August Sunrise (The Silver Foxes of Westminster Book 2)

by Merry Farmer

  “Welcome home, sir,” a stately, grey-haired butler greeted them as the buggy stopped at the bottom of a wide staircase and patio that led to the house’s massive front door.

  “Thank you, Noakes.” Alex hopped down from the buggy, then turned and offered an anxious hand to Marigold.

  For the sake of the servants, Marigold took it with a plastered-on smile and stepped down to the gravel drive. She let Alex tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, even though the rest of her was still stiff with betrayal. A deep weariness was swiftly pressing down on her as well.

  “We’re so pleased to welcome you to Winterberry Park, madam,” a non-nonsense woman in a housekeeper’s simple black dress greeted her.

  “This is Mrs. Musgrave,” Alex whispered to her, leaning closer than Marigold was comfortable with.

  She smiled all the same, greeting Mrs. Musgrave, and then the rest of the staff, all of whom were lined up in starched uniforms, their expressions eager and friendly. Marigold knew the first impression was more important than anything else in her life at that moment, and drew on every bit of her schooling and acting ability to appear as the affable, charming wife of an important man. It saw her through the introductions and into the house for the briefest of tours. She was able to keep her smile in place and appear interested in the house and its operations all the way until Alex finally led her to their bedroom and closed the door.

  Then she nearly fell apart.

  The room was large and comfortably furnished, with a sizeable bed draped with a blue coverlet. A small desk rested under one window, and a nightstand with a clock and bowl of biscuits sat next to the bed. Two doors in the far wall must have led to dressing rooms or closets, or perhaps even an elaborate washroom, like the one Alex’s townhome had. But Marigold ignored all of it, heading straight to one of the overstuffed chairs on either side of an empty fireplace. She sank into the chair, every bone in her body weary to the core, rested her head against the side, and closed her eyes.

  Alex stood still for a long time. So long Marigold was tempted to open her eyes. At last, he moved, sitting on the bed and taking off his shoes, if the sounds she heard were right.

  “I can have Mrs. Musgrave prepare one of the other rooms for you if you’d like,” he murmured, tired and defeated.

  Marigold’s chest tightened. “Giving up so easily?” she asked, eyes still closed.

  He stopped moving. Only then did she open her eyes to find him studying her, a look of exhausted bafflement in his eyes.

  “Only if it’s what you want,” he said at last, finishing with his shoes.

  She shook her head. “What I want is to know who I’ve married,” she said. She wanted to be fair. More than anything, she wanted to be fair with him, even if he hadn’t been particularly fair to her. They’d conceived a child together, after all. James or no James, their child would be his heir.

  She wriggled in the chair, straightening. If she wanted to be fair, she should tell him she was pregnant then and there, but the words stuck in her throat.

  Alex stood with a sigh and walked to her chair. He crouched in front of her, which didn’t look particularly comfortable for him. “I swear to you, I did not forget to tell you about James from any malicious intent. And I know it sounds just as bad for me to admit that my duties in parliament and my troubles with Turpin caused me to forget my own flesh and blood, but we’re away from all that now. Would you please allow me the chance to start anew and to make things right between us?”

  Marigold had cried so much in the last few hours that she didn’t think she was capable of more tears, but they stung at her eyes anyhow. What choice did she have but to say yes, seeing as they were already married, and marriages couldn’t easily be undone? But more than that, the sputtering embers of everything she’d felt for him in their short, fiery marriage were still burning. She wanted to love him. She wanted to have the perfect marriage with him. But they’d made such a mess of things.

  In the end, she couldn’t find the right words to answer him, so she reached for his hand. He took it with a relieved exhale. Neither of them moved beyond that, though. Not for what felt like an eternity.

  At last, Alex stood, his knees cracking. “I’ll ask Noakes to send supper up here, since I’m sure we’re both too undone to take it downstairs.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pushing herself to stand so that she could remove her hat and gloves. She was suddenly anxious about removing her traveling clothes with him in the room, though. One afternoon, and they were suddenly miles away from being in the right state for intimacy. Surely that would come again in time, though. But not until she’d discovered exactly who she’d married.

  Chapter 12

  Alex had no one to blame but himself. Although it would have been nice if he could blame Turpin or Parliament in general, or even Katya for pushing things along faster than they should have gone. But as handy as it would have been to foist the disastrously rough patch his new marriage had hit on someone else, it was his own failure to pay attention that had landed him in the mess.

  Just as it was his failure to pay attention that had depressed Violetta’s spirits, casting her life in shadows that she never recovered from. She’d probably been happy for the first time in years when James came along. How ironic that the one thing that could have brought her joy was the thing that killed her. He was responsible for that too.

  That thought wouldn’t leave him as he paced the platform at Lanhill’s train station, waiting for Phillips to arrive. There was no need whatsoever for him to be there to meet his right-hand man, but the silence at Winterberry Park for the past week was beginning to grate on his nerves. Marigold had much to learn about managing a country estate, and spent the bulk of her days with Mrs. Musgrave, getting the hang of things. Either that or she resented him so much that she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him beyond meals. They certainly weren’t intimate in bed, which he didn’t blame her for one bit.

  He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as the incoming train’s whistle split the air. A twist of irony tugged at the corner of his mouth. He ignored his age as much as possible and still believed himself to be in the prime of his youth, but nothing made the years seem heavier than being at odds with a woman. He had to make it up to her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself until he did. But he’d been saying that since even before he married her, and he had yet to figure out how one made so many things up to one’s wife.

  The train rolled into the station, screeching to a halt, and half a dozen passengers disembarked. Lanhill was a tiny station, so it wasn’t difficult to spot Phillips’s distinctive ginger hair the moment he stepped down. Surprise relief spilled through Alex as he marched over to greet the man.

  Phillips blinked at him, startled. “I didn’t think you’d actually come all the way here to meet me, sir.”

  “Yes, well, I was in the area and knew you’d be arriving,” Alex lied, shaking Phillips’s hand. “I wanted to hear how everything went with the revelation.”

  Phillips’s expression hardened to business as Alex walked him to the baggage car, where the porter was unloading a handful of suitcases and trunks. “I leaked the information about Miss Murdoch to The Times and The Observer. The Times wasn’t inclined to malign someone so closely associated with the political leanings of its owners, but they have the story. The Observer published a small piece three days ago,” he reported with a triumphant grin. “So the truth is out there. I expect The Times will be forced to address it this summer, if rumors develop the way they usually do.”

  Alex thumped Phillips on the back. “Good man.”

  He’d been uncertain about playing his trump card where Turpin was concerned so quickly, but frustration and impatience had pushed him to do something, anything, that might brighten Marigold’s mood. She genuinely cared about Ruby Murdoch’s fate, and if Turpin could be brought to justice, perhaps she would forgive him.

  “How is Miss Murdoch?” he asked after Phillips collected hi
s suitcase and the two of them headed out of the station to the street, where his buggy was waiting.

  Color splashed Phillips’s face, though his frown was troubled. “She’s been through the ringer, sir. She knows she’s had a lucky break by being taken in at Croydon House, but it’ll take her time to trust again.” He paused for a moment before adding, “It might be best to bring her and Faith, that is, her baby, out here to Winterberry Park for the summer.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. Something in the too-flat expression Phillips wore hinted he was hiding something. Alex had known the man for years, and suspected that he’d developed an affection for the poor young woman. Phillips wanted Miss Murdoch near him.

  “I’ll speak to Mrs. Croydon about it as soon as possible,” he said, his heart lifting. At last, he had something important of a tender nature to discuss with Marigold. A spring filled his step as he climbed into the buggy. This could have been the opening he needed to start things on a positive path.

  He didn’t have a chance to raise the question with Marigold until much later that day, though. It was James’s day to spend at Winterberry Park—something he’d agonized about all week. Would it be more or less hurtful to keep James at arm’s-length for a time? Would Marigold flinch at the sight of his son, or would she think he was a blackguard for banishing his own child? He debated the issue back and forth with himself right up until the last minute, when he decided to keep to his original plan and have James for the day. Lucky for him, James was a charmer, and Marigold seemed to be the kind of woman who loved all children, no matter how disgraceful their fathers were.

  “It almost seems a shame to send him back to Clara and Rev. Fallon,” Marigold commented as she waved goodbye from Winterberry Park’s front steps as the sun began to set.

  Alex’s heart shot to his throat. She was speaking to him. He had a chance to fix things after all. “Arthur and Clara have managed well so far,” he said carefully.

  Still watching the maid who walked James down Winterberry’s long drive and not looking at Alex, Marigold said, “They have their hands full, though, Clara and Rev. Fallon. Two sets of twins within a year of each other would be a daunting task for the most experienced mother.” Her hand drifted absently to her stomach.

  Alex’s brow twitched into a frown. Did she still want a child with him, in spite of his utter failures as a husband? Heaven knew that making her pregnant was the one thing he could competently manage. She’d been perfectly satisfied with his performance before he’d ruined things. But if he was going to save their marriage, he would have to do better than giving her what any lover could.

  He must have stayed silent, studying her too long. She sent him a sideways glance, then blushed and lowered her eyes. “I wouldn’t object if you chose to bring James to Winterberry Park for a while,” she said in a quiet voice. “With the right nursemaid and this lovely estate to wander, he may be quite happy.”

  Alex drew in a breath, the thrill of victory coursing through him. With it came a flash of inspiration. “Funny you should mention that.”

  Marigold turned fully to him. “Mention what?”

  “A nursemaid.”

  She stared at him as if she had no idea what he was on about.

  He shook his head slightly and changed his stance. “When Phillips arrived this morning, I asked him how Miss Murdoch was faring.” Just as he’d predicted, Marigold’s expression filled with interest. “Phillips seems to think Miss Murdoch would be happier here, at Winterberry Park, especially since the scandal is about to break.”

  “The scandal is about to…what?” Her eyes flared with alarm.

  Alex winced. It seemed he had yet another thing on his hands that he hadn’t quite thought through. It was damn difficult to remember to consult someone else in his decision after nearly fifty years of being his own entity.

  “I’ve made sure that two key newspapers are aware of Miss Murdoch’s story and Turpin’s involvement in it,” he told her. “One of them, The Observer, published a piece about it on Sunday. So the ball has been set into motion.”

  “And how does Ruby feel about all this?” Marigold crossed her arms.

  Alex cleared his throat. Blast him, but he hadn’t thought to ask. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it strikes me that we could kill two birds with one stone by bringing Miss Murdoch here so that she could serve as James’s nursemaid for a while.”

  Marigold’s eyebrows shot up. “You would trust a woman with Miss Murdoch’s past, a woman who has a child of her own, with the care of your son?”

  It was next to impossible for Alex to tell whether the flash in Marigold’s eyes was offense at the suggestion or approval of his outlandish idea. The rest of society would think he had lost his mind to violate the rules of acceptability so grievously. He hesitated for a little too long before answering, “Yes?”

  For a few, terrifying heartbeats, Marigold simply stared at him. Then she relaxed into a pleased smile. Alex was so relieved that he could have fallen to his knees and wept.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “Especially if Turpin’s crimes become public knowledge. I’m sure Ruby would feel much safer in the countryside than in the thick of things in town.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Alex stepped toward her, resting a hand on her arm.

  Marigold’s smile faltered, and she stared at his hand. He pulled away, regretting that he’d crossed the invisible boundary between them. But at least she hadn’t wrenched free of him and marched back into the house. It was a step in the right direction, even if it was a tiny one.

  “We should sit down and discuss the parameters of James’s extended visit,” he said, praying that she would take the bait and spend more time with him.

  She hummed and nodded. “I think we’ll need to be careful how we approach Clara and Rev. Fallon with the idea. We don’t want them to think you’ve lost faith in their ability to care for James.”

  “Precisely.” Alex took a deep breath, bristling with nerves as he took a chance and asked, “Would you like to stroll through the garden and discuss it? August sunsets are lovely at Winterberry Park.” Although if he were honest, he would be much happier watching the sun rise, through the window from his bed, with her tucked happily in his arms.

  All the same, he hesitantly offered her his arm. After a long, heart-stopping breath, she reached out and tentatively rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. Alex was so relieved that he nearly tripped down the stairs on the way to the garden path. Perhaps his failures weren’t so unforgivable after all. Perhaps he could start over and spend the kind of time with his wife that he should have before proposing to her. For once in his life, he had a chance to make things right. An old dog could learn new tricks.

  For as long as she could remember, Marigold had listened to the tales of her friends with houses in the country and longed to have that kind of escape herself. Now that she was firmly settled in Wiltshire with a vast estate of her own—or rather, Alex’s—to manage, she longed for the faster pace and familiarity of London. Winterberry Park was perfectly lovely, and she and Alex were in high demand at parties and gatherings all across the county. But since her arrival two weeks before, she hadn’t felt grounded or focused.

  She settled onto the stool in front of the vanity in the dressing room Alex had encouraged her to set up across the hall from their bedroom. The fashionable gown she’d donned for the soiree at Alex’s brother Edward’s house that night swirled around her in a cloud of peach chiffon, but she could have been wearing sackcloth for all the joy it gave her. What use were beautiful gowns when nothing felt right?

  “Would you like to wear the diamond earrings or the sapphire, ma’am?” Ada, the housemaid who had been elevated to her lady’s maid asked, holding up both pairs.

  Marigold dragged herself out of her thoughts, glancing between the two stunning sets Alex had given her in the weeks after their wedding. Each was gorgeous in its own way, but they held little interest to her. She could see no
w that Alex had bought them out of a sense of guilt, or worse, obligation.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “Whichever you think would look best.”

  Poor Ada’s shoulders slumped, and her brow creased with worry. “The sapphire would be more dramatic, I think, ma’am,” she said, returning to the bureau, where all the rest of Alex’s guilt offerings were stored, to put the diamonds away.

  Marigold’s gaze shifted to the view out the open window. Wiltshire really was lovely. Alex had been spot on the other day when he told her that August sunsets were beautiful. Their walk through Winterberry Park’s gardens had been enjoyable, even if it hadn’t been particularly comfortable. She sensed that Alex didn’t really know what to say to her, and if she were honest, she hadn’t been much better. The worst of it was that she couldn’t, in all honesty, say that the awkwardness between them was new or unexpected. It was merely what was left over when the excitement of making a rash decision wore off.

  “There we go, ma’am.” Ada brought the sapphire earrings to Marigold with a smile.

  “Thank you, Ada.” Marigold returned the maid’s smile, then faced the mirror to put the earrings on. “How is James settling in?” she asked Ada’s reflection.

  The young woman’s smile brightened. “He’s making himself quite at home, ma’am. Though it’ll be a blessing when the nursemaid you’ve sent for arrives. The maids have their hands full minding a little tike with Master James’s energy. He does so like to wander off.”

  Marigold managed a tired smile. “Little boys are always a handful, I suppose.” She stopped short of saying she looked forward to having one of her own. It was too soon for her to have the slightest hint about whether the babe she was carrying was a boy or a girl.