“He was.” His voice was too gruff and he was relieved when she continued talking.
“My father passed away, too, many years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I don’t really remember much about him, but I often wonder...” She sighed. “I wonder what I would have been like if I’d had a father in my life.”
He heard her rustling about as though she were toying with leaves. He reached for a vine creeping up the gate and did the same.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so terrified of speaking to men if I’d had my father around,” she mused.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I know I wouldn’t have run off to join the military if it wasn’t for my father.”
“Really?” Her voice was filled with unabashed curiosity.
“I was so determined to forge my own path, to make my own way without their interference that I insisted on it, even though they hated the idea of their only son and heir going anywhere near the war.”
She made a little noise of understanding. Then she surprised him by speaking up. “It sounds like you have inherited their stubborn streak.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “That is putting it mildly. It seems as though I’ve spent most of my life rebelling against their wishes for me.” He winced as he thought about his harsh words with his mother earlier this evening. “Perhaps I still am.”
She sighed and the sound made him ache to be closer, to pull her into his arms and comfort her. “I have spent so long trying not to be like my mother that I am not sure how to act or who to be.”
He looked in her direction with another ache. A pang this time. He understood completely and yet the thought of her wishing to be anything other than Marigold—his sweet, perfect little wallflower. It hurt him to even think it.
And yet, he understood it. He’d come home determined to be different. To never fight with his mother, to honor his father’s last wishes...
So far he’d been home one day and managed to make a mess of it all.
He hadn’t even been able to face his father’s grave.
“I love my mother,” she said slowly. “And I know that she loves me. But I don’t wish to be her.”
It sounded like a confession and he felt his chest tighten in response. Despite this gate between them, he’d never felt closer to someone. Maybe it was because of the gate. Not seeing one another made it easier to speak freely.
“I feel the same about my father,” he admitted. “I loved him dearly, but we could never seem to agree. Likely because we were too similar.” He let out a huff of amusement. “I suppose families are funny like that,” he said. “We try so hard not to become them that we often end up...”
“Becoming them?” she offered. He could hear the smile in her voice and it made him laugh.
“Something like that.”
She laughed softly. “I agree. I sometimes think I work so hard not to make a fool of myself that I end up doing something unequivocally silly...like swoon when gentlemen ask me to dance.”
He grinned down at his feet. The fact that she was able to laugh at her own folly made him want to hold her and squeeze her that much more.
“I imagine,” he said slowly. “That if I were to ask your friends your greatest strengths, they would say it is your honesty.”
“And my loyalty,” she piped up.
He grinned. “Exactly. You are you, Marigold. You are so distinctly, wonderfully, perfectly you. And from what I’ve seen, that you is braver than you give yourself credit for, and has far more sense than most of the people in that ballroom.”
He meant the words and a great deal more that he didn’t say. He heard her choked laugh. “Do you really think so?”
“I really do.” He said it with all the earnest sincerity he felt. “You know what I would love to see, Marigold?”
“What?” Her voice had grown breathless.
“I would love to see you decide what you want and go after it with all your strength and bravery and your very unique charm.” He shifted, coming to stand so he could catch a glimpse of her. “What would make you happy, Marigold?”
She didn’t answer.
He didn’t expect her to.
But somehow it seemed absolutely imperative that she understand how much she was worth. Her true value.
“One thing my father’s passing taught me was how short this life truly is. Don’t waste it being afraid or living in your mother’s shadow. If you do, you will waste your life away.” He reached a hand out to her where she was seated. “Trust me when I say that you are perfect as you are, and you owe it to yourself—you owe it to your family, too—to be brave and pursue whatever it is that will make you happy.”
Her hand clasped his and he tugged her to her feet.
Her eyes were wide, her lips parted.
“Don’t hide from it. Will you do that, Marigold?” Her answer seemed of the utmost importance. Like his whole world hinged on it. “Will you be brave enough to be happy?”
Chapter Eight
Brave. Never a word anyone used to describe her and yet his words resonated in her chest.
She’d spent so long hiding to avoid being her mother and even longer attempting to be the girl that her mother wished, she’d yet to find herself.
What did she want...truly?
Yes, she wanted to marry and not be alone. But that wasn’t a decision based on bravery but fear.
What would actually make her happy not just keep her from being miserable? “Did going to war make you happy?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.” Holding her hand, he began to guide her down the fence. “I thought it would make me my own person. And I suppose in some ways it did. I was good at command. But I regret—” He stopped talking.
She gave his fingers a squeeze as they reached the end of the fence. “What do you regret?”
He turned to face her. “I regret my final conversation with my father. We ended things so badly and now I’ll never have another chance to tell him that I loved him.”
The words made her chest tight. They were so raw, honest with an emotion that overwhelmed her. She’d never wanted to comfort another person more and not knowing what else to do, she stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms about his middle.
She tilted her chin up to utter words of comfort, but he was looking down at her, his gaze dark and mysterious in the moonlight.
Be brave enough to be happy... His words echoed in her thoughts.
What would make her happy?
Quite without thinking it through, she reached up on tiptoe and softly pressed her mouth to his.
She’d never kissed anyone before and for a brief second she worried she wasn’t doing it correctly, but as his lips pressed back, a beautiful humming started deep in her mind, wiping away every logical thought.
She could only feel, and as he lifted his lips and then pressed them back against hers, what she felt seemed so absolutely right. She didn’t think anymore. His arms wrapped around her back, his mouth warm and strong, yet achingly sweet pressed to hers again.
Finally, he lifted his head and his eyes shone as he looked down at her. “What was that?”
But he didn’t release her, his arms still around her back, his fingers splayed out on her dress.
“I wanted to comfort you.” She blinked, her mind searching for the details of their conversation as her cheeks flooded with heat and her head swam. What had they been discussing? Oh yes, his father. “He knew you loved him. I’m sure of it.”
He lifted one of his hands and softly cupped her cheek, his thumb sweeping across her skin causing a tiny shiver to run down her spine. “Thank you for that. I needed someone to say those words. How did you know?”
She shrugged, or tried to in their embrace. “It’s what I tell myself all the time about my mother. Deep down, even when it feels like she is trying to mortify me, it’s because she loves me.”
But she couldn’t remember any of those feelings now. All she had ro
om for in her heart was a wonderful light joy. Because that kiss had been magical and because she’d been brave enough to take it and because, like a flash of lightning, she now understood what she wanted.
Max.
So simple and yet completely true.
Despite Major Mayfield’s excellent manners and kind face, Marigold had felt none of the things with him that currently swirled in her gut as Max held her close.
His mouth grew taut even as his brow furrowed. “I’ve yet to attend my father’s grave. I don’t know what holds me back, except...” His voice trailed off.
She gave him the lightest squeeze, happy beyond words to provide comfort to him. “If you need someone to go with you, just say the word. It’s the least I could do.”
“Really? But you’re attending a party and—” He paused, looking down at her.
A small laugh escaped her lips. “I’m attending the potting shed and flower gardens.” She shook her head. “No wonder everyone refers to us as flowers.”
“What I didn't know until this party was how amusing flowers could be.” He chuckled too, rich and deep, a sound that trilled along her skin and caused a buzzing deep inside.
She leaned back to look up at him and study the nuances of his face. “Please tell me you’re laughing with me and not at me.”
His other hand came up to her face as well so he gently cupped both her cheeks. “I would never laugh at you.”
She flushed under his touch, the look in his eyes adding a sincerity that stole her breath. She wanted to kiss him again.
Her feet itched to lift her up and once again press her mouth to his.
But a noise stopped her feet, her heels staying firmly on the ground.
“Marigold?” Lily whispered from somewhere in the darkness. “Marigold, are you out here?”
“Crum,” she muttered under her breath. Never in all her years of friendship had she been disappointed to see Lily but tonight...
He chuckled quietly. “Best I return to the party and you attend your friend.” He leaned down and placed a light kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”
His hands slipped from her face and he disappeared into the darkness, but his parting words lingered.
A good friend.
Friend?
She’d kissed him. He’d held her in his arms. They’d shared some of their darkest secrets. Did they really seem like they were simply friends?
Her spine straightened. She would not question her actions now. She’d made a choice and she was proud of that choice.
For once, she’d thought about what she’d wanted and she’d taken it without worry or fear. That was to be celebrated.
But a niggling doubt ate at that resolve. She’d kissed him because she’d wanted to, because he stole her breath and at the same time made her feel more comfortable than anyone she’d known ever.
But did he feel the same?
Her earlier lightness and joy started to fade as her head returned from the clouds and she found herself back in reality.
“Marigold?” Lily was closer, her voice louder than it had been before.
With a sigh, she called out. “I’m here.”
She had to face the fact that Max didn’t wish to wed her, that there wasn’t a future. Of course there wasn’t. He was a marquess. She was a wallflower. And if there’d been any doubt, he’d called her his friend.
She forced down her disappointment. After all, she had not kissed him to elicit promises, she had not shared his confidence in an effort to win his heart. She’d kissed him because she’d wanted to. Because she’d known it would make her happy. Because it had felt as right as drawing in her next breath.
And though the word ‘friend’ stung a bit, she could hold her head high knowing she’d been brave and that she’d gone after what she wanted.
“Hello,” Lily called, stopping in front of her. “You look...excellent.”
Marigold smiled at her friend. “Thank you. I feel pretty good too.”
Lily shook her head. “I’m glad. It’s just that I expected...” Her friend nibbled her lip. “You disappeared so quickly that I thought something was wrong.”
She reached over and wrapped her arms about her friend. “I couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”
Lily returned her hug but then leaned back. “All right. Now I know something strange has happened. What is it?”
In a rushed tone, Marigold told her all that had occurred in the last quarter hour, including the kiss. She breezed past the deep feelings that Max had shared, those were private.
But she ended with a soft sigh. “He’s helping me gain the attention of potential suitors and I am so grateful. I wish I could do something for him in return.”
Lily had remained silent through much of her explanation, but as she finished, her friend’s arms crossed over her chest. “He wants to be your friend and so...you kissed him?”
There was a doubtful note to her voice. Something in the way the last word rose up in question. Did Lily think she’d misstepped? She’d thought if anyone would understand her impulsive actions it would be Lily. “That’s right.”
“Marigold,” her friend started, reaching for her hands. “I think it’s wonderful that he is helping you. But be careful to attend your own heart. You can give so freely. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up hurt.”
“I won’t.” She looked to the ground. She might. But she wasn’t certain she cared. She thought of what he’d said about life being short, about being brave enough to claim one’s pleasure. Those words had woken something in her. No, someone. A braver version of herself who was tired of hiding in the shadows, who was weary of trying to please everyone but herself.
She turned to face Lily. “Think of it like this. I need a man to practice on. One who is safe and helps me learn to navigate my fears so that I have a chance at...” But she stopped, her breath catching. Finding happiness. That’s what she’d been about to say. But had she found it already?
“We should return inside,” Lily said when Marigold failed to continue speaking. “Your mother is looking for you. Or should I say that other suitors are looking for you so your mother is anxious for your return.”
Her shoulders slumped a bit. Much as she’d like to tell herself that she was preparing her confidence to attract other men, she could admit, at least to herself, that only one man’s attention actually interested her.
Lily was right. She was hurtling toward hurt.
But she wouldn’t think on that now. She was determined to focus on the positive. She’d gained confidence, self-awareness, and a new friend.
All things to be thankful for.
Then an idea struck her. “Tomorrow morning, will you visit the graveyard with me?”
“The graveyard? What for?” Lily stopped to look at her, her brow crinkling in question.
“There is a grave that needs decorating. That’s all.” She started toward the ballroom once again. She’d dance, laugh, and make appropriate conversation if it killed her. And tomorrow, she’d leave a wreath on the former marquess’s gravestone. One made of lilies, daisies, and marigolds.
Hopefully fresh flowers would help Max see that his father was content in his resting place and that here and now, he had a friend who understood him and cared about what was important to him.
She stepped into the ballroom with her chin notched high. Tonight, she’d become the woman who did not hide behind ferns but danced the night away.
Chapter Nine
What a difference a good night’s sleep could make.
Max leaned back in his chair on the veranda with a satisfied smile and took in the sweeping view of the gardens and the land beyond.
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the weather was fine...and Marigold had kissed him.
“Brother, you are beginning to frighten the birds with that unceasing grin of yours.”
He tossed his head back with a laugh before turning to face his sister who s
louched in her seat beside him. “I see morning is still not your favorite time of day.”
She huffed. “Many things might have changed while you were away, but some facts are constant.” She sniffed as she reached for her tea. “My distaste for early mornings, for example.”
He gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and refrained from mentioning that it was now technically early afternoon. Hardly the crack of dawn.
But the dancing and music had gone on until the early hours of the morning and Sarah was hardly the only partygoer who’d wished to sleep in today.
“You did not have to come with me today, you know.”
She nodded. “I know. But I would like to. I haven’t been to see his grave in too long.” Her pretty features pinched. “It is not always easy to face the very real reminder of just how much our lives have changed.”
He reached out a hand to cover hers and she shook off her melancholy tone with a brave smile. “Shall we then?”
He nodded. There would likely never be a good time to visit his father’s grave, but it had to be done.
It was time to put all their old arguments to rest, time to grieve properly, and time...
Time to move on.
They were halfway to the chapel when his sister broke the silence. “Do tell, Max. What is it that has you looking so pleased with yourself at such an unpleasant time of day?”
He blinked. He’d been doing it again, had he?
He didn’t even bother to hide his grin as he turned to her. “I had a wonderful evening last night, that’s all.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes narrowed on him with suspicion. “It appeared Miss Clearwater had a particularly lovely evening as well, did it not?”
His smile flickered a bit. She had. She definitely had.
“I would go so far as to say she was the belle of the ball last night.” Sarah’s voice was too mild.
“If you have something to say, just say it,” he said.
“I just wished to congratulate you, that is all,” Sarah said. “Your efforts to draw attention to Miss Clearwater were certainly successful.”
A Wallflower's Wish Boxed Set: Three Regency Romances Page 29