Chapter 11
PIECE OF EARTH
Aweek later, Marigold wore one of her many new gowns and walked down the stairs to the breakfast room.
For the past seven days, she had been doing the same thing, descending the stairs precisely at half past eight.
She was sure that, like every morning, the Duke would already be seated at the breakfast table with the morning paper in hand and his coffee already served.
She entered the room, and everything was as expected.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Marigold said, starting the word count of the day.
It was a little game she played with herself, counting the words that she and the Duke exchanged in one single day. She was surprised to find that, more or less, the word count was the same unless she initiated a new subject which she gave up after the fourth day.
“Good morning,” he replied without looking up from his morning paper. “Did you sleep well?”
Marigold was surprised to hear that question. Perhaps they were going for a record that day after all.
“It was a peaceful sleep, Your Grace.”
The maid came and served her favorite tea and a different kind of cake. Marigold was also keeping a tally of how many different cakes she would be served before they started to rotate again.
“We have an invitation for the Kirton ball,” the Duke informed her. “I declined. We are supposed to still be on our,” he hesitated, “honeymoon.”
Marigold admired the way she suppressed the natural chuckle that came at hearing this word coming out of his mouth.
“It was a prudent decision, Your Grace.”
They proceeded to eat and drink without talking or looking at each other.
Marigold did not know much about marriage.
Her father had been sick most of his life, and she didn’t have any friends, so she could not witness how they lived with their spouses.
But perhaps that’s all there was. Empty words and shared tables.
The Duke finished his coffee and got up, straightening his jacket. As he did every day, he would for one moment hesitate, as if he wanted to say something that would add to the word count of the day, but he never did.
“I will be seeing you for dinner,” he said. “Have a great day.”
Marigold didn’t know and never asked what he was doing for the rest of the day. She didn’t know if he was going to parliament or if he was still visiting the docks, hunting for Johnny’s gang. He never told her, and she never asked.
“You too, Your Grace,” Marigold responded and watched his retreating back.
Marigold drank the rest of her tea and tried the delicious cake in her beautiful breakfast room with two footmen and one maid attending her. Yet she could not enjoy any of it.
She knew she had upset him that night. She had seen his expression go cold like a door slamming shut.
She had tried the first few days to make it right, asking for his forgiveness if she had offended him, clarifying that it was not her intention, and he always assured her he was not offended before returning to his paper.
It was a lie of course. Marigold knew she had touched a scar that had not yet healed. But how could she avoid doing it again? How could she bridge the gap between them if she didn’t know what it was?
Instead of dwelling on the things that she couldn’t control, she decided to do things that she could, in fact, control.
“Call Mrs. Hodgins to my office, please.”
Marigold retreated to the small study adjoining her bedroom, and almost daily, Mrs. Hodgins joined her.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” the old woman came right on cue.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hodgins. Have you brought me the supplier’s ledger?”
“Like I told Her Grace,” Mrs. Hodgins said in her reassuring voice, “His Grace has always managed the accounts himself, or more accurately, his solicitor has.”
“And I have assured you, Mrs. Hodgins, that I do not need to see all of His Grace’s ledgers, only the ones referring to this house. And to be honest, I am glad I did so because from what I have seen, regarding the household, the solicitor had done a poor job.”
“Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he is a man,” Mrs. Hodgins dared.
“Mrs. Hodgins…” Marigold went serious, and the old woman was momentarily scared. “It has everything to do with the fact that he is a man.”
The two women laughed and smiled as Marigold started going through the supplier’s ledgers.
The numbers were a mess. There was no fraud, but there was plenty of inefficiency.
There was money leaking out in places it should not.
A few of the suppliers were charging double what was reasonable, and the payments to the staff were inconsistent from month to month which must be irritating to them.
“Mrs. Hodgins,” Marigold said, “I know His Grace does in fact have a great deal of money. The allowance I am given to manage the household is more than enough to cover even those mistakes, but that doesn’t mean that we need to be wasteful.”
“I totally agree, Your Grace, but it was not my place to say so.”
“Well, I believe it is my place to say so, so we are reorganizing everything. I am going to need new ledgers. I will cross-reference every expense. I will keep the solicitor in the loop, and I will keep a different margin for questions he might have. And I will need you to arrange some appointments with our main suppliers to renegotiate. Some of these numbers are preposterous.”
Mrs. Hodgins regarded her with awe.
“Was that too much?” Marigold retreated to her favorite insecurity.
“Your Grace,” the old woman said, “I am simply flabbergasted by your ability to handle the ledgers and the finances of this household.”
“I had to learn,” Marigold said simply. “You learn not to misplace not even one penny when there is no money.”
“I am deeply sorry for what you have been through, but if I may add, it is a relief to have you here. It was high time this house had a firm hand to guide it.”
Marigold smiled at the old woman. She did nothing more or nothing less than she had already done back in her own household.
And now, she didn’t even have to be anxious because she had plenty of money to manage this.
And yet back in Cove Manor, she never heard a compliment or a thank you for her hard work.
“Do not worry, Mrs. Hodgins,” she assured, “we will bring this place into shape soon enough.”
After the ledgers, Marigold went into her dressing room.
Because of course, now, she had a dressing room filled with new gowns and shoes and bonnets and jewelry and gloves, all of them of top quality.
She picked a simple walking dress, and she did not ring for a maid.
She had long learned to dress herself, and old habits died hard.
She made her way downstairs, and she went out the garden doors. She didn’t even need to call for Duck. The moment she was out in the gardens, the dog could smell her no matter where she was and came running towards her.
“Come here, girl,” Marigold said when she saw Duck barreling towards her.
The dog responded by wagging its tail so hard that its whole body wiggled. Marigold kneeled to scratch behind the dog’s ears, and without further invitation, Duck rolled onto her back, demanding belly rubs.
“You’re definitely a dog named after a bird who behaves like a cat. You are my little chimera,” Marigold laughed as she played with Duck. Outside in the quiet of the morning, with no servants watching and no Duke sitting in cold silence across the table, Marigold felt a little bit at peace.
“Oh, Duck,” she sighed. “You are the only one that expects nothing from me except for some belly rubs. That is why I like you best.”
Marigold got up and decided to take a long walk around the gardens. That led her further than usual this morning, past the manicured hedges and the reflecting pool, right under the rose arches.
Marigold let the beauty of the place take some of her bitterness, allowed the smells to take over her mood, and she noticed the sound of the gravel under her shoes had something serene in it.
She reached a corner of the estate that she wasn’t sure she had seen before, possibly because it was tucked away behind a high hedge. It was a small patch of land, mostly empty, only grass. At the far end, there was a small shed, weathered but sturdy. Scattered all over were overgrown bushes.
Marigold stopped walking. Something stirred in her chest. She knelt and took some of the soil in her hands. It was darker, richer. It never had curated flower beds or big trees in it, so it was still fertile.
“Well, look at this, Duck.” She pet the dog. “We could have rows of potatoes, carrots, and onions, perhaps some cabbage and peas of course.”
She did not need those here. Hunger was an unknown word in Verdant House. Always fresh produce and meat in abundance, sugar and pastries, and the most exquisite tea and expensive coffee. And no creditors banging on the door.
But still she missed it. It was not just the practical use, it was the satisfaction of growing something with her own two hands. Something meaningful, useful. Something that was hers. Something that proved she existed.
* * *
That night, as she was getting ready for dinner, she was looking at herself in the vanity mirror. She was a bit nervous, but she was also determined. The worst thing that could happen was him saying no. He couldn’t be more mad at her now, could he?
With renewed courage, she went down to meet the Duke in the dining hall. She was informed that he had been back and was expecting her.
Marigold entered the massive room. She had an instant distaste for the dining room. It was too big for just the two of them sitting on the edges of this long table.
“Good evening, Your Grace. I hope you were not left waiting long,” she said and took her place on one edge, a footman hurrying to pull her seat.
“Good evening,” he said, barely looking at her.
Servants and maids and footmen started bringing out the dishes. Marigold could not appreciate the taste and the variety because she was gathering her courage.
“Your Grace,” she said finally.
The Duke looked at her, taken aback. Marigold knew why. They were going for a new record for most words used in a day.
“I was wondering…” Marigold hesitated. “I mean, there is something that I would like to ask.”
“Go ahead,” the Duke demanded.
“I believe you had said yourself that if I were to talk, you would listen, so I am… talking.”
The Duke tilted his head, half-amused.
“You may be talking, but you are not making much sense, Your Grace,” he challenged.
Marigold took a deep breath before answering.
“I was wondering if part of the garden might be mine to use as I saw fit.”
There was a strange mixture that she saw brewing in the Duke’s face. Part of it was what she expected, which was genuine surprise at her request, but the other seemed bothered and irritated.
“It’s just a small part of the garden. It’s at the far edge behind the hedges. It’s not being used for anything,” Marigold hastened to defend her request.
The Duke seemed to be slightly angry at her, as if he didn’t quite understand the question.
“Perhaps it is not very clear to you that the whole garden is yours, Your Grace,” he said in his low, dark voice.
“I am aware. What I am requesting is a little, maybe radical, because I want to uproot the whole area and create a vegetable garden.”
“A vegetable garden?”
“Yes, nothing fancy, just potatoes and cabbages and peas of course, and it would be great if I could fit in some spinach because fresh spinach is simply a delicacy.”
The Duke opened his mouth in disbelief.
“I realize,” Marigold cut him off, anxious to get her request heard, “we do not actually need a vegetable garden. There is no shortage of food of course. But it is something always good to have, and nothing tastes better than fresh produce. And to have them from your own soil? The taste is simply superb. And truth be told, I miss gardening. I had a garden at Cove Manor, and it was the only thing that was entirely mine there, and I know I do not need it here as I said, but I would like it. I promise, just a small corner. I would not let it become unsightly. I would keep it neat and orderly, and you won’t even notice it unless you were looking for it, and… ”
Marigold noticed that the Duke had stopped eating. He had laid his cutlery down, placed one elbow on the table, propped his chin on his hand, and he was simply looking at her. It wasn’t that his look didn’t have that cold expression, but there was something else underneath.
“I’m babbling,” Marigold said.
“You are,” the Duke confirmed.
“So, as I was saying, a small patch of land.”
The Duke nodded and looked at her very seriously. Was he going to deny her this small favor? Was he still that angry with her?
“You do realize you’re the Duchess of this estate?”
“I do.”
“And have you taken into consideration that you could demolish half the house if you wanted to?”
“I should find that quite extreme. I do not wish to demolish the house.”
“Yes, perhaps not the whole house,” he continued. “You could keep a room or two to live in, and the kitchen preferably. I am quite partial to hot meals.”
“Do not be unreasonable. We can always cook in the fireplace,” Marigold dared.
“Yes, I believe that could be managed,” the Duke said with a little glint in his eyes.
“Or,” Marigold continued, “I could just use that corner of the garden.”
The Duke looked at her for a long moment. And then a sound filled the empty dining hall. Unexpected and astonishing, rare and unbelievable. The Duke was laughing. Not that cold, dismissive laugh that she had heard. This laughter was genuine, warm.
Marigold watched in bewilderment as that laughter transformed his whole face into boyish mischief. She was painfully aware that the Duke was impressively attractive. But to see him smile like this? It was magnetic.
“Take your corner, and uproot it, and do whatever you want with it,” he said in between bouts of laughter.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a lift in her voice.
That made him turn and look at her. And when he saw the way she was regarding him, when it finally dawned on him that he had actually allowed a genuine human emotion to be displayed in front of others, and especially her, he clammed up.
The smile dropped, and the light in his eyes was put out. His jaw tightened. It was as if Marigold watched it happen in real time. He closed himself off, raised the walls one by one, and latched every window. And there he was, the cold, distant Duke again.
He drew the towel from his lap and threw it on the table, not angrily, just dismissively.
“If there’s nothing else,” his voice was flat, “I have some business to attend to before bed.”
That is all he said before he left the room and her, staring into the empty void created by a man capable of making or ruining days with a simple smile.