The others looked at Mari as though she had lost her mind, then proceeded with their preparations for dinner. Mari, in an effort to smooth things over, arranged Poppy’s hair in a very attractive style which she had seen in a recent magazine.
On the way to the dining room, Mari’s roommates were all in high spirits about the prospect of meeting a duke.
Though Mari knew she ought to be equally enthused, all she could think about was a pair of fair blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes.
“It’s been two days and no one has seen a duke on the premises. Not to mention that if Miss Wickersham was expecting an important visitor, she would have us all polishing the silver,” Lily said as they were outside again, taking a morning walk supervised by Garland.
“And we would not have had mutton two nights in a row,” Violet said, pulling a face.
“Did you not recently say you were grateful to not go hungry? And now you complain of having the same meal twice?” Poppy said.
“Marigold, tell us your opinion. I believe Poppy made up the whole story about the Duke of Norwich,” Violet said. “But you are much kinder in your observations so let us hear what you think.”
Mari, who had been surreptitiously scanning the garden looking for Mr. Walker’s unnamed nephew, paused and strained to remember what her friends had been talking about. She had tried looking for the mystery man from their second-floor bedroom window but had not caught sight of him. Perhaps shehad imagined the whole thing. Except for the tiny scab on her finger, she might have believed she’d made it all up herself.
And the handkerchief she had washed and ironed and tucked beneath her pillow.
“Is it not possible that Poppy is correct about the duke and also that he has not arrived yet? A duke has better things to do than dawdle around Talcott House all day. Perhaps he will simply come up the driveway moments before the wedding.”
The others paused to consider this.
Off to the right, Mari thought she saw movement. “I am sure he will turn up when the time is right,” she said. “I believe I will go to the herb garden for some rosemary. I wish to make a sachet.”
Yes, it was foolish and sentimental, but she had decided that she would make a sachet out of the precious handkerchief. It was a practical thing to do and if anyone found the memento stashed under her pillow, there would be questions which she did not wish to answer. The encounter in the garden with the handsome stranger was something she wished to keep only to herself.
Before any of the others could offer to accompany her, she hurried, at a ladylike pace, down the garden path toward the herb garden. She slowed her steps and practiced breathing normally. Down near the rosemary bushes, she saw a man’s form. It could be Mr. Walker, but she hoped very fervently that it was his nephew.
She stood for a moment, watching him work and unsure what to say. Hardly a chatterbox like Violet or bold like Poppy, Mari still was not so shy that she could not speak to a stranger. Besides, he was not a stranger. They had spoken and he had assisted her with her wounded finger.
Still, her mouth felt dry and she considered turning and leaving.
“Good day, Miss Marigold.”
That voice. Her heart skittered with pleasure. It was him.
While she tried to calm herself, Mr. Walker’s nephew stood and turned to her, doffing his hat, revealing golden hair that fell in an unruly wave across his brow. “It is a pleasure to see you again,” he said. His eyes gleamed and Mari hoped it was because he was happy to see her.
“I-it is a pl-pleasure to see you again, as well,” she managed to say, twisting her fingers together at her waist.
“Have you been behaving yourself?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
Mari blushed. “Yes, of course I have,” she replied, glancing toward the repaired rabbit cage.
He raised a brow at her and Mari felt herself squirm. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Were you looking for something special here in the garden? The primroses are looking particularly nice today.” He nodded toward a bed of the fragrant flowers.
“Thank you,” she said. She could hardly admit to him that she had intended to gather rosemary to make a sachet from the handkerchief he’d given her. She wondered if she ought to offer to return it to him now that it had been laundered.
Yes, she ought to give it back, but she just could not give up the precious memento. “Primrose will do quite well for the tables today,” she said.
The two of them walked to the patch of yellow blooms and Mr. Walker’s nephew began snipping flowers and handing them to Mari. They worked together for a few moments without talking and it was quite pleasant. His quiet strength made Mari feel safe and content.
And something else. A tingle of excitement. A thrill of awareness.
When her hands could hold no more flowers, she said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“I enjoy taking care of you, Miss Marigold.” Something in his tone washed over her and sent a thrum of warmth through her.
Her mouth went dry and she struggled to find a reply, not wishing to end the interaction just yet.
