She didn’t miss the moisture in the older woman’s lower lashes.
“I can’t be sure I’ll be happy, Mama. We may not win.”
“Who is helping you, dear? Do you have a barrister?”
Her neck and cheeks caught flame. “Um, yes. Mr. Grant, he’s an excellent b-b-barrister.”
“He’s tried divorce cases before, then?”
Blast, it was hot in this infernal tea shop. “No, b-but he’s very intelligent and p-put together a st-strong case.”
Her mother’s brown eyes creased at the edges, but whatever question she harbored went unasked. “Good. As long as you’re supported. Do you know what you’ll do after?”
She cleared her throat, knowing this would not go over well. “I was thinking of moving to America, perhaps Boston, with Fern. I need a fresh start.”
Her mother huffed. “Gracious, what did I do to make you all want to put an ocean between us?”
Marigold opened her mouth to protest, but her mother stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m only teasing, my sweet girl. I willjust have to get accustomed to that horrific crossing to see my grandbabies more often.”
Unexpected tears pushed at her throat, and Marigold pulled her lips between her teeth to stem them. “I’m t-terrified. If I win, I have to start my life over. If I lose… I can’t imagine what will happen then.”
Her mother’s delicate brows furrowed. “How can I help you? Should I stay through the trial?”
Marigold shook her head. “Papa must be missing you.” A truth, but her mother would disapprove of whatever was passing between her and Archie. She was a smart woman and would identify the tension between them for what it was.
Desire. Longing.
Perhaps, as she’d wondered while falling asleep by his side as he read to her, could it be love?
“If that’s what you want. I just don’t want you to be alone during this. Will you be?”
Ah, there was the question. “I have the boys, and Nanny Davidson.”
“And your barrister.”
Her breath caught. “Mama—”
Her boys chose that moment—god bless them—to burst back into the tea shop, eyes bright and chins speckled with chocolate. Her mother held Marigold’s gaze, conveying multitudes in their chestnut depths.
But in the end, she said nothing. After all, it was Marigold who needed to do the talking.
Marigold paced back and forth in her parlor, her pinky nail caught between her teeth.
“Mummy?”
She froze and brought her attention to her boys seated on the same spindly settee Archie had occupied when he first visited. She may have felt more nauseated now than she did then. “Yes, Matthew?”
“What’s wrong?” His darling brow was furrowed, so like what Marigold saw in her mirror she wanted to forgo telling them anything, allow them to live in the innocence of childhood for a few hours more.
They need to know, Archie had said, and he was right.
She exhaled in a rush and sat opposite them. “While you were away with your grandmother, I d-decided I should no longer b-b-be married to your father.”
Reggie tilted his head, and Matthew looked aghast. “Does Father want that too?”
“No,” she said. “Your father d-d-doesn’t want this.”
Not because he loves me, but because he doesn’t want to be held accountable for his actions. She swallowed the words. “I have t-to fight, which means I’m going to court in a few weeks to ask a judge to end our marriage.”
