Page 36 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)
M ari laid the book on the pile to her left, having not even looked at the cover. She couldn’t recall which stack indicated a volume she planned to take with her to America or one she would leave behind. In truth, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t see herself wanting to read anything, just as she hadn’t considered what clothing to bring, as she hardly had the desire to dress herself.
Her back ached from sitting on the library floor for as long as she had, but she made no move to stand. She was a divorced woman and yet felt no freedom. Excising the cancerous parts of her life should have brought relief, so why did her chest burn, like something vital was smoldering?
Her glance out the window yielded little respite from her thoughts. The heat was no longer a welcome change from the intolerable winter and melancholic spring, but was sultry, oppressive, a judgmental weight pressing down on her and waiting for her to break like a summer storm .
A shout pulled her attention to the mews below. The boys had taken to playing their own version of two-person rugby, an unfortunate hedge designated as a defender and a gap between blooming hydrangeas as the try line. They would come into the house soon, shirts clinging to their skin with perspiration and dirt on their knees and elbows.
Mari had settled into an uneasy afternoon routine with them in the week since the hearing, chatting with Matthew over tea while Reggie moved pieces around the chessboard. She hadn’t spoken to her oldest son about what happened at the trial, and the boy had resisted eye contact, even more so than usual.
But she couldn’t press him to explain, not when doing so would bring Archie into the forefront of her consciousness, and keeping thoughts of him at bay was the wispy membrane preventing her from toppling into despair. The want of him had become a tangible thing, something requiring effort, more than she had, to push away. This was more than a simple longing for the man himself, but for the Marigold she’d been with him. The Marigold that remained was a husk of herself, brittle and windblown, vulnerable to the elements.
There would be no uprooting of Archie from her heart like there was of the marquess, because Archie was her heart, his vines tangled around her very soul. He couldn’t be torn away without destroying her as well.
“Mum? ”
She glanced up to see Reggie standing in the doorway, his neat brows furrowed together, and she startled. She hadn’t even realized the boys had come inside. “Yes, darling?”
His lips flattened. “What are you doing?”
She fought for a controlled exhalation. “I’m separating my b-books from those of the house,” she said, gesturing to the two small piles.
“These all belong to the house?” His eyes scanned the pile greedily. “They’ll be mine someday.”
An ache pulsed in her chest. “They will.”
He nodded, sat by her side. “Then I’ll help.”
They worked together in silence for some time, disseminating the books to the proper place on the shelves and relegating the smaller pile into a small shipping crate.
“When are we going to America?”
Marigold hesitated for a moment, focusing on replacing the remaining volumes on the shelf. The uncertainty of her plan terrified her, left her gasping for breath in fear. Without her knowledge, Archie had secured a settlement from her husband—former husband. Far from a fortune, it was still enough to secure passage to Boston and allow them to start their new life. All expenses for the boys, however, were to be paid for in full from a trust the marquess could not touch.
When the bank draft arrived with an explanation of the payment, Jasper’s slanted handwriting indicated the fee for Archie’s representation had been withdrawn from the total amount.
One pound sterling .
Such money must mean nothing to him now, what with his new position at a posh firm. A smile tried to pull at her lips when she imagined how Archie would shower his sisters with hats and books, how the girls would never have to do a chore on the farm again.
She may hurt like her insides were slowly being consumed, but he would be well. Her sons would be well. Nothing else mattered.
“I’m waiting for a cable from your aunt and uncle in Boston,” she replied, her voice tremulous. “In the interim, we’ll stay with your grandparents at B-boar’s Hill.”
He seemed dissatisfied with her response, his mouth curling down, but he put another book in place. “Why do we have to leave?”
The back of her throat burned. “Your father still carries influence here, and I need to p-protect you from him. Leaving is the only way I can keep you safe.”
“But I’m a viscount,” he said, his narrow chest puffing up. “It’s my duty to help England. I should stay.”
Her defenses weren’t strong enough, and his words sent a fresh stab of pain reverberating through her rib cage. “We will return someday.” Someday, when she was certain Archie had moved on with his life, when she was ready to face the consequences of her actions.
Perhaps she never would be.
Reggie hesitated before he spoke again, his eyes on the row of books before him. “Are you angry I testified at the trial? ”
Mari turned, took his hand and dropped it when he winced at the contact. “No, sweetheart, of course not. I was—I was surprised… worried for you.”
He lifted his chin. “I told Mr. Grant I wanted to speak. Father was wrong in how he treated you.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “It’s my fault. I d-didn’t expect you to know, to be able…”
When she trailed off, Reggie nodded. “You should expect more of me, Mum. I want to go to school.”
Her vision spun for a moment, and she clung to the shelf in front of her to maintain her balance. “School?” she parroted.
His chin bobbed, his feet moving beneath him. “I want to learn with other boys, from real teachers.” He hesitated, bit his lower lip. “But I don’t want to go away. Can I have both?”
A desperate bark of laughter, chased by unexpected joy, raked through her. “I d-don’t know, my love.” She touched his shoulder, and this time, he didn’t wince. “But we can t-try.”
His smile was low, but as she watched his eyes light up at her response, something shifted inside her chest. She hadn’t expected much of her son. No one had, until Archie believed in him, saw what he was capable of, and Reggie had bloomed. Running away would only stifle him, keep him in the shell he’d been peeling back without her notice.
“Let’s stop this t-task for now,” she said, and his expression softened further. “We’ll play a game of chess, then we’ll see about finding a school for you.”