“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.
Chapter 39
“Ithinktheyhateme.”
Marigold looked over her shoulder at Archie, who’d frozen at the sight of the hives. “They don’t hate you, and they won’t harm you.”
He stepped closer at her tug of his hand, but she didn’t miss the dread in his wide-eyed expression. “Even if they know I’m taking you away?”
A quick stab of regret pierced her skin. “They’ll b-be fine without me.”
They’d arrived at Harrow Hall by carriage, Marigold’s pulse ratcheting higher with each rotation of the wheels until she was trembling. Archie held her hand as they bypassed the house and manicured gardens to her hive, and she suspected he’d stay by her side as long as she needed.
Archie inched closer, clinging to her hand like a lifeline, the tremors of his nerves distinguishable through the thick canvas of her beekeeping clothing. “I still think I should apologize.”
She sensed the vibration in the air before she heard it, the subtle shift, the knowledge that a powerful force lay just out of reach, capable of creation and destruction, waiting for a sign to tip one way or the other. And yet, she walked on.
Archie stood at her back, tense, but he kept a hand on her waist, as though prepared to scoop her up and run from harm at the slightest provocation. “Remind me why I need to be here?”
“It’s tradition,” she said as she dropped her beekeeping hood on the grass beside them. “Bees work for the good of the household and should be told of significant events. Births, d-deaths…” She swallowed as a lump grew in her throat. “Departures.”
His hand flexed on her side. “I love you.”
She leaned back against the solidity of his chest, absorbing some of his strength. “I love you,” she whispered, wishing she didn’t have to say goodbye to one thing she loved to gain another. But the nature of change invoked mourning, an unbinding of what she’d known to make room for the new.
She cleared her throat. “The marquess and I are no longer married. That p-probably makes you happy, since you never liked him.” The buzzing seemed to grow louder, as though the hive was voicing its agreement. “B-but that means I’m leaving here and not returning.” Her eyes burned, and she stopped, gathered herself.
“I’d like to introduce you to someone special,” she began. “This is Archie.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, reassuring herselfthat he hadn’t left,wouldn’tleave her. “I’ve b-been lonely for so long, and with him I won’t be. I love him.”
She slipped the hood over her head, her vision blurring from the mesh and her budding tears as she stepped forward. Archie’s hand fell away. “So I’m saying goodbye. I have my freedom now, and you should have yours.”
“Marigold,” he said, the word tight with warning and a healthy dose of trepidation.
She refused to look back when nothing could change what she had to do. The slim crowbar felt impossibly heavy in her palm, but she wedged it under the lid, pulling and pushing until the propolis sealing the cracks broke, and lifted. The bees didn’t react; there was no rush to their newfound independence, merely a lazy observation. It wasn’t enough to be granted freedom. One must grasp it, take the leap of fear and faith until you can hold it close to your breast, cherish it for its scarcity and wonder.
As she retreated, a hum rose from the hive, and she wanted to believe it was gratitude, or perhaps well wishes. But instead of being alone when she had finally left her bees behind, Archie was there, removing her hood and gloves with tender hands, cupping her neck and kissing her with a quiet adoration. With pride.
“You’re so strong, love,” he whispered against her tangled hair.
“Far from it.” She pushed a tear from her cheek and gave him a watery smile. “Let’s go—”
