“Yes, Papa,” she said with wonder. “I promise.”
“I will never be angry at you for telling me your troubles. In fact, I will be angry if you do not. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good girl,” he said, then put his hand back on her derriere. Mari stiffened.
“I-I thought the spanking was over,” she said.
Papa chuckled. “No, my dear. Not yet. This is an important lesson and I want to make sure it makes an impression on you.”
“Oh,” she said and turned her face back toward the floor.
“Three more swats,” he said softly. “To remind you to bring your worries to Papa.”
His hand descended—firm, but not harsh. A sharp sting, then another, then a final one.
He gathered her into his arms at once, lifting her to sit across his thighs, pressing her to his chest.
“Shhh,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “There now. Papa’s not angry. Only teaching. You are safe with me.”
Tears she hadn’t known she was holding back slipped free, dampening his coat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know, my darling girl.” He tilted her chin, brushing away her tears with his thumb. “All I ask is that you trust me enough to let me take care of you. Can you do that?”
She nodded, trembling, but managed a tiny, “Yes, Papa.”
His smile softened, radiant with pride. He kissed her forehead, then tucked her against his shoulder. “Good girl. That’s all I wanted.”
Marigold nestled against his chest, her tears finally slowing. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, a rhythm that made her feel safe. Protected. Wanted.
Safe in her Papa’s arms, Mari found herself relaxing. They sat that way, quiet together, for a few moments until Papa shifted her around so she was on his hip, then stood and carried her to the other side of the room and sat on the bed with her on his lap.
Stretching, but still keeping her close, he reached beneath the bed and pulled out a brown paper wrapped package.
“I have a present for you,” he said, setting the parcel in her lap. She looked up at him and he seemed…almost shy.
“Papa,” she said, holding it in her hands. “You have given me so much. I do not need gifts.”
“Ah,” he said, kissing her temple, “but I have longed for a Little girl to spoil so I am afraid you will have to learn to tolerate my gift-giving. Do you think you can do that? For me?”
Mari gazed into his blue eyes. “But,” she said, “I stomped my foot at you. I behaved very badly and I am certain some of the servants saw me. I have not started out well as a duchess. I do not deserve gifts.”
Papa tapped the tip of her nose again, it seemed this was a favorite bit of chastisement for him. “You will receive gifts because I want to give them to you. As your Papa, it is my prerogative to dote upon you. There is no deserve or not deserve about it. You are my wife, my little duchess. Now, open your gift.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Mari said, reaching for the ribbon holding the paper around the package. Her fingers shook as she tried to untie the bow.
Papa covered her hands with his and guided her through the task. When the paper fell away, he removed his hands so she could open the box herself. When she took off the lid, Mari gasped.
“A bunny!” she exclaimed, pulling the soft animal out of the box. “It looks just like the one from the garden at Talcott House.” She squeezed the toy to her chest and then looked up at him. “The one I let loose from your cage.”
Papa smiled broadly. “I was hoping you would make the connection between this bunny and the one you let escape. I was not mad at you. It was charming. And, if not for that bunny, we might not have met.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Oh, Papa. I am so very glad that we met. And this bunny will always remind me of that day.” She hugged the rabbit to her chest, then leaned back into him. “Thank you, Papa. You are too kind.”
His arms tightened around her, rocking her gently. “There’s my good girl. I’m proud of you.”
For the first time since stepping into the grand halls of Willowmere Estate, Marigold felt the knot of fear in her belly loosen. She was home—in his arms.
