Marigold stared at him for a long moment. Every second that passed, he grew more and more assured she would refuse him. God, how would he live without her now that he had found her? Would she have him if he gave up the title? He would in a trice, if legally possible. As it happened, he did not know who his own heir was. He had been told it would take months or years to research.
Suddenly, Marigold’s inscrutable face broke into a radiant smile. “Only if you promise me adventures,” she said with tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Any adventure you want. Is that a yes?”
Marigold nodded, and he rose. Pulling her into his arms, he fused his mouth to hers, delighting in her every taste and moan.
“Marigold Kincaid, you hussy! Unhand the Duke!”
Chapter Eight
All of Marigold’s joy at Douglas’s proposal evaporated when she heard the shrill voice of Priscilla. They turned to look at their intruder and Douglas immediately pushed her behind him.
“Lady Kincaid, how pleasant it is to see you,” Douglas said in cultured tones.
“And how unexpected it is to see you,” Priscilla snapped. “Sir Nicholas!”
Priscilla stepped aside and allowed her husband to enter.
“Now we see the real reason why you have been skulking around my house.” Nicholas flicked a disgusted look at Marigold. “Did you get her with child? I’ll need compensation for losing my maid.”
After a lifetime of abuse, Marigold expected to feel shame at his words. Instead, she felt strength radiating to her from Douglas. She knew the words were false and she did not have to shrink away from Nicholas ever again.
Douglas made no move, standing as still and strong as a brick wall. “No, I have not impregnated your cousin. I have asked her to marry me, and she has accepted. She will be leaving immediately.”
“No!” Priscilla screamed. “Nicholas, you cannot allow her to leave.”
“There is no reason to fear,” Nicholas reassured his wife. “I am her legal guardian, and you cannot take her or marry her without my consent.”
“I wonder why you are so insistent upon keeping her in your home, Sir Nicholas. Did you know that I have asked around and no one has seen Miss Kincaid in years? They believe her an invalid or dead.”
“This is not your concern,” Marigold’s cousin said with a steely look in his eye. “You would not want your past to become known, would you?”
“I know who I am, sir, and I am unashamed.”
“Are you now?” Nicholas laughed. “Son of a prostitute, member of a child gang of footpads, vagrants, and card sharks?”
“I know who I am,” Douglas said softly.
Marigold peeked around him and placed her hand in his. He startled and looked down at their joined hands. She squeezed his hand, and a small smile crossed his face.
“And right now, I am the Duke of Inverness, and you will allow us to pass.”
Pulling Marigold along, he shoved past Sir Nicholas and Lady Kincaid and led them upstairs. Her relatives shouted abuses behind her the entire time. Augusta ran to gather Marigold’s cloak while Edith pouted near the door. Once downstairs again, they were about to leave when someone knocked on the door. Everyone silenced, and when no one moved to open the door, Douglas opened it.
“Stirling,” he cried in astonishment. “Grandmama and Mr. Russell. What a surprise.”
He stepped aside. Without looking at the master of the home, Douglas invited them into the drawing room and performed introductions.
“We have pertinent information regarding Miss Marigold Kincaid,” Mr. Russell said.
Marigold noticed Priscilla and Nicholas tense and stare at the folio he held. However, in the presence of the dowager duchess, they reverted to civility and invited everyone to sit.
“Marigold Kincaid is an heiress,” Helen said.
“That’s a lie!” Nicholas shot out of his chair.
“We have documents that prove it,” Sir Stirling said.
“How—how?” Marigold asked.
Helen came to sit next to her. “I explained earlier that your mother, Mary Burns, was my niece.” She turned to Douglas. “I did not lie when I called Marigold a cousin. My brother-in-law was many, many years older than your grandmother and died before your mother’s birth.”
“You cannot prove that she is related, then,” Nicholas said. “A woman like that could have taken any man.”
“Robert and Eleanor were devoted to one another, despite the age difference. My husband could not countenance the idea of their marriage, so they intended to flee to America. Robert died before they could leave, and Eleanor went on alone.”
“Then you have no case!”
“I have located Lord Robert Randolph’s will.” Malcolm pulled out a packet of papers from a folio he held. “He names the child of Eleanor St. Andrews his heir, and left her this house as well as ten thousand pounds.”
“How do we know that Mary Burns was the daughter of Eleanor St. Andrews?” Priscilla demanded. “She merely arrived in Inverness with my brother-in-law.”
“Because I have her baptismal certificate from New York”—Helen motioned to Mr. Russell, who withdrew several papers and laid them on a table—“as well as the marriage certificate of her mother and Frederick Burns three months before Mary’s birth. A birth that occurred mere days after Eleanor arrived in America.”
“Do you have proof that the woman you met was Mary Burns and not an imposter?”
Helen nodded. “Eleanor wrote to me about her child. She loved her baby so very much. Mary had very particular markings on her arm and shoulder. They are captured in this portrait of Mary Burns, done by an artist in Inverness.”
Helen passed around a miniature of Marigold’s mother dressed as a Roman goddess in a white, sleeveless, loose muslin gown. A birthmark was visible from her shoulder to several inches above her elbow.
“That is your brother-in-law’s wife, is it not?” Mr. Russell asked.
“You may have kept Marigold a secret from much of the town,” Sir Stirling said, “but some people still remember the beautiful Mary Kincaid.”
“What does this mean?” Edith asked, shocking the room.
“It means your cousin owns this house,” Douglas said.
All eyes swung to Marigold. She could hardly believe her ears. A house and ten thousand pounds? Oh, she would never have to work again.
“I also know none of this was unknown to you, Sir Nicholas,” Mr. Russell said and withdrew another packet of papers. “It is stated plainly in Angus Kincaid’s last will and testament. He gave you guardianship of his daughter until she came of age. You had leave to live in the house but not to touch her money. I assume you did not.”
Marigold glanced at her cousin who had turned red. “How was I to support her or my family without her income?”
“Perhaps in the way you did before gaining custody of the child?” Sir Stirling asked. “As a card counter?”
“Oh ho!” Douglas laughed. “The pot calling the kettle black?”
“We can’t all roll over and turn up dukes!” Sir Nicholas gnashed his teeth.
“There is more,” Russell said, withdrawing additional papers. “I could not ignore the strangeness regarding the marriage record between David Kincaid and Marie Hannay. The record in the ancestral account was falsified. I went to the church to see the original license but there is no Church of All Souls in Dumfries and never was. Sir Nicholas’s father was never the rightful laird of the Kincaid clan—he must have bribed someone to record it wrongly. Marigold’s father was the heir. She was the Maid of Inverness, and is now Lady Marigold Kincaid of Inverness.”
Nicholas turned red and Priscilla sobbed hysterically.
“You falsified her age, as well.” Mr. Russell laid down a final sheet of paper. “The lass is already one and twenty.”
Marigold blinked through tears as she read her name on a baptism record. She might have been free of Nicholas and Priscilla half a year ago.
“Will
we be homeless?” Edith asked and began to cry.
Priscilla screamed.
“Hush.” Marigold rushed to Edith’s side. “So long as you want, you and Augusta may live with me.”
“But Mother and Father?” Edith hiccoughed.
“That is for Miss Marigold to decide,” Sir Stirling said. “According to the records we found, she has been of age for six months.”
“Why?” Marigold turned to her cousins. “Why did you lie about all this? Why did you treat me as the poor relation who should be grateful for your notice?”
“Jealousy, I would guess,” Douglas said.
“Why should you have all this?” Nicholas bellowed. “You are not even Scottish. You’re American. My grandfather abandoned my father and his country. Not to mention, your mother came from a whore.”
“And where did your father come from?” Marigold asked. Her voice trembled in anger.
“David Kincaid took no other wife while she lived. Surely it was all an error. In those days you could marry anywhere in Scotland. Who cares if it was not a church?” He shrugged.
“Alas, there must be record of it,” Mr. Russell said. “Angus’s will address the lairdship. He mentions his father raised him knowing he would one day be laird. That is not the talk of a man who had a legal heir in Scotland. If he had one, why should he leave the country alone?”
Nicholas had no reply and Sir Stirling stroked his jaw.
“It occurs to me, Nicholas’s knighthood might not be legal. The King was under the impression he was Laird Kincaid. Should we notify the magistrate?”
Marigold chewed her bottom lip. “No...no. I have only desired freedom from want. I do not seek retribution. Nicholas’s grandparents might not have legally wed but he is legitimate.”
“My darling cousin.” Priscilla threw herself at Marigold’s feet. “Have we not treated you kindly all these years? Have we not loved you?”
Shaking her head and throwing her shoulders back, Marigold peered down into Priscilla’s eyes. “No, you have not. You will stay this night at an inn and pack your belongings tomorrow. You will not reside here another moment.”
“Where is your compassion?” Priscilla shrieked and launched from the floor toward Marigold’s face, ready to slap.
“That is enough, madam,” Douglas shouted over her screech and caught Priscilla’s arm. “Stirling, Russell, get them out of here.”
Mr. Russell led her out the door. Stirling followed with a tight grip on Nicholas’s arm.
“I can’t believe it,” Marigold said and sagged in relief. “Do I really have ten thousand pounds?”
“Yes and no,” Helen said. “Your grandfather left ten thousand pounds which has been accruing interest, so it was far more. However, we have every reason to believe your cousin spent it all. To see it recovered, you will have to prosecute.”
“Oh.” Marigold’s heart sank.
“There is no need to decide this now,” Douglas said and gathered her hand in his. “I hope that you still wish to marry me.”
“I do.” She met his eyes, smiling. “Perhaps now no one will think I am unsuitable. Even if I am not rich, I have a pedigree.”
“Grandmama, how is it that you are here and how did you know to collect her for the ball in the first place? If you knew of her, why did you not protect her?”
Helen looked at her hands. “Just as my husband would not allow his brother to marry where he wished, he did not allow me to look after Marigold. Legally, she went to Sir Nicholas. Beyond sending servants as spies to the house, I could do nothing. But I sat and waited and hoped. I am so happy to hear you will make her your bride. My two regrets come together!”
“Two?” Douglas asked.
“I did not reject you, Douglas,” she said with tears in her eyes. “When your father—my son—died, I wanted you and your mother to move back to the house. I wanted us to be a family. My husband refused to admit your mother and called her every foul name imaginable. He did want you, but I am convinced it was as much to wound my daughter-in-law as it was for the noble cause of educating you. Rather than give you up, Esther fled. We had no notion of where you were or how you fared.”
Marigold threw her arms around Helen. “You poor woman! Your heart breaking year after year living with such cold-hearted men.”
“But no longer,” Helen sniffed. “Douglas is such a sweet man. I know you will be very happy.”
“We will,” Marigold said as she lowered her arms and met Douglas’s eyes.
“Forgive me,” Douglas said as he came to his grandmother’s side. “I have held you responsible for the actions of others. I have imagined some cruel scheme against me when it seems many did as they thought best. My mother erred in keeping me from family, and you were powerless to stop your husband.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Helen embraced her grandson, dwarfed by his large frame.
***
Three weeks later, Douglas entered The Melrose in a rush and slammed the door shut behind him. If this was what women felt every time there was a draft, then he would bundle Marigold and Grandmama up in furs and not let them leave until winter thawed. He had learned that a woman’s gown trapped icy blasts, and his smalls were thin protection against the cold.
Malcolm approached the bar and asked after Russell. The maid, at first, was taken aback by his costume, and then gave him a knowing look. As she marched him through the drinking hall, men called after them, then shuddered in disgust upon seeing his visage. Losing to Stirling was a sweet loss, indeed.
A man called out an offer to take Catriona—dear lord, he hoped the man did not refer to him—upstairs, and the image brought to mind the delights he experienced with Marigold. She was not shy in the least, even for her first time.
“Becky and Ruth have told me,” she said before launching herself into his arms and tugging at his cravat.
However much she had been told, it was quite another thing entirely to do it, and he had to stay her hand before she either strangled him or prematurely unmanned him. Fortunately, whispering in her ear and then sucking that sensitive appendage allowed him to regain control of the situation. Marigold became pliable in his arms as his kisses spread down her neck and across her collarbone. He carried her to their bed. Then, stripping off her clothing layer by layer, he allowed his eyes to feast on her body before returning to her green orbs.
“I love your eyes,” she said. “So clear and so intense.” She sighed then scanned his body. “You are overdressed.”
“Allow me to rectify that.”
He had told himself to go slow but found himself unclothed faster than ever in his life. Marigold held her arms open, and he fell into them. She ran her hands up and down his back while he worshiped her body with kisses and then with his tongue. Only after she had found bliss did he climb back up her. Kissing her deeply, with her taste on his mouth, he entered her. Fully joined, they had experienced new heights of passion.
Douglas shook his head to dispel the memory. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have to go back outside in the cold air. Catriona brought him to a table where Russell and Sir Stirling chatted. They had discovered the other three descendants of Robert the Bruce. Upon seeing him in a gown of delicate muslin, they burst into laughter. After several minutes and having to wipe away tears and clutching sore bellies, they sobered.
“Since you are such a good fellow,” Stirling said, “I’ll lend my name to your enterprise anyway.”
“You will?”
“I have wanted to diversify,” he said. “Tell me more about your steamship interests.”
Douglas grinned, but Russell held up a hand. “I am sorry, but our maid here must get to work. If you wish to have a long conversation with him, then perhaps you can purchase his time after his shift ends.” Russell winked.
“Russell,” Douglas said in a warning tone, although he knew the man teased.
“I will not delay you,” Stirling said, laughing again.
“Come along, Doug-ella,” Ru
ssell said, and Stirling roared with laughter again.
Hours passed as Douglas served drinks and greasy food then wiped down tables. Propositioned and accosted several times, his nerves were frayed by the end of the shift. Of course, it was not all bad. He had spent enough time on the street and trying to make his way in the world to find some piece of joy in everything—even being a duke.
The night’s highlight came from seeing Sir Nicholas drunk and losing round after round of cards while loudly crowing about his horse-faced wife who held his purse strings. Marigold might not desire justice, but Douglas had never claimed to be as compassionate as she. The man had spent all of Marigold’s money, but if Stirling would support the steamships, then Douglas had no doubt in his ability to earn a fortune for his wife. Augusta had married just days after he and Marigold. Edith resided with her sister. They sold the house, giving them enough to make the initial investment in ships. Of course, the household staff joined them at Randolph Fields, and Jack had become unexpectedly reliable as a house steward.
As Douglas rubbed his aching back after mopping the filthy floor, he could only think in awe of the woman who waited for him at home. Her strength and grace continued to amaze him. Despite a lifetime of thankless tasks, she still cared for others. She would soon open a school for the poor children of Inverness and a public library, as well. “Everyone deserves adventures,” she had said. “And until they can go on their own, they should read them.”
The clock chimed four in the morning when Douglas climbed into bed and curled against his wife. He had spent his life wandering and afraid of his duty. With her, he had found a reason to stay and face his fears. He had reconciled with his grandmother, and finally knew the security of love and belonging. Life with Marigold would be his greatest adventure yet.
###
One Last Promise
The Stainton Sisters
Martha
Amy Corwin
A Lord's Kiss Page 103