Chapter 25
DESPERATE MEASURES
When Marigold woke up the next morning, light barely streamed through the curtains. To say that she slept would be the most blatant of lies. She tossed and turned and decided that the middle of the night was the best hour to have a conversation with her insecurity.
She called for Beth with a smile on her face, always eager to help her. Together, they chose a simple but elegant gown, something that emanated the title of a duchess. She was determined to have a real talk with Brandon, her husband, the Duke.
She came down the stairs quite composed, cataloging her questions, her worries, and her responses to his possible explanations. She went about this task as she did about everything else: calmly, methodically, and optimistically.
Yet all of her preparation crumbled the moment she entered the breakfast room. The all-too-familiar scent of her tea and the absence of another set on the table told her that sometimes actions spoke louder than words. The Duke was bluntly avoiding her.
“His Grace?” she asked the butler nonchalantly.
“His Grace left early in the morning, Your Grace,” the man responded in his cold, indifferent way. “He received an urgent missive and went out even before dawn.”
“I see,” Marigold straightened the napkin on her lap to calm her nerves. “Did he say when he would return?”
“He did not leave such a message, Your Grace.”
“Did he leave any messages at all?”
Mr. Hodgins was one of the most discreet men that Marigold had ever witnessed.
After all, given both the status in the ton and his extracurricular activities, the man head of the household had to be someone like him.
And yet right in this moment, this ghost of a man looked at her with something akin to sympathy.
“He didn’t leave any messages, Your Grace,” was his response.
Marigold nodded and forced a smile as she was being served her expensive tea in her exquisite china, attended by three servants, and smelling the cake, fragrant with rare vanilla.
And yet somehow, she would exchange those things and go back to bargain with the butcher if it meant having an open, honest conversation with her husband.
After breakfast, she retreated to her study, sitting at the desk looking at unopened ledgers. She could no longer concentrate on taking care of a household that didn’t feel like it was hers anymore. The walls felt as if they were closing in, suffocating her and caging her.
It became quite clear to her that no matter how optimistic or determined she was, the bitter truth remained that she was dismissed. She was no longer accepted in this house. She was tolerated.
The thought made her throat close, and her eyes sting. She couldn’t stay there. She needed to get out, clear her head, and figure out what she was going to do in the future.
“Beth, help me get ready. I will visit…”
She paused. Where exactly would she go? It was no longer an option to stay there. She realized that in the short time she had been there, Verdant House had become a safe haven.
“Your Grace?” Beth came rushing in.
Marigold sprang into action. She was a practical person, and she would face this practically.
“Let me change and help me prepare a small bag.”
“You are leaving, Your Grace?”
Marigold tightened her jaw to stop the tears from falling.
“I will visit… my mother,” she said since this was the only option that came to mind.
“For how long, Your Grace?”
Marigold knew that if she were to be gone for good, she would miss her maid. And Miss Hodgins. And she had to give up on that little patch of land again. And she would miss Duck.
Most of all, she had to painfully admit that she would miss him. But perhaps it was too much to ask for this dream that she had been living in the little time she was the Duchess of Voss to be true. Good things didn’t happen to people like her.
“Not much, Beth,” Marigold lied to both her and her maid. “My cousin is back from the colonies, and I should very much like to get to know him better.”
The lie slipped so easily from her lips, but at least, it seemed to be effective. Beth sighed in relief, thinking that it was a plausible explanation.
She gathered a few things, nothing much, and left for the carriage. She was half expecting that he would have her things thrown away. But then again, Brandon never had a problem sharing his wealth and title with her. It just seemed he was reluctant to share his bed and his heart with her.
Not long after, she was in a carriage that rode through the City of London straight to where she came from. It seemed that it was always her fate in that house. She saw Cove Manor, and her heart constricted.
She knocked on the door, and Alfred opened it. His strict, tired face lit up the moment he saw her.
“My Lady… I mean, Your Grace,” he said.
“It is quite all right, Alfred. Call me whichever way you want,” Marigold smiled bitterly. “We have been through a lot, you and me.”
But before she had any more time, her mother appeared at the door. Her first reaction was to regard her with surprise, and then her face melted into cruel delight.
“Marigold,” her own mother hissed at her sight. “Well, isn’t that quite a twist?”
“May I come in, Mother?”
“And pray do tell, Your Grace,” Clair scrunched her face, calling her by her title, “what brings you to my doorstep?”
“I just really need a place to stay for a night.”
“Oh dear,” Clair said with a sharp smile. “Didn’t I warn you? I warned you to tie yourself to the Duke by giving him an heir. Why else would he keep you around?”
Marigold knew her mother was cruel. After the way Marigold had treated her, she would be spiteful and vengeful. It was still quite the disappointment to see her spit her venom, leaving Marigold standing right outside the door of the house that she had made sure still stood.
“May I come in?”
“First you scorn me,” her mother stood there blocking her entrance, “then you humiliate me and throw me away. And now that the Duke caught on how useless you are, you come crawling back.”
Marigold had survived worse. It was not the first time that her mother insulted her. But thinking for a moment that her way of seeing her was the way he saw her drove a knife through her stomach.
“If I could just…”
“Look at you…” Clair’s voice dripped with contempt. “You thought you were so clever, didn’t you?”
Marigold said nothing, just stood there, ready to withstand the arsenal of insults her mother had in store. And to think that standing up to Clair was what made Brandon so proud of her. Never mind the reward he had reserved for her.
“You thought you could rise above your station,” Clair continued. “You really believed you would be a respected and powerful duchess. But you are nothing but the useless, stupid girl you’ve always been.”
Marigold looked up at her mother. And she knew part of what her mother said was true. It was naive of her to come here, thinking there was still an inkling of motherly love that would make Clair set aside her own selfish view of the world and just comfort her daughter in her hour of need.
“Did he throw you out with just the clothes on your back?” Clair demanded.
“It is just for one night, Mother,” Marigold said, looking around at people passing by, witnessing the scene.
“You should have given me the money when you had the chance, Marigold,” her mother hissed. “Now that you don’t have your husband’s backing, go crawl into whatever hole you will find.”
Marigold decided that her mother would not change her mind, and she was making more of a scene by standing there, so she took a step back. Right at that moment, a figure appeared behind Clair, a man, well-dressed with a stern expression.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
Marigold’s heart leapt with hope. That was certainly Charles, her cousin. He was the real lord of the house, and perhaps he would be more prone to allow her to stay and protect her from Clair since it was she who helped him come back from the colonies and claim his title.
“Lord Covington,” Marigold said, “I am your cousin Marigold.”
Charles’s expression did not soften. An icy suspicion crawled up her spine.
“I know exactly who you are.”
“I only need a place to stay, just for one night.”
Charles looked at her with cold, appraising eyes before he turned his attention to Clair. Marigold saw the same thing unfold which she had witnessed for many years. Her mother’s poison got hold of her cousin.
“Is she the one you’ve been talking to me about?” Charles confirmed her suspicions.
Clair nodded with a triumphant smile.
“The very same.”
Marigold’s blood ran cold. She had no idea what lies she had told her cousin, but she knew well that the new Earl of Covington would somehow be convinced that his cousin, a duchess far above his station and the only reason that he was back, staying in a house that was still standing with the staff fully paid, was the worst person in the world.
“I find it appalling, Your Grace,” her cousin somehow maintained his composure while insulting her, “that you would have the audacity to come back here after what you have done.”
“I did nothing…...”
“You have squandered the family fortune. You have sold off the little we had left and then abandoned your mother, who has been suffering since you turned your back on her. And now, you ask for my help?”
Marigold glanced at her mother only to find her gloating before turning her face into a pitiful expression when Charles turned his attention to her. It was almost admirable how her mother would twist reality to make her the victim and Marigold the villain in every situation.
“Lord Covington,” Marigold decided to use her station and her newfound certainty, even if it was faltering, “I must assure you that none of these things happened, and if you would just listen to my version…”
“Your version would be nothing but lies,” Charles said.
Marigold needed no more proof to know that Clair’s poison had seeped through her cousin, and there was no way to change his mind.
“I am sorry, Your Grace, but I will not have you in my house. You will have to find somewhere else to go.”
That’s all he said before the door closed in her face.
Marigold stood there defeated, almost crushed.
She stood at the doorstep, staring at the closed door, and her hands were shaking.
Her eyes were burning, ready to cry, but she would not give her mother or anyone else in the world the satisfaction.
Despite what everyone thought about her, she had done nothing wrong.
But the bitter truth remained that she had nowhere else to go. She had sent the carriage that belonged to the Duke away. Where was she supposed to go now? She had no one in this world.
Then she realized that was not entirely true.
There was at least one more person who knew the real her and, as far as she knew, still valued her.
Lily. She thought of her friend, her warmth, her wisdom.
And Owen. He probably already knew the truth, and she would have to do less explaining and less hiding.
They would take her in, give her time to figure out what she was going to do from now on, and come to terms with the new reality that was her life.
With renewed hope, she turned toward the street. It was a long walk to reach the residence of the siblings, but she had been walking for miles when she couldn’t even afford the carriage, and she hadn’t been a duchess long enough to forget her old habits.
She tightened her fist around the handle of her little luggage and turned to the street that would lead her straight to Lily.
Marigold had never visited her friends, saying that it was more appropriate for them to come to their house. And somehow, despite Brandon being the misanthrope everybody claimed, Verdant House was always open for them.
Realizing that most people were looking at her, recognizing her, and glancing at the luggage she was carrying, Marigold decided to make use of the servant streets that she knew to reach her target and make less of a scene and a spectacle out of herself.
Not that she minded; she was always the subject of whispers, but now any gossip would affect him too.
Despite her relationship with Brandon, she would never wish him harm.
She turned into the quieter back streets and alleys, making sure not to lose her way. Her old habits came back. She walked quickly, head down, her bag clutched to her chest. It would be best if she reached Lily and Owen before the dark came upon her.
“I would be damned if it isn’t my little rabbit.”
Marigold stopped in her tracks. There was no mistaking that voice. It had been hissed in her ear so many times. Donny.
“I almost didn’t recognize you with the fancy new clothes.” Donny’s voice drifted closer. “A rabbit is a rabbit, no matter the fur.”
Marigold dared look up. Her heart leapt to her throat, and her hands went cold. Right there before her stood Donny and three of his goons, leering at her. She was back where it all started. She was not the same.
“What do you want, Donny?” she asked, her voice steadier than before.
“What do I want?” Donny stepped closer. “I want what I have always wanted. My little rabbit is trapped, and now, I have you.”
“The debt was repaid. Now step back.”
Donny laughed, an ugly, cruel sound. His goons followed his example.
“Look at you.” He came closer and touched a strand of her hair.
“Do not touch me!” Marigold commanded.
“My little rabbit became a duchess and thinks she can order me around.” Donny’s face contorted into something harsh and foul.
“I am a duchess, and you had better remember that. Now let me pass.”
“I don’t think so. You see,” Donny pulled closer, “there is a game being played. And you, little rabbit, are our precious pawn.”
Marigold knew exactly what Donny was hinting at, and she didn’t stay to argue anymore. She turned to run. He grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth and dragging her away into a black, unmarked carriage waiting.
She had one thought as she was being driven away. Brandon. She should never have left him.