Chapter 2 #2
“No,” he replied. “I would be very sad if you did not come to the gardens again while I am here. You seem to enjoy them and I would hate to deprive you of that. It is simply a matter of obeying the rules.”
“I believe I can do that,” Mari said, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Now, it appears you were gathering flowers. Will you still be able to do that with the injury to your finger or shall I assist you?”
However, before Mari could answer, he had already picked up the basket and clippers and was snipping away at some of Mr. Walker’s prize mums and adding them to the basket. Once it was nearly overflowing, he handed it back to her.
His gaze held hers for a brief moment before he tipped his hat, saying, “I must get back to my duties,” and walked away.
Though she knew it was impolite, Mari stared after him, her heart thundering in her chest.
“Mari, would you please help me with my hair?” Poppy turned to Mari in the room they shared with Violet and Lily. “I am hopeless.”
“I wonder why Miss Wickersham does not hire maids to assist us?” Violet asked.
“I believe she has done so in the past, but Miss Wickersham is very private about what happens here. Besides, we shall all soon have husbands who can provide us with as many servants as we shall ever need.”
“Especially whoever marries the Duke of Norwich,” Poppy said.
“Ah, now I understand why you are so eager for Mari to do your hair tonight,” Lily said, giving Poppy a knowing look. “While you were snooping, did you see an invitation from Miss Wickersham for the duke to join us for dinner tonight?”
“I could have kept all this information to myself, you know,” Poppy said. “And set myself up to win the duke’s heart.”
“As though you’d be able to keep news like that to yourself,” Lily said with a laugh. “Come now, Poppy. I am only teasing. If Miss Wickersham chooses you for the duke, he will have his hands full.”
“And his naughty chair,” Violet said, all the girls falling into gales of laughter.
“Wait, wait,” Poppy said when the laughter died down. “Do you mean there are naughty chairs at places other than Talcott House?”
“For your Papa’s sake, I hope so,” Violet said, trying to hold back a laugh.
“Now you are all just being mean,” Poppy said.
“You had all better quit your shenanigans and get ready for dinner.” Garland stood in the doorway, hair in two severe braids that were wrapped around her head like a coiled serpent. A hush fell over the bedchamber shared by the four girls.
“Yes, Garland,” Mari said. “Thank you for the reminder.”
Garland’s thick eyebrows rose and she looked at Mari with surprise. “Y-you’re welcome,” she said, a tone of confusion in her voice. Then she turned and left.
As soon as Garland exited the doorway, but certainly not before she was out of earshot, Poppy, Violet and even Lily burst into laughter.
Mari shook her finger at her roommates. “Stop that. You are all being very mean to Garland. She cannot help that she is dour. Perhaps she has never had a friend before.”
The others looked at Mari as though she had lost her mind, then proceeded with their preparations for dinner. Mari, in an effort to smooth things over, arranged Poppy’s hair in a very attractive style which she had seen in a recent magazine.
On the way to the dining room, Mari’s roommates were all in high spirits about the prospect of meeting a duke.
Though Mari knew she ought to be equally enthused, all she could think about was a pair of fair blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes.
“It’s been two days and no one has seen a duke on the premises. Not to mention that if Miss Wickersham was expecting an important visitor, she would have us all polishing the silver,” Lily said as they were outside again, taking a morning walk supervised by Garland.
“And we would not have had mutton two nights in a row,” Violet said, pulling a face.
“Did you not recently say you were grateful to not go hungry? And now you complain of having the same meal twice?” Poppy said.
“Marigold, tell us your opinion. I believe Poppy made up the whole story about the Duke of Norwich,” Violet said. “But you are much kinder in your observations so let us hear what you think.”
Mari, who had been surreptitiously scanning the garden looking for Mr. Walker’s unnamed nephew, paused and strained to remember what her friends had been talking about.
She had tried looking for the mystery man from their second-floor bedroom window but had not caught sight of him.
Perhaps she had imagined the whole thing.
Except for the tiny scab on her finger, she might have believed she’d made it all up herself.
And the handkerchief she had washed and ironed and tucked beneath her pillow.
“Is it not possible that Poppy is correct about the duke and also that he has not arrived yet? A duke has better things to do than dawdle around Talcott House all day. Perhaps he will simply come up the driveway moments before the wedding.”
The others paused to consider this.
Off to the right, Mari thought she saw movement. “I am sure he will turn up when the time is right,” she said. “I believe I will go to the herb garden for some rosemary. I wish to make a sachet.”
Yes, it was foolish and sentimental, but she had decided that she would make a sachet out of the precious handkerchief.
It was a practical thing to do and if anyone found the memento stashed under her pillow, there would be questions which she did not wish to answer.
The encounter in the garden with the handsome stranger was something she wished to keep only to herself.
Before any of the others could offer to accompany her, she hurried, at a ladylike pace, down the garden path toward the herb garden.
She slowed her steps and practiced breathing normally.
Down near the rosemary bushes, she saw a man’s form.
It could be Mr. Walker, but she hoped very fervently that it was his nephew.
She stood for a moment, watching him work and unsure what to say. Hardly a chatterbox like Violet or bold like Poppy, Mari still was not so shy that she could not speak to a stranger. Besides, he was not a stranger. They had spoken and he had assisted her with her wounded finger.
Still, her mouth felt dry and she considered turning and leaving.
“Good day, Miss Marigold.”
That voice. Her heart skittered with pleasure. It was him.
While she tried to calm herself, Mr. Walker’s nephew stood and turned to her, doffing his hat, revealing golden hair that fell in an unruly wave across his brow. “It is a pleasure to see you again,” he said. His eyes gleamed and Mari hoped it was because he was happy to see her.
“I-it is a pl-pleasure to see you again, as well,” she managed to say, twisting her fingers together at her waist.
“Have you been behaving yourself?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
Mari blushed. “Yes, of course I have,” she replied, glancing toward the repaired rabbit cage.
He raised a brow at her and Mari felt herself squirm. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Were you looking for something special here in the garden? The primroses are looking particularly nice today.” He nodded toward a bed of the fragrant flowers.
“Thank you,” she said. She could hardly admit to him that she had intended to gather rosemary to make a sachet from the handkerchief he’d given her. She wondered if she ought to offer to return it to him now that it had been laundered.
Yes, she ought to give it back, but she just could not give up the precious memento. “Primrose will do quite well for the tables today,” she said.
The two of them walked to the patch of yellow blooms and Mr. Walker’s nephew began snipping flowers and handing them to Mari. They worked together for a few moments without talking and it was quite pleasant. His quiet strength made Mari feel safe and content.
And something else. A tingle of excitement. A thrill of awareness.
When her hands could hold no more flowers, she said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“I enjoy taking care of you, Miss Marigold.” Something in his tone washed over her and sent a thrum of warmth through her.
Her mouth went dry and she struggled to find a reply, not wishing to end the interaction just yet.
“I-is Mr. Walker unwell?” she asked, glancing about for the elderly gardener.
“I expect he’ll be on the mend soon and back on the job within a matter of days,” the nephew said.
“Oh,” she said, an overwhelming sense of sadness coming over her. “Th-that is good news,” she lied. “I suppose you will be glad to get back to your own home. Wherever that may be.”
He tilted his head to the side, the sunlight catching the golden strands of his hair. “I am looking forward to returning to my home,” he said, his gaze holding hers in a way that was exceptionally forward for a gardener, though Mari found it intoxicating.
“Well,” she said, “I wish you happy travels.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Is there anything else you need here in the garden?”
Now her notion of making a sachet out of the handkerchief seemed exceedingly foolish. He would be leaving soon and she would never see him again.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I just remembered that I need to get back to my friends. Good day, to you.”
Then she turned and hurried back the way she’d come, blinking away tears. Though why she felt like crying over a stranger, she had no idea.