Page 39 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)
“ Y ou look like shite, Grant.”
Archie shot a glare at Owen and ran a hand through his unruly curls, likely sending them into more disarray than they’d been before. The Rovers’ manager wasn’t wrong ; when his mother set him straight and he returned to York, he’d been shocked to find a flurry of cases waiting for his attention. Every day in the three weeks since the divorce hearing ended had brought a fresh case to his door, some divorces, but many more from women looking for someone to take their claims seriously. His already long hours had gone even later into the night, but he found himself fulfilled by his work, eager to see the results of his labor play out over the next few months.
But despite Jasper’s cajoling, he’d been too drained to attend rugby practices or the most recent game. Personal grooming, sleep, and recreation were far from his top priority .
That spot was reserved for lamenting the loss of Marigold from his life.
But in a moment of weakness that morning, Archie had agreed to travel to Rotherham to practice with the Rovers, and Jasper volunteered to drive them in his barouche with such alacrity that Archie became immediately suspicious.
Jasper chuckled at Archie’s side, and Archie scowled. “Remind me why you’re here?” he asked.
His assistant straightened his hat and gazed over the pitch. “I’ve always enjoyed rugby.”
“You hate rugby. You call it barbaric, inhumane, sadistic—”
“People change, Archie.”
Archie heaved a sigh but didn’t argue, lacking the willpower. When he’d watched Marigold leave, his ribcage had cracked open, and it remained that way, split and bleeding, raw and vulnerable. He doubted it would ever heal, and he hoped it wouldn’t, because the pain was a memory of her, one piece he still claimed. To remind him they had been real, that she had been real.
She must be on her way to America by now, her life in England sealed up and buried, left to rot in the Yorkshire countryside alongside the memories of their affair. Soon he would have to move on, stop hoping to see her around every corner, wishing for the laughter of her boys or the touch of her hand.
“Oy!” Owen cried, breaking into Archie’s morose thoughts. “Are ye goin’ to stand around wool gathering all day, or are ye goin’ to play? ”
His teammates barked their laughter and, despite the lingering ache in his head and chest, he ran over to join them. Several men patted him on the back, as though his pain was visible on his skin, and a momentary peace settled in his bones. His heart may be shredded to ribbons, but he would find joy in this, in his friends and his sport, in his work, his mum and sisters. Marigold would forever haunt him, but perhaps the memory would someday become a pleasant one, something he could reflect on fondly as the time he’d fallen in love, only to lose it with his impulsive actions.
The early September sun beat down on them, and before long his skin was striped with mud and sweat, and the first smile he’d known in weeks spread across his lips. He braced his hands on his knees as he bent over, savoring the burn of his lungs and throat as he fought to recover from the strain of the last play.
“Our cheering section is back,” Barrel said with a chuckle.
“Cheering section?” Archie asked as he returned to standing. His lower back protested for a moment, and he rubbed it absently.
Barrel nodded his chin towards the side of the pitch. “Those lads came to our last two practices and the game on Saturday. Don’t know who they are, but they’re loyal to us,” he said with a lopsided grin.
Archie’s breath caught, his heart swelling enough to push the air from his chest once more. He recognized the lanky forms racing down the sideline, their tousled hair lifting in the breeze. A moment later, a woman came into view, walking over the berm with her hands clasped at her waist. Her gaze followed the boys for a moment before turning to the pitch, searching until —
She froze in place when their eyes met, and his lungs burned—lord, he’d forgotten to breathe —his head spun, the world around him ceased to exist. Because Marigold was there, not on a boat to America, but here in Yorkshire .
“Are you going to talk to her?”
He jolted at Jasper’s voice, and turned to see his teammates lined up behind him, watching the scene unfold with unmistakable anticipation. “Did you set this up?”
Jasper scoffed but looked mighty pleased with himself. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now go. She’s waiting for you.”
His body moved without his mind’s consent, every muscle, nerve, and cell attuned to the woman standing on an embankment beside the pitch. The woman he loved , would never stop loving. When he reached her side, he was breathless, his ears ringing and heart beating a frenetic tattoo. Her brows were furrowed, soft lips parted, and he heard her shaky exhalation.
“Marigold,” he breathed. “You’re here.”
Myriad expressions played over her features, a quick smile flashing before she bit her lower lip and released it. “I hoped you would look at this contract for me, see if everything is in order.” She pulled a folded sheath of papers from her pocket and handed it to him.
Whatever he’d expected from her—and he wasn’t certain what to expect at all—legal advice wasn’t it. He unfolded the papers with weary hands, fighting the disappointment threatening to put tears in his eyes. He scanned the document—a standard lease agreement for a property in Pimlico within walking distance of Westminster Abbey, nothing extraordinary until—
His attention caught on the tenant’s name. “This is yours?”
Her nod was quick, her eyes sparkling, but the furrow between her brows deepened.
The papers shook in his hand. “You’re moving to London.”
She glanced towards Reggie and Matthew, who watched them with rapt attention. “The b-boys are going to school at Westminster, only during the d-day,” she said, the corner of her mouth pulling up. “I want t-to be close to them, so… London it is.” She rolled her lips between her teeth before exhaling in a rush. “I’m sorry, Archie.”
Her voice shook, and he felt an answering pull in his chest, so powerful he had to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around her.
“When you kept me from t-testifying,” she went on, “I was sure you d-didn’t t-trust me. That you thought I would hurt you and your case.”
“It was your case,” he insisted, but she shook her head.
“When I learned how important a win was for you, for your family… I was embarrassed.” Her cheeks were flushed now, her eyes downcast. “I spent so long b-being ashamed of myself, so I assumed you were ashamed of me as well.”
He leaned down until he met her gaze. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I should have let you speak—”
“You d- did what you had to. You won the case,” she interrupted. “And I knew you would never t-tell me I could cause you harm, so I t-took the choice away from you.”
“Marigold…” For once he was without words, his split-open chest throbbing, bleeding .
“I was sure you’d grow t-to resent me, and I couldn’t watch that happen.” She swallowed, her eyes wet. “I ended it b-before you could. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
His hands twitched to pull her close, tuck her head beneath his chin and swallow her in his embrace. “I forgive you,” he said. “I already forgave you.”
Her eyelids fell shut, and a shudder of relief racked her slim frame. When she met his gaze again, he saw the determined glow he’d snuffed out at the trial weeks ago. “I ran because I was scared, b-but I won’t be this time. I want to stay here in England. With you. Whether you want me or not, I’m not leaving.”
He almost laughed, the joy bubbling from his insides overwhelming, thrilling, leaving him breathless and weightless. “How could I not want you?”
A tear broke free and raced down her cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, cupped her jaw so he could look at her, remember the splash of freckles over her cheekbones, the facets of gold and moss green embedded in her irises. “Jasper said you didn’t close your practice,” she whispered.
Archie raised a brow. “Was Jasper in on this?”
She nodded. “What about your mother, your sisters—”
“I never asked them what they wanted,” he interrupted. “They didn’t need my money, only my support. And business has been, well, spectacular since your trial.”
She beamed, and his heart kicked. “I’m so happy to hear it.”
He leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers, and she trembled as she leaned against him, her hands on his chest. His splayed-open ribcage knit itself back together around her heart and his, the ache something precious and beautiful in the agony of healing. “But I would give it all up for you. If you’ll have me.”
“You shouldn’t have to. I was wrong to t-tell you what you wanted.”
His lips brushed over her temple. “We both made mistakes. I should never have put Reggie on the stand without your permission.”
“He wanted to.” Her laugh was breathless, tremulous. “He was ready, b-but I didn’t see it. You did, though. You saw the b-best of him, of all of us.”
“You’re not worried about the marquess interfering with the boys?”
She started to shake her head, but stopped. “I am, b-but I believe you’ll help me protect them. I’m not alone anymore. We’re stronger together.”
“That we are.” He kissed her, soft, sweet, the touch of her lips a blessing he never expected to receive again. “I love you, always.”
Ignoring the hoots and cheers of his teammates, the joyful cries of her sons, the sweat on his back and mud on his face, Archie kissed her, again and again, until she knew she’d never be alone.