbed Marigold’s hand. “Now, call Becky and Ruth down. We will need their assistance.”
“Ma’am—” Marigold scanned the woman’s cloak. “Are you feeling well? I do not think—”
“Oh, never mind the disguise.”
The duchess removed the garment, revealing a beautiful gown of garnet red cashmere with a bodice of velvet trimmed with gold and swans down. Marigold could not believe her eyes. “You—you really are the duchess.”
“Well, of course, I am.” The woman laughed. “I should hope others are not going around claiming my title and name. Now, come along.”
Helen glanced around the kitchen before seeing a bell pull. Having alerted the servants, she then opened the kitchen door and called out. If Marigold had any more doubts that the woman was a duchess, they vanished when the servant she met the other day stepped inside carrying boxes.
“Your Grace—”
She waved a finger. “Now, we decided on Helen.”
“Please, tell me more about my mother,” Marigold pleaded. “Anything you can tell me, at all.”
Helen sighed. “We do not have much time. Your grandfather was the younger brother to my husband, the duke. My husband would not countenance his brother’s marriage to your grandmother as she had no fortune or rank. When they found out your mother was expected, they made plans to move to America. Unfortunately, he died before they could set sail and so your grandmother, Eleanor St. Andrews, carried on without him. Once she arrived in America, she married to give her baby legitimacy. The child was christened as Mary Burns. Eleanor wrote to me often about Mary. After Mary married your father, they decided to visit Scotland and meet the family. I was overjoyed to get to know Mary at last. You made their happiness complete.”
Marigold trembled to be told so much about her family. She had always felt unloved and unwanted. Hearing that she had family that cared for her caused tears to well.
“Now, no more tears.” Helen pressed a handkerchief into Marigold’s hands. “We will talk more later. I hope to have good news for you soon. However, I have wanted to spoil you for your entire life, and I will this night.” Footsteps at the back stairs made her smile. “Here are the ladies.”
“Marigold, child, is anything wrong?” Dottie called before the door fully opened. She, Becky, and Ruth stumbled into the kitchen.
“Your Grace,” Dottie gasped and dropped an awkward curtsy, mimicked by the maids.
“None of that.” Helen waved them off. “We do not have much time to get Marigold to my grandson’s ball. He is very impatient.”
“Ma’am…” Marigold looked down at her ragged clothing. “My gown…”
“Oh, never mind that. I brought one.” She motioned for the servant to come forward. “With your coloring, I think blue.”
The servant set aside several boxes and Helen opened one. “I did not know what size you would be so this is the best I could do.”
Helen lifted out a blue satin slip gown with full, short sleeves and trimmed with white lace. It was the most beautiful gown Marigold had ever seen. She reached to touch it and then pulled back.
“Go on, my dear,” Helen said.
The only time Marigold had ever touched such fine fabric was on washing day. To imagine wearing such a gown was more than she could bear.
Helen opened a second box and held up another gown. It was styled as a long robe of white crepe designed in the Polish style, also trimmed with white lace. Designed to fit over the blue gown, it clasped in front with satin beads. “Wear this with it.”
The final box contained a warm but fashionable pelisse to protect against the winter air.
“Hurry, lass!” Dottie shooed Marigold into the parlor along with Becky and Ruth.
“I cannot believe this,” Marigold said as she slipped the beautiful, satin fabric over her head.
“You deserve this,” Becky said. “Enjoy yourself and pay attention to everything so you may tell us all about it.”
Ruth nodded as she clasped accompanying necklaces around Marigold’s neck. Next, she twisted Marigold’s hair into a fashionable style and pinned it in place. Becky tied the ribbons of the prettiest pair of blue satin slippers around her ankles. Finally, Helen produced the fashionable pelisse to keep Marigold warm in her new attire.
Thanking her friends as she kissed them goodbye, Marigold followed Helen to the carriage. For some time, they rode toward the Duke’s house in silence.
“Beware,” Helen said. “You cannot stay long. Be certain you are home and changed to avoid arousing suspicion. The carriage will be ready to take you home. I suggest you use your time wisely.”
Marigold nodded. “I can never thank you enough for this.”
“Nonsense, my girl. I wish I could have done this for you all along. Now, affix your mask.” Helen passed a proper one to her. “I will have to enter through another door, so it seems I never left.”
The carriage arrived at the house, and a footman handed Marigold out and escorted her to the door. He took the beautiful pelisse Helen had given her, and she approached the ballroom. Think of the adventure she told herself, knowing Douglas would encourage her to do so.
Two footmen opened the doors, and immediately Marigold was bombarded with light and sound. Thousands of candles lit the ballroom, brighter than anything she had seen at home during the night. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the flames, and crystal chandeliers glittered from the ceiling. The highly polished white marble floor gleamed beneath Marigold’s slippers. There must be hundreds of people packed into the otherwise spacious ballroom. Small groups here and there talked and held champagne flutes. Over their shoulders, Marigold could make out dancers and an orchestra. She stood rooted in place. Where should she go? What should she do?
“Here you are, dear,” Helen said between breaths. She must have nearly run to reach the ballroom before Marigold. “Let me introduce you to some friends.”
They approached a group of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen, and Marigold’s knees trembled. Would they see through her mask and facade?
“This is a visiting cousin, Ella St. Andrews,” Helen introduced her to three countesses and earls.
Marigold heard steps approach from behind.
“Grandmama, I should like to meet your new friend.”
The voice sounded much like Douglas’s, but it could not be…
“Certainly!” Helen took her hand.
Marigold turned to face the newcomer. His size and broad shoulders matched Douglas’s, but he wore a mask.
“This is a cousin, Ella St. Andrews. Ella, meet my grandson, the Duke of Inverness.”
After the customary bow and curtsy, the Duke smiled down at Marigold. “Miss St. Andrews, I would very much like to have the honor of dancing with you. Are you available for the next?”
Marigold wanted to run, to flee from this room with all its strangeness. She h
ad only wanted to come in order to see Douglas, and now she understood it would be impossible to find him. Even if she could, she was now dressed to blend in with the gentry and would be conspicuous if she slipped away. Helen pinched her arm.
“Yes, your Grace,” Marigold squeaked, and silently thanked Augusta for her rushed dance lessons.
As she approached the dance floor on the Duke’s arm, a hush fell over the room, and every eye was drawn to them.
“Why are they so quiet, Your Grace?”
He nodded at the orchestra leader, who struck up a waltz. Marigold sighed. While considered scandalous by some, the waltz had considerably fewer steps to remember and a slower beat. If she did not wish to step on the Duke’s toes, a waltz was the safest choice.
“Because I have rarely danced tonight and because, like me, they find you beautiful.”
Marigold blushed. “Please, Your Grace. No compliments, I feel awkward enough.”
“Why is that?”
“I do not like to be made a spectacle.”
“And dancing makes you one?”
The Duke led her through a turn, and she had to catch her breath before replying. “It is when no one else dances. They still stare.”
“Do you regret my asking you to dance?”
He appeared genuinely concerned.
“No,” Marigold answered truthfully. As much as she knew she loved Douglas, she had always wanted to experience a dance, and it was not disloyal to do so. Realizing what she had just admitted to herself nearly brought her to a halt.
“Are you well? Is something wrong?” The Duke searched her face, his kind, blue eyes full of concern.
“Forgive me,” Marigold whispered. “I am well. It has been a long day and...and I did not expect to come.”
“Indeed?” His Grace smiled. “What had you expected to do instead?”
She could not confess to him she was a scullery maid. It was possible he knew Helen had brought her, but it was equally plausible he did not, and would toss her aside on the dance floor. Marigold thought quickly. “I spend a great deal of time tending to my cousins and reading.”
He led them through another turn. “What are you reading now?”
Marigold blushed. “Perhaps I should not say.”
“Would you lie to a duke?”
Marigold chuckled, surprised at how comfortable she felt with him. If Helen truly meant to be a sponsor to her, she hoped to meet the Duke on occasion. “Are you demanding a lady tell her secrets?”
“Touché.” He grinned. “If I were to miss a ball to read, it must be for some scintillating adventure.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, then leaned in to whisper, “Don Quixote?”
Marigold gasped as the music came to an end. How had he known? Perhaps he did know her true identity, and he had purchased the books for Douglas. The Duke brought her back to Helen’s side.
“I greatly enjoyed our dance, Miss St. Andrews.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it. Immediately, chatter filled the room.
“As did I, Your Grace.” Marigold curtsied.
“You looked absolutely splendid out there,” Helen said. “Such a striking couple you made. Now, Douglas, I believe your next set is with Lady Adeline.”
When Helen said his name, Marigold’s eyes leapt to the Duke’s. He was watching her. While she told herself Douglas was a common Scottish name, too much fit to be a coincidence. His eyes, his frame, his voice, his demeanor—all matched her Douglas. The Duke knew the books she read and how to put her at ease. Douglas Randolph never seemed to work but had access to riches.
Oh no. No, this was awful. Marigold’s heart slammed into her chest and heat crept over her body followed by a cold wave that made her feel faint. She remained stationary, but the room spun. He was the Duke. And he could have nothing to do with a scullery maid. Nothing honorable, that is, and no matter how much she loved him, she would never be his mistress.
Was Helen truly her godmother or was this all a ruse? Dress up the scullery maid and bring her to the house before taking her upstairs for the night. Or would she even be given that much consideration? Probably a secluded room or closet would serve just as well.
Breathing fast, the room threatened to spin her out of control. Douglas—no, the Duke of Inverness—continued to stare at her. He had nothing to say for himself and seemed immune to her suffering. Around her, others began to notice. “Forgive me, I am unwell,” she murmured, then bolted from the room.
***
Douglas took a step forward to chase after Marigold. This was not how he wanted her to learn about his title.
“Inverness.” Sir Stirling approached. “One of Chastity’s sisters saw her home. Who was that you danced with?” Other guests took a step closer, and Sir Stirling lowered his voice. “It is not fair if you are working on your end of the bet, and yet Miss Kincaid did not arrive. I brought three gentlemen for her to meet.”
“Who?” Douglas demanded as jealousy rose.
Sir Stirling lifted his chin in the direction of a small group of men a few feet away. Douglas had met them earlier. Mere misters from middling origins and estates. Two he knew by reputation: one, a gamester; the other treated his mistress like a princess. The third appeared sickly. Was this the best Sir Stirling could muster? Marigold deserved so much more.
She deserved better than him, too, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. Douglas shrugged off Sir Stirling’s hand and stalked after Marigold.
“Douglas!” his grandmother called and hurried after him. “You have forgotten your set.”
He glared at her. He wanted to be angry with her and yet thank her at the same time. Did she suspect his feelings for the lass? How did she even know Marigold? Was this all a plot to make Marigold seem inferior? If so, he could not regret his grandmother’s actions, for it brought him an untold joy to see Marigold’s eyes light up during their dance as she took in their surroundings.
“I intend to calm your guest,” he answered.
Grandmama lowered her voice, “She had to leave soon, anyway.”
“Then I will call for a carriage.” Seeing his grandmother’s face, he sighed. “You gave her yours.”
“Well, if you would act like a proper gentleman and have your own—”
Douglas raised a brow. “I will act like a proper gentleman when I have a proper wife. I need to see Marigold now.” He motioned to Sir Stirling.
Grandmother whispered, “Marigold will not make you a proper wife.”
“Then we will be improper together.”
“Yes?” Sir Stirling said, after pushing through the crush.
“Is your carriage still ready?”
“I saw no reason to send it back when I would need it soon enough.”
“Good. May I use it?”
“And leave your own ball?” Grandmother gasped.
“Why not? I believe you did, madam.”
Grandmama blushed a little but smiled.
“Come, follow me,” Sir Stirling said and motioned toward the foyer.
In a matter of minutes, Douglas was being jostled in Stirling’s carriage. The coachman pulled up to the Kincaid’s front door, but he walked to the back. Creeping open the kitchen door, he peeked inside.
“Marigold?”
He was greeted with a fist to the jaw and was slammed against a wall. “What the devil?”
“I’ll be the one asking questions!” a young man yelled. “What did you do to her?”
Being no stranger to a thrashing, and this one rather weak, Douglas recovered his senses fast enough. “Who?”
“Marigold! She came in sobbing and will speak to no one.”
“Let me see her.” Douglas pushed against the man.
“I will not let you in. I know who you are.” The man scanned Douglas’s evening clothes. “You have used her and discarded her!”
“Would I be here then?”
The would-be-protector paused. “Then you care only to convince her to return to your bed.”
Douglas raised his fist to strike. “Apologize for your insult to her or meet my fist.” How could this whelp think that of her? He was through trying to be nice. “Take me to Marigold, or I’ll lay you out.”
The man gulped. “I never meant to insult her.”
“Did you think saying she would debase herself in such a way was a compliment?”
“I imagine few would refuse a duke.”
“That is where you are wrong about Marigold.” Douglas paused, assessing the man. Everything about his demeanor screamed he had more than friendship on his mind. “Which is why you are all wrong for her. I intend to offer her the world, but I am certain she intends to refuse. She does not want the life of a duchess, but she would beat me with a skillet if I suggested anything less than marriage.”
“I would,” Marigold replied from the kitchen’s open doorway. “I still might. Let me through, Jack.”
She had removed her mask and ball gown, returned to the scullery maid he loved. Her eyes were red rimmed, and tear streaks marred her face.
The footman stepped aside and let Douglas approach her. “I deserve it,” he said. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“What should I forgive?”
“I kept my identity a secret. I never meant to fall in love with you.”
Marigold’s breath hitched. “You love me?”
“Aye, lass.” He reached for her hands. “You are the most beautiful, pure, gentle woman I have ever known. I was helpless before such goodness, even as I do not deserve it now.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and he dropped to a knee, still holding her hands. “Before you, I am not a duke, but a man in love, risking his heart and pride to know if his affections are returned.”
“They are,” Marigold whispered. Then, squeezing his hands and meeting his eyes, she said in a stronger voice, “I do love you. Do you love me enough to forgive me for doubting your honor?”
“With all you have lived through, your doubt was only natural. Do you love me enough to become my wife?”
“A duchess?”
Douglas shook his head. “My companion in life, in all that it hands us.”
“Including a dukedom.” She laughed.
“There is that.” He chuckled. “For a time, it was all I could see and think about, and it terrified me. With you, however, I see so much more for my future. For our future. Will you marry me?”
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