“I told her to trust you,” he spat, “that this win meant as much to you as it does to her—”
“It meanseverythingto her!” Archie released him, spun away and raked his hand through his hair. “This was only about her!”
“And you!” Nathan jabbed Archie in the chest. “You’re the one who needs the practice to support your mother, aye? You couldn’t do that if your client was tossed in an asylum.”
He pointed a finger in Nathan’s face. “I would have kept her out, I would have kepther.”
“Stop this.” Nathan clapped a hand on Archie’s shoulder. “It’s best she’s out of your life. Do you think you’d get hired if thetonknew you’d not only humiliated a peer but cuckolded him as well?”
Archie realized his fist was moving only when it was about to collide with Nathan’s jaw, and he pulled the blow sufficiently to send the man stumbling instead of sprawling in a heap on the marble floors. Gasps surrounded them, and Archie hesitated long enough to decide he didn’t care.
“I’m not coming back to Chapin,” he spat, “and to hell with the consequences.”
“Like we’d have you now.” Nathan shook his head as he rubbed his jaw. “You’ll regret this.”
He bent to retrieve his mangled wig. “I already regret a lot of things. I’ll add this to the list.”
Chapter 35
Marilaidthebookon 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 Archiewasher 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.
