Page 29 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)
S he hadn’t been at the pitch for a quarter hour, and Marigold already regretted wearing this dress.
Her pale yellow Doucet day frock with purple embroidery was far too formal for a rugby match, but it made her look particularly fetching, and she hoped Archie would notice her in the crowd waiting for the match to begin.
She wanted him to know how special he was to her, even if she lacked the words to tell him.
Were she there alone, her only responsibility to cheer for the man she loved, her frock would still be pristine. But as it was, she’d been chasing Matthew up and down the pitch since they arrived, trying to prevent him from tackling the men four times his size as they played.
“But Mr. Grant is out there, and he waved at me!” he insisted as she pulled him onto her side of the fence with the other spectators .
“He waved at me, too,” Reggie said, squinting as he watched the players as though ascertaining the most effective patterns for efficiency on the pitch.
“And me.” Marigold wiped the sweat from her brow. He’d spotted them almost immediately upon their arrival, breaking from the rest of his teammates to wave in their direction. A quiet thrill of possession skittered over her skin, the pride that came from knowing Archie was hers , even if no one else knew it. That tonight, those talented hands may skim over her body, and no one else’s.
She’d spent her entire life having to share the affection bestowed on her, first with her sisters, then between her sons, and then with her husband and his parade of mistresses. But with Archie, she never doubted her place in his life, the importance she held to him. She missed his touch, and with the trial starting in three days, there was nothing more to be done except worry or enjoy his presence for however long she could have it.
She wrapped her gloved fingers around Matthew’s hand and held tight as an official signaled a penalty, but her mind wandered.
Staying in England wouldn’t be an option with the notoriety the trial had already received. Even on a pitch outside of Leeds, well-heeled spectators looked at her twice, then whispered to their companions. The gossip would only intensify, Archie had warned her, once the hearings began on Monday, and she’d be unable to visit his office without being noticed. Her window of time with him was closing .
But what if he stayed with her after the trial ended? Could she convince him to leave England with her, travel to America and become a family?
She was being foolish to think Archie would leave his life here. He had rugby, his legal practice, his entire family to care for. What man would leave all that to be a substitute father in a foreign land? He might enjoy her company for the time being, but it wouldn’t last once the reality of her new existence set in.
She huffed out a breath, and Matthew looked up at her. “Are you well, Mummy?”
Her smile was forced. “Of course, d-darling.”
She was destined to be lonely. Her sisters had their own lives and growing families, and her boys would leave for university before she could blink. She had a responsibility as their mother to protect them at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness, and she wouldn’t subject them to scrutiny as the children of the notorious former Marchioness of Croydon.
Matthew groaned as the opposing sides, the Rovers in familiar burgundy jerseys and the Leeds Lions in a brilliant yellow, crashed together at the center of the field. “That’s normal,” Marigold said, squeezing his hand. “It’s called a scrum.”
He couldn’t tear his attention from the pitch. “You know a lot about rugby.”
She chuckled despite herself. “More than you, p-perhaps.”
“There’s more than running, kicking, and passing. ”
“Not really,” Reggie interjected, unable to resist correcting his younger brother. “The component moves are the same, but in different patterns, until—”
A crash on the grass, followed by a chorus of grunts and cheers.
Reggie winced. “The blocking gets in the way.”
The players separated and came back together several times more until, finally, Archie broke free with the ball. He tore towards the end of the pitch, his teammates and opponents trailing behind him. The spectators took up screaming—whether in excitement or horror was unclear—Matthew loudest of all.
Marigold threw up her hands then clapped as she laughed, overwhelmed with a bubbling glee.
“He scored, Mummy, Mr. Grant got a try!” Matthew jumped up and down, and Reggie simply smiled, a wide grin that showed his teeth.
Unable to contain herself, she threw her arms around both boys and pulled them close. “He did! Mr. Grant is incredible!”
Even surrounded by his cheering teammates, Archie’s gaze found hers and held, his smile softening into something more intimate, more personal.
Something just for her.
The match continued, the Lions putting up points for each of the Rovers’, and the mood of the players turned darker, rougher, as penalties accumulated. Matthew clung more closely to his mother’s side as the scrums increased in violence, many players emerging with cut lips or long scratches along their limbs. Archie had an ugly welt on his jaw, visible even at a distance, and Marigold gripped the fence with one hand to restrain herself from dragging him off the pitch and tending to him herself.
Archie broke free again, but he stumbled, struggled to right himself as defenders scrambled at him from behind.
“They’re losing control,” Reggie said, his voice containing a knife’s edge to which she was unaccustomed.
“I know, darling,” Marigold said in a whisper as she glanced his way. “But it’ll be over—”
In hindsight, Marigold would be glad she hadn’t seen the moment when the impact happened, only heard the shuddering sound of the collision and knew with a bone-deep certainty that something was wrong . A simultaneous gasp, then silence fell over the crowd like a rolling wave of fog.
“Mummy,” Matthew whimpered, “it’s Mr. Grant.”
Her eyes swept over the remaining players in burgundy, and when she didn’t see his mop of golden curls, fear gripped her throat and stopped her breathing in its grasp.
“What happened?” she managed.
“A defender tackled him,” Reggie said, his voice preternaturally calm. “His head hit the ground so hard.”
Matthew made low, whining noises by her side, and she grabbed his hand, gave it to Reggie. “Stay here.” Her voice was a rasp, barely audible past the screams she was holding back.
She knew she’d attract attention, but she couldn’t stand there as the men gathered around Archie, couldn’t find a reason to care what others thought of her. Her lungs swelled until her ribs stretched, like they might crack and split through her skin, but the air burned as it scratched down her throat. She needed to see him— let me see him! —as she hurried along the fence line to the gap, then lifted her hem and ran across the pitch.
Black pushed in on the edges of her vision as she grew closer, saw the pale miens of his teammates, his prone form, the scarlet blood on his temple, on his chest, on the grass oh god no please—
A large arm caught her about the shoulders and turned her away just as she reached the circle of hushed players. “Ma’am, ye can’t go out there.”
She lashed her arms out, pushed the arm away, but he caught her again. A graying man, grizzled and hunched over a cane, watching her with understanding eyes.
“I need t-t-to see him,” she gasped, damn but why wouldn’t her lungs work? “He’s—he’s my—”
Her what? Barrister? Lover? No single word adequately proclaimed what he was to her except mine , and she wanted to scream it as she pushed aside anyone who stood between them.
“Ma’am, ye don’t want to cause a scene. It won’t help him.”
She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t even touch him, not with everyone watching, everyone knowing who she was. Not without risking the trial, her children.
So she bit her lip and sucked in a shaky breath.
The man shook his head. “Ye shouldn’t stay here.” He lifted his chin towards the sidelines, back where she belonged.
She swallowed her sob, laced her fingers together until her knuckles screamed in protest, then turned, retreated, cowed and humiliated. Her vision blurred as she fled from the pitch, left him for someone else to attend to his wounds. Left him alone to suffer.
As though he meant nothing to her.
She remained silent when she reached her place on the far side of the fence, watched as no one moved for so long, why is this taking so long , before someone wheeled a cart onto the pitch. Several of the players lifted his inert body, his bloodied head lolling against his shoulder, and laid him inside. Like he was nothing, something to be discarded.
“Mummy.” Reggie was holding her hand, pulling her away from the fence as spectators scattered, their hushed voices like the roar of crashing waves through the thundering in her ears. At some point, Matthew took her other hand as the men dragged the cart towards the street and hooked it to a horse. She recognized the man who climbed into the cart beside Archie as the one who’d held her back, and she prayed he knew what he was doing, that he would save Archie from whatever horrible thing had happened to him.
And she knew she could never claim him, never be the one by his side when the worst calamities befell them, nor could he be by hers. That he would never hold her hand while she wept or mourned, nor would she be the one he turned to in crisis.
She hated it.
She wanted to rage at the heavens and hell, at all the choices she’d made up to this point, at the cruel injustice of keeping her happiness just out of reach.
She’d vowed to never give a man control of her life again. And at the first opportunity, she’d fallen in love with someone she could never have, who would never need her as much as she needed him. A man she could never claim, and who would never claim her, not publicly, not in the way she craved.
A strange calm settled over her, as though she’d reached her capacity for emotions and simply felt… nothing. She was impotent, and nothing she said or did would change her circumstances. Whatever power she had felt in the days prior had dissolved the moment Archie’s head hit the ground.
She squeezed her boys’ hands and cleared her throat. “I’m sure Mr. Grant will have the best doctors looking after him.”
Matthew’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “But will he—”
“He will be fine,” she said, she prayed . “All we can do is wish him well.”