Page 4 of Marigold and the Marquess
“I was not criticizing your inexperience, Miss Farthingale. All I meant is that you have time to achieve your dreams. There is no need for you to rush through life.” He caressed her cheek, annoyed with himself for doing so. But she was such a bright, little thing and he had been in a dark pit far too long.
A literal dark pit, imprisoned overseas as he was for years until the Crown negotiated his recent release.
Perhaps this is why Marigold and her sunshine disposition fascinated him.
This girl was theElysian Fieldsto him, the paradise where heroes went upon their death. He was still living and breathing, of course. But his soul had died while he was locked away in that enemy dungeon without hope of ever finding freedom again.
Perhaps this is why he felt a sudden ache to kiss her.
Why had he warned her against rushing her life experiences?
Was his own life not a perfect example of why one must seize every moment offered? Four years lost in that purgatory and never to be reclaimed.
He felt the loss acutely.
Pruitt opened the door, bringing an end to their conversation.
Marigold cast him that soft look again. “I shall see you in a few minutes.”
He nodded, surprised by how much he was looking forward to it.
Whether the Chipping Way curse held true and he would inevitably marry this girl was another matter entirely, for he was not fit yet to undertake a serious courtship.
Perhaps he would be ready by the time Marigold turned twenty.
He dismissed the notion as he strode across the street to return to his home. The girl was a diamond of the first water and would be taken well before the end of this Season.
The possibility hit him like a punch in the gut.
To his dismay, he wanted her.
His idiotically possessive instincts were taking over and he could not see himself with anyone but this girl.
By all that was sainted.
Had he lost his mind?
It was too soon for him to think seriously about commitment when he could not even trust himself with as simple a chore as getting back into circulation among thetonelite.
Besides, he had unfinished business here in London and dared not drag that innocent girl into his life should matters turn ugly.
No, he was not under any circumstances going to court that ebullient bit of froth by the name of Marigold Farthingale.
But would his heart listen?
CHAPTER 2
MARIGOLD ASKED THEFarthingale butler for assistance in carrying her crate to the Marquess of Muir’s carriage as it drew up in front of their townhouse. “I shall have the footmen attend to it immediately,” Pruitt said, his manner kindly toward her and endlessly patient. Perhaps it was the lilt of his Scottish accent and the way he spoke to her with fatherly care that always put her at ease. He never seemed to mind or cut her off whenever she spoke to him about her skulls. “I shall also advise Bessie to collect your reticule and accompany you, Miss Marigold.”
“Thank you. I do wish Violet was home, but apparently she is visiting Dillie as well.” She sighed as she donned her pelisse. “Bessie will do nicely.”
She hurried outside to greet the Marquess of Muir who was now standing in front of his carriage, looking warrior-big and quite formidable. His carriage was incredibly elegant, a sleek black coach emblazoned with his family crest on the door. The crest was straightforward in design, two lions rampant upon a bed of thistles to designate the Scottish origins of his title. The background on the crest was a deep blue, and if one looked closely in that bed of thistles, one could make out the bloodied form of a hare that was obviously dead. Well, that was a bit violent, wasn’t it? But such was life back then, for feudal lords had to constantly fight to hold onto what they owned. “I must thank you again, my lord.”
“Not at all. In fact, you are doing me the favor of getting me out of the house. I am in danger of becoming too reclusive.”
She doubted that would ever happen, for he was exceedingly handsome and must have received invitations aplenty that were piling up on his desk. Marigold knew London’s most renowned hostesses would be eager to have him attend their balls and soirees in the hope a daughter or other young female relation caught his eye.
His name appeared in the London gossip rags quite often of late, for there was much speculation about his marital intentions. He appeared to have no intention of marrying, which only stoked the fires of speculation. She had read about him in those London scandal sheets delivered daily to Devonshire where she had been working in the caves recently.
