“August tenth. Whichmeans—”
“We have a month.” So many sentiments laced through those four words. Only four weeks to prepare for a day that would determine her future and those of her children.
Only four weeks until they’d have no reason to see each other again.
“I wanted to talk about—oh, wait.” He stood and leaned over, taking a hot water bottle from the bottom of the tray and handing it to her. She clutched the rubber bladder to her abdomen and sighed with relief. “I wanted to talk about the testimony at trial.”
She stiffened. “I know I’ll need to t-t-testify.”
“And we’ll practice until you’re confident.” His tone soothed her, low and smooth, smokey and kind. Part of her hated how she craved it, while another was desperate to hear his voice soothe her to sleep every night. “I also have the doctor from London ready to speak about the impact of the marquess’ threats.”
She shuddered, but nodded.
“Have you heard from Agnes yet?”
A bolt of panic as she recalled the mistress from the Gaiety, her promise to help. “No, not yet.”
“The post can be slow. Don’t give up hope.” He paused, studied her for long enough that she felt the urge to squirm under his investigation. “Have you given any thought to having the boys testify?”
She recoiled and spilled some of her tea on her lap. “No, absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head. “I want them nowhere near this.”
He leaned closer. “But the divorce is for their benefit.”
“And mine.” Her voice was high and tight. “You said that the d-d-divorce is for me, t-too. I will t-testify, but not them, never them.”
He reached out and put his hand over hers. “Then you’ll need to carry this case for them. And you can, I know you can.” His smile was tentative. “You’re brave, Marigold. Strong enough to do anything.”
“Why d-do you call me that?”
“Call you what?”
She swallowed. “B-brave.”
Now he recoiled. “Why wouldn’t I call you that?”
She huffed, pulled the hot water bottle tighter to her abdomen. “B-because I’m afraid of everything. I st-stutter, I’m t-timid, I’m scared to t-t-testify in my own t-trial.”
His boundless blue eyes searched her face, his brows furrowed. “You’re afraid, but if you could go back and choose a different path forward, would you?”
Did she regret initiating the divorce? Would she bow her head and carry on as she had been, miserable and alone? “No, I wouldn’t.”
His smile was slow. “Then you have your answer.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, and he must have seen her readying her objections, because he lifted a hand, stood and walked to her bedside table, lifting the book that sat beside her lamp. “The Hound of the Baskervilles? You like Sherlock Holmes?”
“The suspense, yes. P-perhaps that’s odd.”
“Not at all.” He sat on the opposite side of the bed and tugged off his boots, then climbed up beside her. “You lie down, and I’m going to read to you.”
“Archie—”
“I’m reading to you or the housekeeper, and she’ll talk my ears off before I can get a word in, so I’d rather stay with you and the tea tray, if you don’t mind.”
Marigold watched him for a long moment, then shook her head. “I don’t mind.”
His expression softened, and he leaned back against the pillows. “Then you need to tell me one more thing.” He opened to the bookmark and withdrew it, laying it over his chest. “Why won’t you take any tinctures for the pain?”
She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Several long breaths sawed in and out of her lungs before she felt like she could speak again. But Archie waited, content to sit until she was ready.
