Lottie pulls her into a tight embrace. August bangs on the door again, frightening them out of each other’s arms. “Ladies, let’s go. We’ve got soulmates to find!”
They gather the rest of their things and finally open the door. Staff are there to carry their things off the ship and escort them to their carriage that is waiting at the end of the dock. The three of them squeeze onto the carriage bench—Marigold, Lottie, then August—and begin the ride to Bardshire.
The estate has changed so much, and yet it is exactly the same. They ride alongside the wrought iron gate that matches the detailing on the balconies. The redbrick of their home is decorated with ivy, and the windows are open and trimmed with white shutters. Autumn has grown over the garden, summer green bleeding from the leaves until they turn gold. Red-tinted trees line the path that leads up to the steps of the estate. Decorators, chefs, and handmaidens are all scattering throughout the grounds readying the place for the wedding.
When they round the path to the front of the house, the carriage stops in front of the steps and a footman opens the door. Marigold freezes.
She cannot do it.
Despite how badly she has missed her family, she cannot face everything she left behind.
“Miss?” the footman says as he waits for her hand.
She picks up her hand from her lap, and it is trembling.
“Mari?” Lottie says. “Are you ready?”
Her bottom lip quivers. “I have not seen them in so long. I do not know what to expect.”
“They are going to be thrilled to see you! I recall reading your brother’s last letter to you. I know that, at the very least, he will be ecstatic,” August says, and she nods, though it hardly calms her nerves.
“No matter what happens,” Lottie says, offering her hand, “you will not face it alone. We fall together, remember?”
Her heart melts. When did Lottie become a source of comfort for her? Did it happen slowly, or just now, all at once? She smiles, taking Lottie’s hand. “We fall together.”
They exit the carriage and walk up the steps. Her anxiety starts to fade as the familiar sights all come into view: the arched marble frieze above the entrance, the gilded handle of the door, the rich scent of dark chocolate as soon as they walk inside.
She expected it all to feel more like a trap—this place she barely escaped from and was foolish enough to return to. But it doesn’t, and somehow, that makes it hurt more. It was easy to be away from here when she convinced herself that it would be a nightmare, that they wouldn’t even want her to return despite what was said in their letters. Now that she’s here, it feels like a home she has neglected for far too long.
She must make up for that.
Lottie has not let go of her hand once. Her hold tightens with every step they take. Thousands of flowers decorate the grand staircase. The household staff gushes over her return in every room, but she has yet to run into a member of her family. Marigold’s heart thunders, and her breathing turns into panting as she continues through the massive estate. Who will she see first?
Please, God, do not let it be Mother.
Lottie pauses and brings her other hand to her forehead. “Not now,” she mumbles, groaning.
“Another headache, Lots?” August says. “They’re becoming nonstop. I’m beginning to get very worried about you.”
Lottie drops her hand and turns away, rubbing her temples and taking deep breaths. A few seconds pass and she regains her composure. Slowly, she turns back to Marigold and stares at her with great intensity. Her eyes are bright and wide open, and her lips part slightly, aghast at something. “I think I may know what is causing them.”
“What?” August asks.
Before she can respond, Aster, dressed in a cloud of white, rounds the corner and collides with Marigold. Lottie and August step back, giving them space.
“Mari!” she cries as she grabs her sister in a steel embrace. She smells like apples and azaleas. She’s older, marked by her sharpened jawline and light brown hair down to her waist. Oh, sweet Aster, she is so perfect and lovely and she ishere. It is not a dream or a wish or a lie. The two of them sing with happy tears as they hold each other for the first time in so long.
“You are so, so late,” Aster scolds, all while keeping Marigold in her unyielding embrace. Aster is right. Marigold should have visited long ago, after Althea passed and before she got so lonely. Here, in Aster’s arms, she cannot recall what held her back for so long.
“But I am here now,” she says.
Aster pulls her head from Marigold’s shoulder and stares at her, taking in all that has changed since they last saw each other. “Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.”
She wipes a tear from her cheek. “I would not let you.”
Aster presses her forehead against hers. “Shall we go find Frankie?”
“What about Frankie?” Frankie says as he rounds the corner, tossing an apple up into the air and catching it over and over. When he sees Marigold, the apple drops to the ground and bounces like a croquet ball.
