Marigold's Marriages (14 page)

“Why ‘naturally enough’ a robin?” Marigold asked quickly, her mind beginning to race.

“Because the old English word for a robin is a raddock. It’s somewhere in Shakespeare.”

“Jenny Wren and Robin Redbreast,” she murmured. Plain common sense told her it was mere coincidence, and yet how could she ignore Robin’s decidedly unnatural persistence? Or the fact that he had a wren with him that day at Eton? She pulled herself up sharply. She was behaving like an impressionable miss!

Rowan went on. “Randle still had sufficient power left to punish Lord Avenbury by decreeing that none of his line would live beyond their thirty-fifth birthday—thirty-five for the druids who drowned—and that the thirteenth lord—thirteen for those druids who received fatal wounds—would die at midsummer dawn. Randle vowed to find the anguinum again, and with the final lord’s death to return to take the Avenbury title and inheritance for himself. He also vowed to turn Jennifer back into a woman, so she would become his bride after all. His curse delivered, he and his companions flew away.”

Before he’d finished, Marigold had drawn back in dismay. “The thirteenth and last lord? But
you
are the thirteenth!”

“Yes, and this year my thirty-fifth birthday falls on midsummer day.”

A chill tremor went through her. “But that’s barely two weeks away!”

“Yes.”

Marigold felt cold as she remembered what Rowan had said at the Druid Oak.
Let me assure you that my demands for your favors will cease before the end of this month ...
She searched his face in what was left of the light. “Do you really in your heart of hearts believe all this, Rowan?”

“About Taranis and his birdmen? No, I think that is sheer fantasy. But about Randle’s curse? Yes, I do.”

The reply stung her. “How monstrously unfair of you! How could you wed me and say nothing? When I made my marriage vows to you, I did so in good faith, but you’ve believed all along that you are about to die!”

“My vows were made in good faith too, Marigold.”

“Were they? I think not. Did you pause even once to consider me? You’ve used me quite heartlessly, being quite content to see me widowed twice in as many months! Didn’t it matter how I’d feel when I found out? And what of Perry? He already likes and trusts you immensely, and you like him, yet you’re blithely prepared for him to lose you as well.”

“Marigold, as I recall, you were only too willing to accept the particular helping hand I extended. You would have clutched at a straw, but I offered far, far more than that, and when the moment comes, you will inherit everything. What I’ve done is provide for you and Perry for the rest of your lives. You should be thanking me, not berating me.”

“Has this marriage really been such a coldly calculated contract for you? Don’t you feel any warmth toward me at all? I know I do toward you, especially after last night, and—and this morning.” She flushed as she remembered the shared bath.

“Don’t mistake desire for love. I desire you very much, and you desire me, but we do not love each other.”

She hid the pain his words caused. “I made this bargain thinking I only had Alauda to contend with, but it seems I must battle the supernatural as well.”

“You do not need to battle anything. Marigold, I thought I’d made it clear—”

“I thought I had too,” she interrupted. “I don’t believe in your curse, Rowan, and I intend to make you realize I’m right. So I mean to do battle with whatever stands in my way.”

“Marigold—”

Again she interrupted him. “Midsummer day has always been for celebration, for flowers, dancing, and merrymaking, not for the dark deeds of a defeated old magician from the time of Henry VIII. Aquila Randle is
not
going to reach across the centuries to take you from me! Two marriages is enough for anyone, and I don’t intend to be available for a third!”

He took her arms gently. “Flattered as I am by your spirit and vehemence, you
must
face facts. The first Lord Avenbury was heartbroken over losing his sister, and to show his defiance he built Avenbury Park within the circle, but he, his wife, and baby son died of the plague before it was completed. The second Lord Avenbury was his younger brother, who was fallen upon by robbers and murdered. And so it goes on, without exception. All of them died on or before their thirty-fifth birthday.”

“You are going to be the exception that proves the rule,” she said obstinately. She wouldn’t accept this, she
wouldn’t!

“But the precedent is there twelve times over,” he said patiently. “Think about it, Marigold. If the head of every generation in your family had without fail succumbed to the terms of an ancient damnation, wouldn’t
you
think it highly likely you’d follow suit? Yes, of course you would.”

She struggled for something suitably defiant to say, but the words wouldn’t come, and after a moment he released her to put on his top hat. “I’ve answered everything you need to know, and now, as the light has all but gone, I think it best if we complete our journey, hm?” he said.

“So there is nothing you want from me?” she whispered.

“Only your warmth.”

“You have that.”

He removed the top hat again, and looked deep into her concerned green eyes. “And you have mine. Marigold, I have more than one reason for offering you marriage. To begin with, I want to restore the reputation Falk Arnold and his conniving lawyer stole from you, and although you may not have enjoyed Vauxhall Gardens, the truth is that our alliance
will
be a nine days’ wonder. By the time you return to town, you will be regarded as all that is respectable. Another of my reasons is that I believe Castell Arnold, and all that goes with it, rightfully belongs to Perry, which is why I have put my own lawyers on the business of finding proof of your first marriage. My third reason is that I consider you and Perry to be far worthier recipients of my own inheritance than a bully of a second cousin twice removed who now lives with five ‘wives’ in Madras! And thirdly, I like you very, very much.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Rowan, I’m so glad you’ve explained at last, for I could not understand why a man like you would want a wife like me.”

“A wife like you? Why do you never do yourself justice?
Any
man would like a wife like you.”

She reached up impulsively to kiss him, and for a sweet moment his arms moved around her beneath the mistletoe. Then she mastered her tears, and drew back to smile at him.

“Well, now that you have this particular wife, you had best know that nothing you’ve said about the curse will make any difference to her. She will fight every second of every day to keep you, and if old Randle thinks it’s going to be easy to take you away from her, or get his hands on poor Jennifer, or step neatly into your place, she’ll see that he is well corrected.”

He smiled. “Oh, Marigold, you are a very remarkable woman.”

“Or a very mulish one?”

He laughed. “Well, possibly, but delightfully so.”

“Just one thing more ...”

“Yes?”

“What do the servants at Avenbury Park know of the curse?” She needed to know the atmosphere awaiting them.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” She was astonished. “How can that possibly be? According to you, every Lord Avenbury has—”

“Well, when I say ‘nothing,’ I mean that my father and his father before him were at pains to play the whole thing down. I have been careful to continue in the same vein. Society is barely aware of it. I behave as if there is no such thing as the curse.”

“Which there isn’t,” she declared firmly.

“Whatever you say, my dear,” he replied in the infuriating tone of a tolerant husband. Then he donned the top hat again, offered her his arm, and they began to walk back toward the carriage.

Suddenly Marigold heard a familiar chirrup coming from the tree. Glancing quickly back over her shoulder, she saw Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren looking down at her from the mistletoe, and Jenny began to sing her plaintive song again. But then the song changed to the imperative tic-tic-tic of all wrens. Marigold’s breath caught, for although Rowan clearly heard only a bird’s call, she distinctly heard a young woman’s imploring voice. “Help us, Marigold! Help us, please, before it’s too late!”

In that heart-stopping second, Marigold knew the birds really were Jennifer Avenbury and her lover, Squire Raddock. And if that were true, then so probably was the curse. A wave of dismay washed over her. She didn’t want to believe any of this, but so much apparent proof couldn’t be ignored. Nor could her determination to protect Rowan be ignored.

A warlike glint lit her eyes. She wouldn’t give up easily! She’d fight for him, and for Jenny Wren and Robin Redbreast. In fact, she’d fight for them all until her very last breath! Her fingers tightened protectively over Rowan’s sleeve, and she walked on at his side without saying a word.

Marigold was still shaken but determined a few minutes later, as the carriage neared the lodge at Avenbury Park. She had never believed in the supernatural, yet she was being forced to accept that there was such a thing. Ever since Robin’s first appearance on the day of Merlin’s will, she had become more and more embroiled in events she still only partially understood. One thing she did understand, however; if she didn’t fight for what mattered, she’d be swept helplessly aside. Maybe she’d be swept helplessly aside anyway....

She glanced out as the carriage turned through gilt and black wrought-iron gates that were topped by the heraldic water lilies of the lords of Avenbury, and she gave a start as the lodgekeeper blew a horn to warn the house that Lord and Lady Avenbury approached.

She composed herself, for in a few moments she would have to meet all the servants, well, most of them anyway, for some of the kitchen staff would be busy preparing a suitable repast. Word had been sent ahead from London to warn the staff of Rowan’s visit with his new bride, whose new maid, Sally, would have arrived about an hour before as well, so the servants were well primed to hurry out to greet their master and new mistress.

Marigold lowered the carriage window, and looked all around, her eyes so used to the virtual darkness that she could see quite a lot, especially as for some reason the mist had not yet enveloped anything here.

Lights shone ahead, and at last Avenbury Park house came into view. Even at the edge of night, she could see that it was beautiful. Rambling, built of stone, and gabled, it had magnificent mullioned windows, wisteria-covered walls, and a jutting stone porch. Peacocks called in gardens that were filled with finely clipped topiary bushes, formal rose beds, and sweet-scented herbs. At the end of the gardens she could make out the moat and line of standing stones, and beyond that a tree-dotted lawn that swept down to a reed-fringed lake. The shining expanse of water disappeared into the mist, which advanced discernibly toward the house, as if it had suddenly realized its mistake.

At the sound of the lodgekeeper’s trumpet, hundreds of waterfowl had been startled into the air, flying noisily out of the vapor, but as the carriage drew up at the house, the flocks began to settle again, their complaining cries echoing as they descended once more into the silvery shroud. For a second Sir Francis crossed Marigold’s mind again. Was he really still plaguing the boys at Eton? Or was he here at Avenbury?

Like Perry before her, she was
sure
she recognized that quack, and after everything else she’d been compelled to accept tonight, why not a supernatural duck as well? Marigold shivered, and drew back into the vehicle as Rowan prepared to alight.

The servants stood in a welcoming line, their faces lit by the lanterns held by several of the footmen. Another lantern had been lit beneath the porch, and its glow fell upon the wisteria, which was in full bloom, its flowers hanging like countless bunches of lilac-blue grapes.

The butler came to lower the carriage rungs and open the door on Rowan’s side. His name was Beech, and he was a plump man in his late forties, with rosy cheeks and an unexpectedly luxuriant head of straight salt-and-pepper hair which he tied back with a black ribbon. He wore a plain charcoal coat, and dove gray breeches, and the button of his blue waistcoat strained across his ample belly. He had a pleasing smile, and Marigold liked him on sight.

Rowan stepped down and greeted everyone, before turning to assist her down as well. Then her introduction to the Avenbury Park servants commenced, but as each footman bowed and each maid bobbed a curtsy, she was conscious of their curiosity. They would have learned a little from Sally, but not a great deal, since the maid herself did not know much, and they were clearly wondering how their master had suddenly been snapped up. Was it love at first sight? Was his new bride no better than she should be? Had he got her with child? Oh, their silent queries were legion, and not very well concealed on some faces.

At last the formalities were over, and Rowan escorted her beneath the porch into the candlelit house. Marigold found herself in a fine Tudor hall, with a stone-flagged floor upon which was laid a wine red carpet that was flushed to warm crimson by the light. On the carpet stood a long, very old table upon which were arranged three polished copper bowls filled with roses from the gardens. A magnificent oak staircase led up to a half landing, then split into two to the floor above.

The carved stone fireplace was ornamented with Rowan’s water lily badge, and so was the stained glass of the magnificent oriel window that dominated the western wall. Twelve portraits were evenly spaced around the oak-paneled walls, one for every previous Lord Avenbury. Each one was of a young man.

Rowan turned to Marigold. “Welcome to Avenbury Park, my lady,” he said, then handed his top hat, gloves, and cane to the butler, who had hastened to take up a position by the table.

“It’s a very beautiful house, Rowan.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“How could one not?”

He nodded toward the oriel window. “I wish we’d arrived about an hour ago. At sunset, the light streams through the stained glass, and lies like jewels over everything,” he murmured, almost absently.