Chapter 6
CLOUDING SUN
If she had any friends, Marigold was sure they would have shared how they dreamed their wedding would come to be. The courtship, the proposal, their families happy, and that sweet, sweet anticipation of taking the next step toward the rest of your life.
But she did not have any friends. Just her mother in the sad drawing room, reading the paper again and again.
Somehow, the Duke had managed to acquire a marriage certificate, and he thought it prudent to announce such an achievement in the papers.
There, within the bold black frame and elegant printed letters, her name stood beside his for the whole world to see.
“This is truly a gift for everything I have endured,” her mother kept saying, paper in hand.
Marigold still did not know how to react, and she decided she should have had a conversation with the Duke regarding the announcement.
But now, it was too late. She could only imagine what the rest of the ton was thinking of her.
The powerful and rich Duke of Voss marrying Lady Marigold Covington, “whose dignity, perseverance, and strength of character have earned the particular admiration of His Grace.”
That last line utterly devastated her. She could not tell if he truly believed that because he had avoided the usual “accomplished” or “rare beauty.” Or perhaps he, too, was trying to explain to the world why on earth a duke of his stature had chosen her as his wife.
“Oh, I can only imagine how it will feel to spend all that money the Duke has,” her mother kept droning.
Marigold frowned in confusion. Why should she be talking about spending the Duke’s money? She was the one marrying him. She had never thought about doing that. She was burden enough already without a dowry.
“And that big house,” Claire, her mother, kept dreaming aloud. “I have seen that house in Mayfair, and it is by far the most impressive and elegant of them all. It would be a pleasure to stay in a house like that.”
The cup Marigold was holding clinked against the saucer, and some of the untouched amber liquid spilled over.
“Mother,” she dared, “you are not really thinking that you will be staying in the Verdant House?”
Claire looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
“Where else would I be staying after the marriage? It is my chance to take my rightful place in this world.”
Marigold was very tempted to show her again the newspaper clipping Claire was holding so tightly to remind her that the name mentioned was Lady Marigold Covington.
It said a great deal that Marigold felt the need to remind her mother that she was the one getting married to the Duke because Claire was acting as if this marriage were a gift for her.
“I am not sure that this is going to happen, Mother,” Marigold finally uttered.
All the pleasure and happiness dropped from Claire’s face. Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips puckered, and she lifted her chin as she turned her full attention to Marigold.
“Are you thinking of discarding your aging mother now that you are stepping up in the world?”
“I do not believe that this is—”
“You are an ungrateful brat!”
Marigold gasped in surprise, and her hands began shaking. She knew what it was like when her mother turned cruel. Claire inhaled as if summoning every bitter thought she carried inside.
“You should be grateful,” Claire spat. “It was due to my hard and tireless work that you gained the attention of the Duke. Plain and simple and obscure as you are. And now, you dare talk back to me?”
If Marigold did not have a certain understanding with the Duke, if she did not know exactly what she had bargained for in order to become a duchess, she might have believed her mother.
After all, she always did this, putting her down, making her doubt herself.
But there was something in the way the Duke had chosen her, even if it was merely a transaction.
The way he wrote “strength of character.” A certain rush, a strange boost of energy, coursed through her body.
“By tireless work,” Marigold said firmly, “you mean how you besmirched my reputation by sketching me out to be a heartless miser? I am sure those rumors you so carefully cultivated were what caught the attention of a duke.”
If looks could kill, that would have been the look Claire turned upon her daughter. The comely features she still possessed distorted and twisted until she became a mask of utter disdain.
“I see that becoming a duchess has made you arrogant,” Claire hissed. “You would do well to remember that first and above all, you are still my daughter. You owe me your life.”
Marigold was caught between grief at seeing her mother ruin what should have been a beautiful day in her life and dread over what other ways Claire would devise to torment her when Alfred entered with a letter.
The Duke was requesting a promenade the next morning.
* * *
Marigold knew that, according to their plan, he was marrying her for her intelligence and resilience, very much based on her character and not the status of her family. Not that anybody would believe the Duke was marrying her in exchange for information on a London street gang.
“Lady Marigold,” Alfred said as he entered her room while she was getting ready, “the Duke has asked me to inform you that he is waiting outside.”
Marigold nodded, and the man looked at her with a small smile. How bizarre was it that the only person happy she was getting married was the only employee she had left?
“Thank you, Alfred,” she said. “And I hope you realize that you will be rewarded for your patience.”
“If you will allow me, Lady Marigold,” the man said softly, “I always knew that you were destined for something better.”
Marigold adjusted the best bonnet she owned to avoid crying in her own room. It was the only good thing she had ever heard about herself in her whole life, and it was based on a lie. How grand her life was.
When she was ready, she descended the stairs. She did not even need to question why the Duke was not entering her house. His disdain for Claire was not something he was prone to hide. She took her gloves and umbrella and exited the house, only to be immediately attacked.
A massive brindle English Mastiff pulled closer to sniff her, and Marigold was taken by surprise.
“Do not worry. She will not hurt you.”
The Duke stood there, imposing in his dark clothes, holding the leash of the giant dog.
Marigold looked at her attacker and let the animal sniff her hand.
For a few moments, she waited for approval, only to be attacked once again when the mountain of a dog decided to hug her.
Had she been a smaller woman, it might have knocked her flat on her back, but Marigold could survive a little enthusiasm.
“Her name is Duck,” the Duke said, watching the scene unfold.
“You did not name this beauty Duck,” Marigold said without looking at him.
She was occupied scratching Duck behind the ears. The dog responded enthusiastically, nuzzling against her and wagging her tail hard enough to vibrate with excitement.
“No, you are not,” she cooed at the dog. “At the very least, you are a tiger.”
Duck responded to that conclusion with double the enthusiasm, licking her hand and bouncing around her. Marigold smiled sweetly, thinking that there was at least one good thing she was getting out of this arranged marriage.
When she looked up at the Duke, he was studying them both with a dark expression. Marigold deciphered it quickly.
The Duke was jealous.
“Oh, come now, Your Grace,” she reassured him. “I am fairly certain you are still her favorite despite your inadequate naming.”
The Duke looked at her with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes before offering her his elbow and pulling Duck back to his side.
“I trust you have read the newspaper,” he said.
“I have, and I think you were a little excessive regarding my person.”
“It was exactly what needed to be said. Is the Serpentine suitable for today?”
The weather was splendid, not a single cloud overhead. A pleasant breeze carried fragrances from all over Mayfair as spring slowly began to bloom. Yet all Marigold could think about was the fact that such pleasant weather would bring out most of the ton to stroll around the scenic river.
“If you wish so, Your Grace.”
“We do need to sell the idea that this was a love match.”
Her jaw tightened at the mention of such a foreign word.
How was she supposed to pretend to feel something she had never experienced?
And who in their right mind would ever believe that a man this impressive, powerful, and rich would fall for someone…
how had her mother put it? Ah yes. Plain and simple and obscure.
She inhaled sharply through her nose and fluttered her eyes shut to prevent tears from falling as they made their way down the Serpentine. Instantly, her fears proved true. It was as if the whole of the gentry had decided to take a walk at that exact moment.
Every single person there, small groups, couples, families, gentlemen strolling together, studied them as they passed.
“Is everything in order?” the Duke leaned down to ask near her ear.
Nothing was ever in order in her life, but she had managed thus far, and she intended to continue. So instead, she focused on the one individual genuinely happy to be with her that morning: Duck.
The moment Marigold turned her attention toward the dog, Duck circumvented the Duke to walk beside her, forcing him to keep Marigold between them.
“You are such a good girl,” Marigold murmured, petting the dog.
“I assure you,” the Duke said, “she possesses a far more feral disposition.”
“Dogs take after their owners, after all,” Marigold commented, scratching beneath Duck’s chin.
“Is that so?” the Duke asked, almost amused.
Marigold realized what she had said and looked up at him.
“I am sorry, Your Grace, I just—”