That was usually the best course. Wait her mother out.
And so she trailed just behind her mother looking for an opportunity to slip away.
Chapter Eleven
Max was struggling to pay attention as he hunched over the desk in his father’s study.
No. His study.
This was his office now and his desk, and there was no way he could forget it.
He rubbed at his temples as he attempted to focus on the solicitor’s monotonous voice, but the distractions were mounting.
First, there was the fact that the mountain of paperwork before him looked like it might collapse in an avalanche. He had a horrible suspicion that when it did he would be crushed beneath it. He’d likely suffocate beneath all the paperwork and the folders filled with bills and receipts.
Second, there was Lily’s words which were still nagging at him, making it impossible to listen attentively when they refused to let him be.
Third, there was Marigold. The memory of her. Thoughts of her. Daydreams of a future with her...
A future that he was not quite able to reconcile with his present circumstances. In his fanciful visions of this idyllic future with Marigold, he was the proud, responsible, confident marquess.
A man worthy of a wife, ready for the responsibilities of a family...
The daydreams felt like night and day compared to his current situation. The mess in front of him would take months to sort out and who knew what sort of disasters, financial, or otherwise, waited in the pile.
His head jerked up with a start when the older man across from him addressed him directly.
“If that is agreeable to you, of course, my lord.” The solicitor stopped speaking and fixed him with an expectant look.
Max sank back in his seat with a sigh. “Er, yes. Yes, that is fine.”
He had a vague notion of what he was agreeing to, but for the most part the solicitor’s monologue had been a seemingly endless list of obligations. Tasks that he had to perform or take care of or oversee.
Amazing how life could change so quickly. Was it only a few months ago that he’d been commanding men and living the life of a military man?
Those responsibilities he could manage. Funny, how war felt less chaotic than this. He frowned. It felt like another lifetime as he sat here learning what it meant to be a marquess.
He eyed the stack of legal papers the solicitor dropped atop the stack that threatened to topple.
How was he supposed to know where to begin?
You’d know exactly where to begin if you’d been here. The truth did not help matters, it only added to this incessant guilt, this feeling that he’d failed.
The knowledge that his father had been right.
All these years he’d been telling Max he ought to stay by his side and learn how to be a marquess.
Instead he’d run away like a fool. Like a child.
He rubbed a hand over his face as the solicitor started up again. He wasn’t ready for this. Give him cannonballs, give him battlefields, give him war, for mercy’s sake. All of that he could handle, but this...
“Am I interrupting?”
Alex’s voice came from the doorway as though he’d been summoned by thoughts of war.
“Major,” Max greeted him warmly, temporarily forgetting how irritated he’d been with the man just the night before. It had been an irrational jealousy talking then, and now...
Well, now the sight of the man was a blessed relief.
He turned to the solicitor. “Give us a moment, please, Mr. Morris.”
Mr. Morris tipped his head down in courtesy. “Of course, my lord.”
Max breathed a sigh of relief as the man left. “How did you know I needed saving?”
“I could hear your snores from the hallway,” Alex answered with a laugh.
Max laughed too, a weight lifting from his shoulders now that the solicitor was not making his head spin with a legal language.
“It’s quite the responsibility you’ve inherited,” Alex said as he eyed the stacks of papers surrounding him. “You must have a lot of work to do.”
Max scoffed at the understatement. “I am in over my head, old friend. There’s no two ways about it.”
Alex’s smile was understanding and he moved back toward the door. “Then perhaps this was the wrong time to disturb you. I’ll leave you to it—”
“No, not at all. What was it you needed?”
Alex hesitated in the doorway before his features creased in a rueful grin. “Believe it or not, I did come here to save you. Though not from your solicitor.”
Max arched his brows. “Who then?”
“Mrs. Clearwater.”
Max’s brows hitched up even higher in surprise. “Marigold’s mother?”
“Marigold?” Alex raised a brow.
“Miss Mary Clearwater. Marigold is her nickname.” Max waved his hand, more interested in hearing about his wallflower.
In that case, one and the same,” Alex said. “I just ran into Mrs. Clearwater in the hallways and she was looking for you.”
For the life of him, Max couldn’t quite pinpoint what he was feeling as one thought chased another. Perhaps she’d learned of their kiss. Maybe she was seeking him out to learn his intentions.
Blast. He’d been hoping to talk to Marigold first before marriage came into play.
He shifted in his seat, the air in this room suddenly far too thick, the air stale and warm.
He could hardly breathe.
He would do right by Marigold, of course he would. But he needed time, that was all. He stared blankly at the stack of papers before him.
He was definitely going to be buried alive.
This choking sensation was oddly familiar, but it had never been so strong. It was the same feeling that had led him to run off to the military, the same strangled feeling that had come on every time he and his father fought.
He shut his eyes against a wave of guilt and shame, struggling to focus on the present. On Alex and Marigold and...her mother. “What does she want?”
“To suss out your marriage prospects, no doubt,” Alex said with a chuckle. “That is what every mother at this party wishes to know. Who has snared the interest of the new marquess?”
The silence stretched too long as Alex waited for Max to comment.
He did not. He could not. His temples were throbbing from stress and tension.
“Of course I know you’re not interested in Marigold,” Alex said with another rueful smile as he broke the silence. “I was grateful for your introduction to her last night.” His eyes were searching. “I’ve been meaning to thank you. She is just the sort of woman who would make an excellent wife.”
Jealousy nearly blinded him. “Of course.”
“She is quite lovely.”
“Mmph.” His grunt of agreement was hardly eloquent, but it was the best he could manage. Lovely? Really? That was the best he could do?
Alex was eyeing him oddly and that scrutiny coming from his friend added to the pressure that now seemed to be beating against his skull.
“Ah, there you are, my lord.” Mrs. Clearwater’s voice in his doorway was jarring and unwelcome.
He eyed Alex, his office...this place that was supposed to be a private sanctuary.
And yet at this particular moment it felt far more like a cage.
He spotted Mrs. Clearwater’s beaming smile and cringed.
This was a cage and he had been cornered.
“I was hoping I might find you,” Mrs. Clearwater said, her eyes sparkling with mischief and...determination.
It was that determination that had him coming to his feet.
Alex was still watching him closely and Max had the horrible suspicion that he was seeing everything.
Far more than he ought.
He forced a small smile for Mrs. Clearwater—after all, he hoped that one day she would be his mother in law. It would not do to snap at her that she was rudely invading his personal space righ
t now. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Clearwater?”
“Why, my lord, I thought perhaps we ought to talk.”
“Er, perhaps I should...” Alex was already moving toward the door. Traitor.
He moved toward them both in an effort to push them out the door. No way was he going to get trapped here in a conversation he did not wish.
Mrs. Clearwater was not so easy to be rid of. Her smile never faltered even as she shuffled back the way she’d come. “Your mother says that you are interested in finding a wife, my lord, and—”
“My mother was mistaken.” His voice was colder than intended and he made a mental note to have another talk with his mother.
Mrs. Clearwater’s eyes widened. “So you are not searching for a wife then, or just—”
“Finding a wife is not my priority at the moment, Mrs. Clearwater, but I do appreciate your concern.”
“Oh, well then...” She looked flustered and more than a little disappointed.
“Mrs. Clearwater,” Alex cut in, taking her arm and leading her back into the hallway. “Our appointment is in a short time. Perhaps I can escort you out. I should like to get to know both you and your daughter better...”
He heard Mrs. Clearwater’s pleasure as she responded.
Max bit back a curse.
Was Alex just saying that to get rid of her and save his sanity or because he honestly wished to woo his Marigold? And her mother, apparently.
Max shut the door behind them with a click, but the silence did nothing to stop the pounding in his head.
Curse it. All he wanted was to talk to Marigold.
She’d know what to say to make him feel better.
Mrs. Clearwater’s words came back to him. The closer he got to Marigold the more everyone would expect him to propose.
Everyone, including Marigold.
He let his head fall against the door as the weight of everyone else’s expectations settled on his shoulders.
All he wanted was some time alone with Marigold. To kiss her sweet lips, to hold her close, to talk to her...
The only problem was...he was not certain what he wished to say.
Chapter Twelve
Marigold slumped against the wall of the music room, scooting herself behind...well, a fern.
It was a lovely, large plant located just next to the terrace door where a breeze danced through its branches.
This time, however, she wasn’t tucked behind a plant because she was nervous or trying to hide because she couldn’t face the crowd of partygoers. In fact, she was in an empty room.
Actually, she was thoroughly enjoying her newfound status as party participant. Though she still hated the mundane conversation that came with polite society, she found that when she calmed her nerves, she was at least...adequate at the art.
And it was nice not to be ruled by fear, to choose if she participated or did not in events of the party. And right this moment, she had chosen...not.
Mostly because her mother seemed intent upon tossing her in front of every eligible male at the party and currently she only wished to think of one in particular. Max. Her marquess.
Well, he wasn’t her marquess exactly. But a girl could dream.
And in those dreams, they danced under the stars and shared more kisses in the moonlight, and told each other all their secrets and—
Her breath stopped.
Several other guests entered the music room. Did she make herself known or slip out the open terrace door and hide against the side of the house?
She chose the latter.
Sliding along the wall, she crouched down, darting out the door and plastering herself to the brick facade of the house. Which was in the direct sun and she did not have on a bonnet. Drat.
Worse still, she’d caught sight of the other guests in the music room and one of them was Abigail Franks. Even seeing the other woman’s face filled Marigold with her old dread and paralyzing fear.
It was just that the girl was...mean. She’d deliberately tried to sabotage Lily’s engagement to Lord Merrick. As socially powerful as she was vindictive, Marigold had no intention of tangling with the other woman. That was Lily’s department. She wished her friend was here now, but at least Marigold had had the forethought to hide herself away.
“This party is dreadful,” Abigail huffed as skirts rustled and Marigold could hear that all the ladies had taken a seat. “The worst ever.”
Another girl tsked. “Honestly. The only thing thriving at this garden party are the wallflowers.”
They all laughed at that and Marigold rolled her eyes up to the sky. They weren’t wrong there. But to her, that was a source of deep pride.
“I mean, what world are we living in that Mary Clearwater dances every dance?” Abigail’s voice cut through the summer air.
Marigold’s breath caught. Generic talk of wallflowers made her laugh but to be the direct topic of discussion...? That made her insides churn.
“She’s as mousy as she is plain,” a third chimed in. “I just don’t see it.”
“She is very...nice,” another said, and Marigold’s shoulders slumped with relief. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so terribly mean. “In a way that just makes you want to slap her.”
Oh dear.
“No need,” Abigail said as she laughed. The tone of her voice made Marigold’s stomach flop over and she covered the offending organ with her hand. “I spoke with the marchioness this afternoon.”
All the girls tittered and Marigold let out the smallest squeak of dread. What had Max’s mother said?
As if the entire room were asking the same question, one of the girls repeated the question. “Tell us. What did she say?”
Abigail gave a dramatic pause. “Plenty. For example, she knows for a fact that her son is not interested in the girl.”
Giggles erupted and Marigold closed her eyes, wishing she could also close her ears.
“Really? Are you certain?”
Abigail gave another laugh. “I am. Marchioness Arundel specifically told me that Miss Clearwater is just a charity case. The marquess only danced with her to elevate her social standing. He has no intention of making a match with her.”
Marigold’s feet gave out from under her and she slid down the wall until her rear rested on the cobblestone. Her hands came up to cover her face. The words were completely true. Which meant Max had told his mother and his mother had told Abigail.
“Of course she is. He wouldn't actually marry a girl with so little social skill. He needs a real marchioness. She could never handle such social obligation. She’s a terrible choice,” one of the other girls added.
Her chest tightened with every word. Mostly because each one of them was correct.
Abigail gave an excited huff of breath. “Obviously she’s a terrible prospect. And the marchioness favors me as her choice.”
The other girls tittered with excitement, but Marigold dropped her head onto her knees. If Abigail grew in a garden along with the rest of them, she wasn’t a flower, she was a toxic weed.
She remembered a conversation she and her friends had once had with Daisy’s cousin who’d been raised in America. The girl had told them about a particular type of plant, one that was unwanted and poisonous. Her head lifted slightly as the name of it came to her. Poison ivy.
Abigail was poison ivy. Growing where no one wanted her and causing an itchy rash that seemed to spread no matter how much one attempted to be rid of it.
She hated the other woman so much She was mean, hateful, and, above all...right.
Marigold was completely ill-suited to be a marchioness and she’d likely made a fool of herself kissing the man who’d been clear that he didn't want her, and that he was only helping her to gain the attention of other men.
And it had worked, too. Already this morning, the major had asked if she would join him for a walk, and Lord Wright had cornered her and her mother into a seemingly never-ending conversation about the joys of being in the country.
; Max had set out to make her appear desirable and his plan had worked.
But Max wasn’t a suitor. He was her friend.
The word tasted bitter on her tongue and she choked back tears. All her newfound confidence vanished like smoke in the air and her head dropped back to her knees.
“A man of worth never allows his mother to choose his bride.”
Marigold snapped her chin up. Lily. She’d know that voice anywhere. Like an answer to a prayer, her friend had arrived.
Marigold pushed herself up the wall.
“What do you know about it?” Abigail bit back, her voice harsh and sharp.
“Plenty,” Lily returned. “I am engaged.”
There was another tsk and whispers that Marigold couldn’t make out filled the room.
“To a second son,” Abigail fired back as if she hadn’t been pursuing Lord Merrick as well.
Lily laughed. High and loud, sounding as easy and confident as Marigold was worried and afraid. “Lady Abigail, you are never going to make a match if you don’t learn how to lead with your heart.”
“I beg your pardon?” Abigail sniffed, the rustling of skirts telling Marigold that she’d risen from her seat.
“Your heart, dear,” Lily repeated. “I sincerely hope that you learn to use that dormant organ of yours or you shall never make a good match. Even if you land a lord, you’ll be miserable if you can’t muster any genuine affection.”
“How dare—” Abigail started.
But Lily cut her off. “Be gone. I’ve no more use for you and your poison.”
Marigold had never loved another person more than she did Lily in this moment. And as the rustling of skirts told her that the other ladies had left, she tossed herself back into the room, praying that Lily was still there.
She was, peeking behind all the ferns as if she were looking for something.
She straightened the moment that Marigold entered the room. “There you are.”
“You’re searching for me?” Marigold stopped, color filling her cheeks. Lily hadn’t been looking for something but someone and apparently she knew exactly where to look.
“Your mother said she saw you come in here. Actually, she wanted me to fetch you. Which means we only have a few minutes before you must go back into hiding.”
A Wallflower's Wish Boxed Set: Three Regency Romances Page 31