Chapter 12
RED YARN
Afew days later, the morning ritual had changed for Marigold.
She still went down to the breakfast room at exactly the usual time and had her mostly silent meal with the Duke.
But after that, she changed into a sturdy dress, a leather apron, and thick gloves then made her way to her little patch of heaven.
With Duck at her heels, she greeted the gardeners, a father and his son. The older man was happy to assist her in what he considered meaningful work, especially when Marigold announced that the produce would be shared with the household and distributed to those in need.
“Good morning, Mr. Heston.”
“Your Grace,” the old gardener said, still apprehensive about a Duchess working with her hands. “You can always supervise our work.”
“The labor does not scare me,” Marigold smiled. “Together we can cover more land. For now, make sure the shed is renovated and fully equipped.”
The soil was good. She planned rows for potatoes, a section for carrots and onions, the shadier part for cabbage and spinach, and peas along the edge where they could climb.
She worked until the sun passed its peak, overseeing the shed’s renovation before returning to her room. A bath was already drawn, and she relaxed in the steamy water.
“Tell Mrs. Hodgins I will be in my study,” she told her maid, Beth.
Soon after, Mrs. Hodgins joined her at the ledgers. The accounts were taking shape. Marigold had renegotiated with two suppliers and switched to a different pork supplier, favoring a kind family man over a rich trader.
“I apologize for my tardiness, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hodgins said.
Marigold smiled, and they began working. They were almost done when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said without looking up.
“Your Grace.” It was one of the Duke’s footmen. “His Grace requests your presence in the study at your earliest convenience.”
Her pen screeched over the ledger. She had never been invited to his study before; it was a mythical place the Duke disappeared into. She barely saw him outside of breakfast and dinner. He was either locked in his study or out, busy, always somewhere she was not.
“Tell His Grace I will be there shortly.”
Marigold went to her dressing room and looked in the mirror.
She would not fool herself about why she was summoned.
It was not for the joy of her company, so there was no reason to change into a new gown.
The Duke wanted the information. That was why he married her.
He had kept his end of the bargain, and now, it was time to prove she was worth what he had paid for.
Still, she made sure she looked composed.
Marigold made her way down to the Duke’s study. It was strategically placed on the part of the ground floor that she never needed to pass unless she intended to visit him there. Once she was outside, she smoothed her skirt and straightened her back before knocking on the door.
“Enter!” His command came from behind the closed door.
Marigold opened the door and stepped inside.
It was not as if she had dwelled on how his study would look, but this was not anything she expected.
The Duke she knew was strict and austere, so she expected it to be cold and controlled as the man himself.
She always imagined how he would react to seeing her own study and the little mess that she allowed no one to touch.
But now, she felt quite proud of the way she maintained her study, especially compared to what she was looking at.
This was a complete mess. Papers covered every surface, scattered without any order.
And she could clearly see the reason why Duck was not allowed in the study.
Books upon books and ledgers were stacked on the floor.
One such stack had a coffee cup on top of it.
But what drew her attention was the wall across from the door.
It was covered entirely with papers, sketches, and newspaper clippings.
And that would have been the least of it.
And yet it wasn’t. Fastened with pins, there was a chaotic web of yarn of all colors—red, black, yellow, and green—running from one paper to the other, twisting, crossing, and tangling.
And in front of that wall, standing with his back to her, was the Duke himself.
He was in his shirt, and she could see the cravat at the back of his chair along with his coat.
The suspenders of his breeches were hanging loosely.
And the worst part was that he had rolled his sleeves past his elbows, revealing muscular, veiny forearms that momentarily made Marigold lose focus from the chaos she was experiencing.
“Close the door,” he demanded.
For a second there, Marigold had the mind to step back out and close the door, but she was dutiful and did as told.
“It goes without saying,” the Duke’s dark voice was heard as he turned, “that you should not speak to anyone about what you see in here.”
Marigold nodded. Somehow, it made her feel special to be admitted into his inner sanctum.
“Come closer, and let’s exchange information.”
Marigold stood by his side and looked upon the patchwork that he had created on the wall. Now that she was really studying the chaos, she could see that there was a pattern behind it, many years’ worth of work and painstaking information that he had acquired.
“So this is all I have,” the Duke said.
“Most of your information is correct,” Marigold said as she read and followed the yarns, “but incomplete.”
“So that is why you are here.”
“For instance, the Dog Rats down in Wapping,” she pointed at the map. “Of course, you would know them as Murphy & Jones.”
“They are supposed to be respectable merchants.”
“They are merchants. Their merchandise is simply stolen. They are fencers and thieves, and they move goods for Johnny.”
“How about the gambling houses?”
“The only one I know of connected to Johnny is the Knuckle Club. I was once mistaken for a lady who had gambled there and owed Johnny money. And the Rag Fair Boys answered to him.”
“The pickpockets?”
“Yes, children, most of them. Though Johnny and his men keep mostly in the Mint, they have a bigger reach, and one reason is the Rag Fair Boys. They are clever, quick with their hands, and they can gather information as well as your wallet. Poor little kids. I fed them a few times.”
The Duke looked down at her with astonishment. She looked up at him, not understanding what made him so bewildered.
“And you walked around these areas alone, defenseless?”
“Well, I didn’t really have an option, did I?” Marigold kept looking at the map. “You have no notes about the brothels.”
The Duke choked on air.
“The what?”
“The brothels. They are one of Johnny’s main incomes.”
“You know what a brothel is?”
“I have been in two of Johnny’s establishments.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, here and here.” Marigold pointed to the map. “You might need a few pins and yarn for that.”
“After I get over the fact that my wife has visited brothels.”
“I did not exactly visit them. More like dragged to them.”
The look the Duke gave her was almost deadly. Marigold realized the change in his disposition and looked up at him, only to see him glaring at the two pins she had placed. His face was dark, his jaw tightened, and his eyes seemed to swallow the light from the room.
“Who dragged you to them?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed against the walls.
“Donny liked to show me,” Marigold said quietly. “He would give me the tour of what he said would soon be my working environment.”
“He threatened you.”
“It gave him great pleasure to see me frightened.”
The Duke let out a low growl, and Marigold focused on him for a moment. His whole body was rigid, his hands clenched at his sides, and the cords in his neck stood out. His jaw tightened before he opened his mouth to speak.
“Did he…?” He sighed before finishing the question, realizing he was being too menacing in addressing her. “Did he ever touch you?”
Marigold understood what he was asking, and she was surprised he hadn’t asked so far before he married her.
“Only a little,” she said honestly. “It was only to scare me. He would grab my arm and force my chin to look up at him. He would tighten his fists in my hair. The worst was the night that you saw in that alley when he…”
The Duke nodded. His eyes had gone distant, lost in dark thoughts.
“I am not ruined,” Marigold clarified.
The Duke frowned deeply. The tension in his shoulders became unbearable, and then he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to focus on him.
“Is this what you think I’m worried about?” he asked, his voice almost angry.
“Is it not?” Marigold was taken aback by his reaction. “I believe it is your right as a husband to ask me this, especially since you saved me from a compromising position. The honor of a duchess—”
A bitter sound filled the room. The Duke laughed again, but this time it was cruel, cold, and devoid of humor.
His fingers released her wrists only to drive themselves through his hair as if he were in despair.
He made his way through the labyrinth of stacks in his room and found a small table with a decanter on it.
“First,” he said as he poured some amber liquid, “you tell me I bought you, as if I am no different from the men that gave you a tour of the brothels they would soon employ you in.”
Marigold opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, raising his hand and taking one sip of his drink.
“And now,” he continued, looking at her, “you think me shallow enough to hear that my wife was abused, threatened with violation, and dragged through brothels, that she was accosted in dark alleys, and all I would think of would be my honor? Whether that brave woman was pure enough to be My Duchess?”
He looked at her straight in the eyes, his dark gaze unwavering. Marigold realized the breadth of the insult she had inflicted upon him, and though she didn’t know why his reaction was so visceral, she could understand his anger.
“I am sorry,” Marigold said.