Page 18 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)

“ P etunia is a sheep ?”

Archie waited for Marigold to navigate around a craggy rock sticking up from the path, then stepped beside her. “Petunia is a demon in the form of a sheep.”

He didn’t miss her subtle smile. “I can’t imagine one of Satan’s minions inhabiting such a fluffy creature.”

“It’s a brilliant disguise.” He slowed to match her pace. The trail to Petunia’s favorite rogue grazing spot was almost directly uphill, but the sun setting over the rolling pastures made the hike worthwhile. “Had I not given the beast to Eloise when it was a cosset, I’d leave it out here to die, but I feel a certain obligation to the wee monster.”

She turned, and the wind pulled a lock of her hair over her cheek. “You have an obligation to your sister.”

Archie fisted his hands to avoid pushing the hair behind her ear. He’d been desperate to touch her since she arrived, to feel her hand in his, press his palm to the small of her back as he guided her along the edge of a copse of trees. In the three days since he’d made the ridiculous offer to host a marchioness at his country farm, he’d imagined all sorts of scenarios. Ones where she ridiculed his humble upbringing or never came at all. But one crept into his mind and took hold, the dream where she enjoyed her simple supper, laughed with his mother and sisters, felt at home.

And damn, if that hadn’t come true. She would become an obsession if he let her—oh, why was he kidding himself? She already was, had been, from the moment she’d approached him about the trapped bee.

They climbed higher, the verdant hillside turning a darker velvety evergreen as the sun began to set. Orange and purple clouds streaked across the lavender sky, casting long shadows over the patchwork of fields below.

Marigold gasped, stopping in her tracks. “Do you see that?” She pointed towards a dead tree, its trunk nearly consumed by creeping ivy.

“What about it?” Archie asked, but she was already moving, picking her way through wild daisies, sorrel, and wood anemone toward the tree in question.

He followed blindly, like he’d follow her anywhere if she’d only lead him. Before long, he felt the subtle vibrations in the air, the low hum that set his nerves on end. “Marigold.”

“There, can you see it now?” She turned back to face him, the wind tugging at her hair and skirt, her eyes bright. “An open-air hive! ”

“Christ,” he mumbled. “It is.”

He’d never seen the likes of it, honeycomb hanging from an extended branch, thick slices of yellow dripping with honey and insects. He shuddered. “We shouldn’t get too close.”

“It’s nightfall.” She was stepping closer to the hive, gliding along as though drawn by some siren call. “They’re calm now.”

His pulse was thundering. “It’s not safe.” He swallowed down his rising panic. “They’re not your hive. Don’t they need to know you?”

“May I have the milk jug?”

Wordlessly he stumbled forward, shoved the ceramic vessel in her direction. She took it with a steady hand and poured its contents onto the ground, her attention not leaving the hive. “Have you ever had fresh honey?”

“Marigold, don’t. ” She was out of his reach now, approaching the tree at a glacial pace. “This is dangerous.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “So was confronting my husband’s mistress.” He heard the quiver in her voice and wanted to hold her so badly he trembled with the need. “So was dressing as a chorus girl and rouging my cheeks.” She turned her back on him, her attention focused on the hive. “I won’t break,” she said, her eyes bright but steady. “You have to believe I can do this.”

No stammer in her words, only the barest hesitation. His breath caught. “I believe you can do anything, remember?” he managed, wondering if he could trust himself not to chase after her.

But she didn’t want him racing ahead and pummeling all the obstacles out of her way. She needed to conquer them on her own .

She was close to the tree now, reaching with her slender hand toward the lowest extremity of the hive. His breath seized, his heart stopped. Everything stood still as he watched her break off a piece of the comb, nudging the clinging insects aside before sliding the yellow gold into the milk jug. He resumed breathing as she turned, a brilliant smile on her lips.

Her beauty flattened him, her joy in her bravery, the revelation of strength he’d never seen in her. Perhaps she hadn’t seen it in herself.

“Are you—” He choked, swallowed. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said, although her voice trembled as she approached him. She stopped close enough that he could count the freckles across her nose, golden in the setting sun’s light. “I’m fine.”

His breath escaped, the adrenaline drained from his body, leaving his legs weak. “Why on earth did you do that?”

When she lifted the jar of honeycomb between them, he saw how her hand shook. “I needed to be brave, simply because I wanted to be, for myself. To see if I remembered how.”

“You never forget how to be brave,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“Perhaps I fell out of practice.”

Awareness cloaked him like a blanket, and he watched her pupils dilate, the flush rising in her cheeks as he leaned closer. He could kiss her now, and she would kiss him back, he was certain. But for what purpose? Physical affection would only complicate this precarious balance they’d found, one of friendship and kindness, of mutual admiration .

He leaned away, his chuckle more hysterical than he would have liked. “You’re a marvel, Marigold.”

She met and held his gaze. Her mouth opened as though she might say something, but she stopped, gave him a sad nod before she continued on to the path, still seeking a wayward sheep.

They searched until the orange sky turned a soothing periwinkle before they returned to the house, expecting Eloise’s wrath and hysterics. Instead, they found Petunia bleating pitifully outside the gate to the sheep pen.

“Like I said, a demon,” Archie said, but his words lacked bite as Marigold scratched the lamb and cooed.

After reassuring Eloise of Petunia’s safety, Archie’s mum launched into a lecture about how long it took them to search, coming to the rapid conclusion that it was far too late for Archie to take Marigold into Rotherham and return safely. “I won’t risk it,” she said, then turned to Marigold. “You’ll have to stay here.”

Archie’s heart tumbled, forgot how to function as Marigold stared. “St-stay here?”

His mum lifted her chin imperiously, and he knew there was no convincing the woman otherwise. “I must insist. I’ve made up Polly’s bed for her ladyship.” The last part she directed at Archie, and the clenching in his chest turned into something fiery.

“But I’m staying in Louise’s room.” The adjoining room on the second floor. Where they would be the only two sleeping. A mischievous smile crept across Samantha’s face; were they working together?

“Eloise is already making up the bed. The matter is settled.” Was his mother oblivious or a manipulative genius? He had to suspect it was the latter.

“Mrs. Grant, that’s kind of you, b-but I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Marigold said, her gaze sliding to Archie.

“Nonsense.” His mother gave Marigold a long look. “I think the night here will be good for you. Now come along, let me find you something to sleep in.”

Marigold glanced over her shoulder at Archie as his mother led her towards the back of the house and her bedroom.

Samantha dipped her finger in the honey rimming the jar and licked it off. “Are you going to kiss her?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She huffed. “I was only wondering. She acts like she wants to kiss you.”

He barely refrained from choking on his tongue. “What do you mean?”

Samantha ticked the reasons off on her fingers. “She’s always looking at your mouth. She licks her lips when you get close, and she keeps blushing when you talk to her.”

Archie shook his head. “She’s shy and… thirsty.”

“Thirsty for your kisses !” She giggled and smacked Archie’s shoulder. “She likes you, and you’re thick-headed enough that you probably missed it. ”

“I’m not thick-headed.” But he had missed it—the blushing and mouth-looking. “I’m not going anywhere near her. She’s a marchioness, Sammy, and married.”

“But she won’t be forever.” Samantha patted his arm, more gently this time. “You’re good at arguing, so I assume you’re good at your job.”

His brows furrowed. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. You’ll win the case, and she won’t be married or a marchioness anymore.”

But she’ll be gone. She’d told him about her intention to move to America once the trial ended, and he could never leave Yorkshire. He had no more chance of having Marigold as his now than he did once she was divorced. He could convince himself what he felt for her was lust, but seeing her with his family carved her into the bedrock of his existence.

But that dangerous line of thought was cut off when his mother emerged from her room, Marigold on her tail with a bundle of clothing in her arms. While she still wore her shirtwaist and his mother’s coarse wool skirt from earlier, her hair was down now, braided in a long plait that hung over one shoulder.

This was the woman he’d met at the party, the Marigold who loved bees and caramels, the woman confident enough to approach a stranger to rescue an insect. The woman he’d fallen in love with.

The thought punched the air from his lungs, and he pressed his hand to his sternum, as though he could convince his heart of the absurdity of the notion. Loving Marigold? He may as well love the sun itself for all the chance he had of keeping her for himself.

“There’s bread left from dinner,” he said. “Would you like a piece with some of the honey you stole?”

Marigold smirked, and his heart swelled. “Stole? The bees shared.”

Not a single stutter . Further proof she belonged there. “I’ll leave that up to the bees to decide.” He grinned.

By the time they had settled outside on a rocking bench, pieces of sticky bread in their hands, the sky had gone black, brilliant stars breaking through the inky darkness to form dancing patterns across the heavens.

“Have you thought about the marquess’ offer?”

She shuddered, her spine curling in on itself. He hated how the mere mention of the man could shrink her. “Yes. The wise decision would be to accept.”

Something in his chest wailed, thrashed wildly in dismay. Just when he realized he loved her, he was losing her. “Why is it the wise decision?” he managed.

“I’ll have what I wanted.” Her gaze remained trained on the sky. “My children will be safe.”

He heard Nathan’s voice chanting whatever it takes to win . But this was about more than his career. This was about his mother’s security, his sisters’ futures.

The chance for a few more hours with Marigold.

“Can you trust his word? He hasn’t been honest with you in the past. ”

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth, and a bolt of lust warred with the panic in his gut. “But if we lose—”

“We won’t.”

She looked at him, touched her hand on his. “We can’t control what the judge rules. At least this way I have a chance.”

“I don’t trust him, and neither should you.” He pulled in a breath and let his head drop. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to tell you what to do.”

She tilted her head quizzically. “But you’re my barrister. It is your place to give me advice.”

He wasn’t advising as her barrister, but as the man who wanted to peel the clothing off her, to press her bare skin against his and listen to her moan with pleasure. The man who wanted to steal her away and protect her from harm. This man had no place guiding her choices.

“I can’t think clearly about this,” he said. “I hate how that man treats you, and I’ve seen how he tears you down. If you remain his wife, if he has any influence in your life, he’ll destroy you.”

She shifted, picked at the fabric of her skirt. “I didn’t start this because of my needs.”

He turned until his knees bumped hers, but didn’t put any space between them, allowed that single point of contact. “It’s about more than you or your boys. Think of all the women in England who can’t leave their marriages because of their status. Who can’t prove their husbands have hurt them. ”

She winced at the last bit, but Archie plowed ahead. “If you remain with this case, you could change the law, make life better for all women.”

“Archie… I can’t handle that responsibility.”

He leaned forward, clasped his trembling hands together, and propped them on his knees. “We don’t get to choose our responsibilities. We can only do our best with what we’ve given.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “And accept help when it’s offered.”

Her silence lingered so long he’d almost given up hope.

But then she spoke. “I want to try. With you.”

His eyes fell closed as the breath rushed from his lungs. “Good. So do I.”

It wasn’t until they were inside, settled in their respective beds, that he heard her words again.

I want to try with you.