Page 35 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

“Do not worry, Mrs. Hodgins,” she assured, “we will bring this place into shape soon enough.”

After the ledgers, Marigold went into her dressing room. Because of course, now, she had a dressing room filled with new gowns and shoes and bonnets and jewelry and gloves, all of them of top quality. She picked a simple walking dress, and she did not ring for a maid. She had long learned to dress herself, and old habits died hard.

She made her way downstairs, and she went out the garden doors. She didn’t even need to call for Duck. The moment she was out in the gardens, the dog could smell her no matter where she was and came running towards her.

“Come here, girl,” Marigold said when she saw Duck barreling towards her.

The dog responded by wagging its tail so hard that its whole body wiggled. Marigold kneeled to scratch behind the dog’s ears, and without further invitation, Duck rolled onto her back, demanding belly rubs.

“You’re definitely a dog named after a bird who behaves like a cat. You are my little chimera,” Marigold laughed as she played with Duck. Outside in the quiet of the morning, with no servants watching and no Duke sitting in cold silence across the table, Marigold felt a little bit at peace.

“Oh, Duck,” she sighed. “You are the only one that expects nothing from me except for some belly rubs. That is why I like you best.”

Marigold got up and decided to take a long walk around the gardens. That led her further than usual this morning, past the manicured hedges and the reflecting pool, right under the rose arches.

Marigold let the beauty of the place take some of her bitterness, allowed the smells to take over her mood, and she noticed the sound of the gravel under her shoes had something serene in it.

She reached a corner of the estate that she wasn’t sure she had seen before, possibly because it was tucked away behind a high hedge. It was a small patch of land, mostly empty, only grass. At the far end, there was a small shed, weathered but sturdy. Scattered all over were overgrown bushes.

Marigold stopped walking. Something stirred in her chest. She knelt and took some of the soil in her hands. It was darker, richer. It never had curated flower beds or big trees in it, so it was still fertile.

“Well, look at this, Duck.” She pet the dog. “We could have rows of potatoes, carrots, and onions, perhaps some cabbage and peas of course.”

She did not need those here. Hunger was an unknown word in Verdant House. Always fresh produce and meat in abundance, sugar and pastries, and the most exquisite tea and expensive coffee. And no creditors banging on the door.

But still she missed it. It was not just the practical use, it was the satisfaction of growing something with her own two hands. Something meaningful, useful. Something that was hers. Something that proved she existed.

* * *

That night, as she was getting ready for dinner, she was looking at herself in the vanity mirror. She was a bit nervous, but she was also determined. The worst thing that could happen was him saying no. He couldn’t be more mad at her now, could he?

With renewed courage, she went down to meet the Duke in the dining hall. She was informed that he had been back and was expecting her.

Marigold entered the massive room. She had an instant distaste for the dining room. It was too big for just the two of them sitting on the edges of this long table.

“Good evening, Your Grace. I hope you were not left waiting long,” she said and took her place on one edge, a footman hurrying to pull her seat.

“Good evening,” he said, barely looking at her.

Servants and maids and footmen started bringing out the dishes. Marigold could not appreciate the taste and the variety because she was gathering her courage.

“Your Grace,” she said finally.

The Duke looked at her, taken aback. Marigold knew why. They were going for a new record for most words used in a day.

“I was wondering…” Marigold hesitated. “I mean, there is something that I would like to ask.”

“Go ahead,” the Duke demanded.

“I believe you had said yourself that if I were to talk, you would listen, so I am… talking.”

The Duke tilted his head, half-amused.

“You may be talking, but you are not making much sense, Your Grace,” he challenged.

Marigold took a deep breath before answering.

“I was wondering if part of the garden might be mine to use as I saw fit.”