Page 20 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

“This is truly a gift for everything I have endured,” her mother kept saying, paper in hand.

Marigold still did not know how to react, and she decided she should have had a conversation with the Duke regarding the announcement. But now, it was too late. She could only imagine what the rest of the ton was thinking of her. The powerful and rich Duke of Voss marrying Lady Marigold Covington, “whose dignity, perseverance, and strength of character have earned the particular admiration of His Grace.”

That last line utterly devastated her. She could not tell if he truly believed that because he had avoided the usual “accomplished” or “rare beauty.” Or perhaps he, too, was trying to explain to the world why on earth a duke of his stature had chosen her as his wife.

“Oh, I can only imagine how it will feel to spend all that money the Duke has,” her mother kept droning.

Marigold frowned in confusion. Why should she be talking about spending the Duke’s money? She was the one marrying him. She had never thought about doing that. She was burden enough already without a dowry.

“And that big house,” Claire, her mother, kept dreaming aloud. “I have seen that house in Mayfair, and it is by far the most impressive and elegant of them all. It would be a pleasure to stay in a house like that.”

The cup Marigold was holding clinked against the saucer, and some of the untouched amber liquid spilled over.

“Mother,” she dared, “you are not really thinking that you will be staying in the Verdant House?”

Claire looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

“Where else would I be staying after the marriage? It is my chance to take my rightful place in this world.”

Marigold was very tempted to show her again the newspaper clipping Claire was holding so tightly to remind her that the name mentioned was Lady Marigold Covington. It said a great deal that Marigold felt the need to remind her mother that she was the one getting married to the Duke because Claire was acting as if this marriage were a gift for her.

“I am not sure that this is going to happen, Mother,” Marigold finally uttered.

All the pleasure and happiness dropped from Claire’s face. Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips puckered, and she lifted her chin as she turned her full attention to Marigold.

“Are you thinking of discarding your aging mother now that you are stepping up in the world?”

“I do not believe that this is⁠—”

“You are an ungrateful brat!”

Marigold gasped in surprise, and her hands began shaking. She knew what it was like when her mother turned cruel. Claire inhaled as if summoning every bitter thought she carried inside.

“You should be grateful,” Claire spat. “It was due to my hard and tireless work that you gained the attention of the Duke. Plain and simple and obscure as you are. And now, you dare talk back to me?”

If Marigold did not have a certain understanding with the Duke, if she did not know exactly what she had bargained for in order to become a duchess, she might have believed her mother. After all, she always did this, putting her down, making her doubt herself. But there was something in the way the Duke had chosen her, even if it was merely a transaction. The way he wrote “strength of character.” A certain rush, a strange boost of energy, coursed through her body.

“By tireless work,” Marigold said firmly, “you mean how you besmirched my reputation by sketching me out to be a heartless miser? I am sure those rumors you so carefully cultivated were what caught the attention of a duke.”

If looks could kill, that would have been the look Claire turned upon her daughter. The comely features she still possessed distorted and twisted until she became a mask of utter disdain.

“I see that becoming a duchess has made you arrogant,” Claire hissed. “You would do well to remember that first and above all, you are still my daughter. You owe me your life.”

Marigold was caught between grief at seeing her mother ruin what should have been a beautiful day in her life and dread over what other ways Claire would devise to torment her when Alfred entered with a letter.

The Duke was requesting a promenade the next morning.

* * *

Marigold knew that, according to their plan, he was marrying her for her intelligence and resilience, very much based on her character and not the status of her family. Not that anybody would believe the Duke was marrying her in exchange for information on a London street gang.

“Lady Marigold,” Alfred said as he entered her room while she was getting ready, “the Duke has asked me to inform you that he is waiting outside.”

Marigold nodded, and the man looked at her with a small smile. How bizarre was it that the only person happy she was getting married was the only employee she had left?

“Thank you, Alfred,” she said. “And I hope you realize that you will be rewarded for your patience.”

“If you will allow me, Lady Marigold,” the man said softly, “I always knew that you were destined for something better.”