Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Mari did her best not to think about Mr. Walker’s nephew. She had peeked from the upper story windows of Talcott House and had not seen him in the garden. No doubt he had returned to his life and possibly a very sweet and sensible wife.
She had longed to know his name, but now that he was gone and she would never see his kind eyes again, the ones that seemed to sparkle with interest whenever he saw her, she was glad she had no name to put with the handsome, if dirt-smudged, face. The easier to forget him.
She had determined not to make a sachet from his handkerchief and had also decided that she must throw the article away.
She had put it in the pocket of her dress yesterday, telling herself that when she found the proper opportunity to discard it, she would.
She knew it was a sin to be wasteful, especially with such fine fabric.
During the day, her fingers had found their way into her pocket to stroke over the luxurious piece of linen.
It seemed quite an expensive item for a man working in the garden to have.
And even more so that he gave it up so easily when she had hurt herself on the thorns.
As she wandered down the hall, contemplating how to dispose of the item in a way that no one would notice or ask questions—a large piece of fabric like that sitting in a rubbish container would draw attention—she decided that she would bury it in the garden.
That made the most sense. Take it back where it came from.
Yes, that was the best idea and her burden felt a bit lighter as she made her way through the downstairs of Talcott House toward the door to the garden.
Finally taking a breath of fresh air, she filled her lungs and felt some of her sadness fall away.
As though Miss Wickersham would consent to her marrying a gardener.
Not even a gardener, but his assistant. For all Marigold knew, he was already married.
Yes, that was likely the case because a man with such a kind countenance would be easy to love.
Though he had a stern side, she recalled with a flutter to her tummy. The way he'd chided her when she had used bad language after jabbing her finger on a thorn. He would be the sort of strict Papa Marigold hoped for. One who was kind but also held her to account, with a firm but loving hand.
Enough of this foolishness, she told herself.
Looking around the garden she noticed some freshly turned soil near the vegetable patch.
The handkerchief could go there and no one would be the wiser.
If it was found, it would make sense that possibly Mr. Walker’s nephew had dropped it while working.
As if anyone would know to whom it belonged. Anyone besides Mari, that is.
She set course for the vegetable patch, but turned back toward Talcott House when she heard whispers.
Near the windows to Miss Wickersham's study, she caught a flash of yellow fabric, next to something pink that was not a flower.
Moving closer, she saw Poppy and Violet crouched down below Miss Wickersham's open window.
Mari blew out a sigh. Those two were simply determined to cause mischief. She turned back to her task. It was not her place to save them from their own foolishness. Besides, if they were busy spying on Miss Wickersham, they would take no notice of Mari's furtive actions.
"There you are!" Lily appeared next to Mari, her usually tidy hair falling in loose tendrils around her face. "I have been looking all over for you. Come along!"
She grabbed Mari's arm and dragged her toward Talcott House. "What are you doing?" Mari asked.
"Hush," Lily said. "You need to hear this."
Before she could respond, Mari had been wedged next to Poppy and Violet in the tight space between a boxwood hedge and the brick wall of Talcott House. Both girls put fingers to their lips, as though it was not clear to Mari that if they were eavesdropping on Miss Wickersham silence was essential.
Eavesdropping was a bad idea. If Miss Wickersham caught them... it would be worse than the naughty chair.
But then she heard her name and realized that nothing would keep her from listening in.
"This is no small matter, your grace," Miss Wickersham said, her voice sharp and refined, as always. "Marigold is a lovely young lady and I will not consent to her marriage unless I am absolutely certain it is in her best interest."
Marriage? To a duke? Mari's head spun with questions. How? Why? He did not even know her.
"I agree," replied a man. Presumably the Duke of Norwich. "I have given the entire matter of whom I shall marry a great deal of thought. In fact, it has been a primary concern for as long as I can remember."
"Of course," Miss Wickersham said. "It should be a serious matter for anyone. Marriage is not to be entered lightly."
"No, and as I have given it the utmost consideration, I have determined, as I said in my letters to you, that I wish to have a bride who is both a wife and a Little girl. My little duchess. Marigold is the one I want."
Marigold felt herself go hot and then cold and black dots danced in her vision. This could not be happening.
Violet grabbed her arm and squeezed, emphasizing her own excitement at Mari's good fortune.
There was a weighty silence and it took all of Mari's willpower not to raise her head up and look into the window. Miss Wickersham still had not consented to the marriage. Did Mari want her to?
Her hand went to the piece of fabric in her pocket. Wouldn't marriage to a kind gardener be a better life for her?
Pish. As though she could have fallen in love simply because a man was handsome and kind to her. And had the most romantic blue eyes.
"I appreciate that you have given this much thought and have selected Marigold," Miss Wickersham said, her tone measured.
Though she could not see the Mistress of Talcott House, Mari had no trouble envisioning the tall, graceful woman who ran the home for young ladies who had all gotten off to a rough start in life.
It had been Miss Wickersham's mission to give them a good life and a Papa, to treat them like the Little girls they never got to be.
Miss Wickersham could be kind, but she was also fiercely protective of her charges.
It was one of the things Mari admired most about her.
"The Little Ladies of Talcott House are not so many cakes on display at a patisserie," she said. "You may not simply point at one and expect that I will box her up with a pretty ribbon and hand her over."
Oh, how Mari wished she could see the expression on the Duke of Norwich's face. No doubt he was unaccustomed to being spoken to so directly, especially by a woman. Mari and the others braced for an explosion from the duke. Would he leave, thus taking Mari's chance to be a duchess with him?
The friends all exchanged worried glances.
Then the duke spoke. "I would expect no less," he replied, his tone even but equally as firm as Miss Wickersham's.
"Your reputation is not unknown to me. You can be assured I would never have sought your services without fully investigating your operation here at Talcott House.
I understand that your charges have all come from unfortunate circumstances and that your mission is to secure spouses who will provide well for them while also giving them the loving guidance they need. "
"And deserve," Miss Wickersham added. The hairs on Mari's arms stood up, imagining Miss Wickersham staring down the duke with the same piercing gaze she used on the girls when they misbehaved, or worse, disappointed her.
"I could not agree more," the Duke of Norwich said.
Mari tried to imagine what he looked like based on his deep voice and the manner in which he spoke, since that was all she had to go on.
"If you agree to allow Marigold to become my wife, I give you my word as a gentleman that she will want for nothing.
Not only material comforts, but she will have emotional comfort as well.
She will have structure and safety. Comforting arms and adoration.
" His voice softened when he said the last phrase and butterflies bounced in Mari's tummy.
There was a long pause and it felt as though Mari and her friends were all holding their breath.
"Very well," Miss Wickersham said. "I will send for Mari and you may speak to her. I hope you will be as forthcoming with her as you have been with me. If she is in agreement, then I shall consent to the marriage."
The four friends hiding beneath the window all stared at each other with wide eyes and then the realization hit them.
Miss Wickersham would be looking for Mari.
They scampered out of the bushes as quickly and quietly as they could and by the time Garland found them, they were sitting in the garden like the very proper little ladies they were meant to be.
“I still do not understand why the duke would pick me,” Mari said, examining herself in the long looking glass in the corner of the bedchamber she shared with her friends.
All four were together pretending they had no idea why Miss Wickersham had sent word via Garland that Mari was to change into a fresh frock and present herself at Miss Wickersham’s study forthwith.
“He chose you because you are the sweetest, kindest person I have ever met,” Lily said, adding a pin to Mari’s hair to keep it in place.
“Thank you for saying that, Lily, but it is far from the truth,” Marigold said, fighting the uncertainty that threatened to overtake her.
“It is the truth!” Poppy said. “Who else would have even thought of changing Garland’s hairstyle, let alone persuaded her to go along with it? I almost didn’t recognize her when she came looking for you.”
“She did look better, didn’t she?” Mari said. “She seemed almost… cheerful.” She shook her head back and forth. It was astonishing. Almost as astonishing as a duke seeking her out as a bride.
And wanting to be her Papa.
Miss Wickersham had often spoken of how her girls would all have a loving Papa. How she was able to promise such a thing, Mari had no idea. And honestly, she had been skeptical that such men actually existed. Men who were kind and loving, but also strict, to help a girl be her best.
“Come along, Marigold.” Garland was at the door but her voice was a little less strident than usual Mari thought. “Miss Wickersham and the D— her guest—are waiting.”
“Who is her guest?” Violet asked, though of course they all knew. Mari thought this was a very clever attempt at covering up the fact that they had been eavesdropping and she couldn’t help but smile over it.
“If Miss Wickersham wanted you to know who her guest is, she would have included you in the invitation,” Garland said, sounding like her old officious self. Ah well, Mari told herself, there’s only so much a hairstyle can do. But, every little bit was progress.
“Well, hurry along, Mari. We’re all dying to find out who this mysterious visitor is,” Poppy said, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze and guiding her toward the door.
“Your hair looks very nice, Garland,” Mari said when they were alone in the hallway.
Garland glanced down at her and paused for a moment, as though debating whether to speak or not.
Finally she said, “Thank you. I hope you will give me another lesson in styling it myself before you…” Then she clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Hurry.” She continued down the hall. “Miss Wickersham will be cross if we tarry.”
Marigold gave an inward gasp. Garland was about to say before you leave Talcott House. A pang of sadness stabbed at Mari at the thought. This was the first place she’d felt safe in many years. She had friends. And even if there were rules, they were fair and she knew what to expect.
But marriage to a duke? A duke she had never met? A staggering thought. Was she capable of such a thing?
Before she could discern an answer, they were at the door to Miss Wickersham’s study. “No need to knock, Miss Wickersham is expecting you.” Garland opened the door and gave her a gentle push on the shoulder to get her going. “Good luck,” the older girl whispered to her.
Mari took a moment to steady herself. Was not this the moment every young lady at Talcott House prepared and prayed for—the moment she met her Papa? Once she took another step, her life would never be the same again.