A Marquess for Miss Marigold: Sweet Regency Romance (A Wallflower's Wish Book 3) Read online

  A Marquess for Miss Marigold

  A Wallflower’s Wish

  Maggie Dallen

  Katherine Ann Madison

  Copyright © 2020 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  ’Tis the Season for Lady Sarah

  About the Authors

  Chapter One

  To think, Lord Maximus Langston, the new Marquess of Arundel, had actually been looking forward to this homecoming. Seeing his mother and sister again, reveling in the comforts of home, resting his wounded leg with some much needed peace and quiet...

  Or not. Laughter from the hallway made him cringe.

  Instead of the quiet homecoming of his dreams, he’d come home to find himself in the midst of his worst nightmare.

  A house party.

  At his house.

  “A second engagement, can you imagine?” His mother flitted about the room, talking so quickly it was impossible to keep pace.

  Or perhaps that was just exhaustion at work. It had been a long, grueling journey back from the military base he’d called home these last few years.

  Max shot his younger sister a questioning look, but Sarah just smirked and raised her teacup in a signal that seemed to say ‘let her say her piece. It will end soon enough.’

  He sank back into his seat with a sigh.

  “One engagement was enough to make this party the talk of the season.” She whirled around to face him, her eyes wide. “It was the Duke of Dolan, did I tell you that?”

  Max’s response was a grunting sound. It was the most he could offer. Had she mentioned that the Duke of Dolan had found his bride at this wretched party?

  Yes. At least six times.

  “And with Miss Merriweather of all people,” she continued, shaking her head. “I must admit, I did not see that match coming. But Lord Merrick...” She clapped her hands together and Max reached for a teacup of his own. It seemed they had a long way to go before his mother tired of this particular topic. Strong tea was the only antidote within reach. “No one could have anticipated that scene he caused last night over Miss Upton. It’s all anyone could talk about.”

  “Mmm.” He presumed a murmur of acknowledgement would suffice. All morning it had been like this. He’d arrived just after dawn to find a house filled with people who were blessedly asleep.

  One of the servants had woken his mother, then his sister, and after a tear-filled reunion and far more questions than he ever wished to answer...this had begun.

  A recounting of the last few days in exquisite detail.

  Trivial nonsense that his life had been blessedly devoid of these past several years. One might think, with such a long break, he’d have more patience for such discussions, but he’d lost all tolerance.

  His mother turned to face him once more and this time she seemed to see him.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together. When she cocked her head to the side the oddest hmmm buzzed from her lips.

  He stiffened with alarm as she moved toward him. She did not merely see him, she was focused on him in a way that was alarming considering her current topic of conversation.

  Marriage.

  Sure enough, her smile widened to something far too hopeful for his liking. “Perhaps your timing is perfect, after all.” She clasped her hands together and arched her brows. “Maybe you too will find a bride amongst this crowd.”

  He leapt on that last word as he came to stand. “Aha! So you admit it then. This is a crowd.”

  His mother rolled her eyes as Sarah hid a snicker in her teacup.

  This had been a point of contention from the moment he’d first arrived and had asked why on earth she’d thrown a party at the very time he was set to arrive home after years of being away.

  “I told you, I did not expect you until next week,” his mother said now.

  He narrowed his eyes. Was that guilt he saw there?

  His mother patted her silver-haired coif as she sank gracefully onto the settee. She seemed to pointedly ignore the sound of loud voices passing the sitting room as more guests came down for breakfast.

  “I merely invited some close friends and family,” his mother continued.

  “Close friends, hmm? There are dozens of people staying here, Mother. Dozens.” He’d wager a hundred at least.

  His mother sniffed, avoiding his gaze. “I have many friends.”

  Sarah was outright laughing now as Max groaned and fell back into his seat. His leg was aching again. The long journey had done nothing to help the now familiar pain. But at least he’d returned from war with his leg, which was more than many could say.

  “Think about it, Max,” his mother was saying. “This is the perfect opportunity for you to reacquaint yourself with the eligible ladies of the ton.”

  He closed his eyes with a groan. “Mother, I have only just returned home. There are mountains of correspondence and legal documents waiting for my perusal. There are solicitors and caretakers and servants and workers to meet with, there are estates to assess and finances to review...” He sighed as the mounting weight of his new responsibilities slammed into him. “A bride can wait.”

  “Yes, but heirs cannot,” his mother shot back.

  Max let his head roll to the side so he could face his grinning sister head-on. “How do you put up with this?”

  Sarah laughed as their mother gave an irritated sigh at his rudeness. His sister leaned forward as if to let him in on a secret. “I’ve developed something I like to call selective hearing.”

  Max let out a sharp laugh as they both ignored his mother’s protests. “Selective hearing, you say? How does this work?”

  Sarah’s dark eyes, so like his own, widened in innocence. “At the sound of the words husband, wedding, marriage, and match, I merely...” She snapped her fingers. “Drift away.”

  He was laughing outright now, and the feel of it was at once novel and familiar. How long had it been since he’d laughed like this?

  Too long.

  It was definitely the first time he’d felt any urge to laugh since he’d received word about his father’s unexpected passing.

  He reached for Sarah’s hand and she clasped it with a small smile of understanding. “We’re so happy to have you home, Max.”

  He nodded, taking in the sight of the girl who’d grown into a young lady while he was gone. She still had the same thick black hair and dark gray eyes—the coloring they’d both inherited from their father. But now her hair was pulled up like his mother’s rather than hanging down her back in braids and those eyes held a hint of sadness and grief that he’d never seen there before.

  His voice was gruff. “And I am glad to be here with you and Mother.”

  He
shot his mother a sidelong, teasing smile to break the tension. “I just wish there weren’t so many guests around, that is all.”

  His mother rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as well, her eyes soft with emotion. “We have missed you, dear. Your father would have been so proud to see the man you’ve become.”

  His smile faded to a grimace at her well-intentioned words. Would he have been proud?

  He had no idea.

  All he knew was this nagging guilt that had been plaguing him from the moment he’d read the missive about his father’s death.

  Their last parting had been tense. They’d both been recovering from the harsh words they’d slung at one another in anger. As he’d left his father to enlist for a second tour, which his father was adamantly opposed to, he’d thought little of it. He’d been so sure that they’d see one another again, that there would be time to make up, to make things right.

  He’d been wrong.

  He scrubbed at his eyes now, weariness and exhaustion making the thought of any more talk of marriage and heirs too tedious to bear.

  Luckily his mother seemed to understand. “Why don’t you get some rest, dear? I’ll keep the guests busy today. You won’t have to worry about entertaining until you are ready.”

  He went to protest. After so long away, he wanted nothing more than to spend time with his mother and sister, but he knew she was right. He was tired and no doubt covered in dirt and grime from his time on the road. What he needed was a bath and some sleep.

  However, after he took his leave, he reached the bottom of the staircase leading to his room and had a change of heart.

  Or rather, his feet had other ideas when he heard the sound of strange female voices heading in his direction.

  It wasn’t that he was scared of ladies. On the contrary, he liked women very much.

  And perhaps just as importantly...they liked him.

  But right at this particular moment, the idea of making small talk and answering the inevitable questions about his travel, his time with the military, his plans for the future.

  The thought was unbearable.

  And so he did what no good soldier should do.

  He ran.

  Well, he walked as quickly as his injured leg could carry him. Once outside, the glaring sun beat down on him and there were voices everywhere he turned. He heard male voices talking and laughing near the stables. The sound of high-pitched voices drifted from the gardens.

  He picked up his pace as he headed away from the great house.

  People were everywhere. Guests were swarming his property. What he wouldn’t give for a moment alone. Some time to take in all that had happened these past few months.

  When he reached a fork in the path, he had to make a decision. To head to the right toward the chapel or to the meadows to his left. The chapel was likely deserted but if he went there, he would feel compelled to visit his father’s grave in the neighboring graveyard.

  His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought of facing his father—or rather, his father’s headstone.

  He ran a hand through his too-long, disheveled hair.

  He wasn’t ready.

  He glanced down at his travel worn clothes, scrubbed a hand over the stubble he had yet to shave. No, his father would not have appreciated a visit from the new marquess in such a condition.

  The thought brought with it a hint of a smile. He and his father had always butted heads when it came to tradition and what was expected of him. They’d fought fiercely from the time he was old enough to speak.

  But they’d loved just as fiercely, and that was what had him moving to the left, avoiding the inevitable.

  He’d had some time to deal with the fact that his father was gone. Yet it was one thing to understand his father had died, and another to see his grave.

  Just being back here and not hearing his father’s booming voice the moment he’d arrived...

  He sighed as he kicked at the dirt beneath his feet, his pace slowing now that he wasn’t running away from the party guests.

  He couldn’t imagine any of those guests would venture this far from the main house, not unless they were on their way to a hunting party or out for a ride. But it was too early in the day and from what he could tell, most everyone who was awake was in no hurry to wander the grounds.

  He tipped his head back to revel in the sunshine, the fresh air, the breeze that kept this day from being unbearably hot. He spotted a rarely used shed in the distance. It was a bare-bones structure the farmhands used to keep out of the sun when it was hot or to shelter from the wind when it was cold.

  Right now it looked like the ideal place to catch up on some sleep.

  After all, his mother wouldn’t let him escape this party forever. No doubt she was already planning some sort of grand celebration for the return of the prodigal son.

  He gave a snort of amusement at the thought as he pushed aside the rickety door to the shed, walked into the dark shadows of the interior and—

  Fell.

  “Oof!” He tripped over something and went sprawling. His hand hit the wall and he managed to just catch himself before he fell flat on his face, his leg wrenching painfully.

  “Ow!” The something he’d tripped over squeaked in surprise. Soft weight pressed into him. Warm and sweet, the smell of summer flowers wrapped about him.

  A girl.

  For a moment, all was a dark sea of awkward limbs and fumbling hands until he was seated upright, and the girl he’d tripped over was...in his lap.

  Chapter Two

  Miss Mary Clearwater blinked in surprise as strong arms wrapped about her waist.

  Was she now positioned in a man’s lap?

  Marigold, as her friends called her, blinked in surprise. Perhaps she ought to have been alarmed, but it was shock and curiosity that won out.

  Perhaps because she’d imagined this moment at least one hundred times.

  Likely more.

  Many of the novels she’d read featured the first time a man took a woman into his arms. Some of the books discussed the strong feel of his muscles or the mental assuredness that the heroine experienced in her hero's arms. As though she knew she were in the exact right place.

  Marigold had expected the entire affair to be far more...graceful.

  And to smell better.

  Her nose wrinkled as she caught the subtle hints of dirt in her nose. She wasn’t certain if it was the earthy shed itself or the man holding her, but the place smelled of dust and dinge.

  She hadn’t noticed the scent when she’d first arrived. But then again, she’d been rather distracted.

  She’d slipped in here to avoid Miss Samantha Preston’s litany of questions about her two friends’ impending marriages.

  Miss Daisy Merriweather and Miss Laura Upton, her two best friends in all the world, had both become engaged at this house party. She was so very happy for them. They each deserved a happily ever after and the men they’d each chosen were perfectly suited to them.

  Her heart gave a decided thump. She didn’t dare to admit this aloud to anyone but part of her was a bit...jealous.

  Daisy had become the toast of London, even before she’d become engaged. And Laura, or Lily as they called her in their group of wallflowers, had always been so strong. She was a wallflower by choice not design.

  But Marigold... Marigold was a true wallflower by nature. Quiet, reserved, shy—she was almost never asked to dance and when she was, it almost always ended in disaster.

  When she didn’t trip over her own feet, she tripped on her words.

  She likely shouldn’t have been surprised that the one time she’d landed in a man’s lap, it was an awkward mistake.

  “What the bl—” he started but she raised a hand to cover his lips.

  She hit his chin, quite by accident but he ceased talking anyway.

  A relief considering how stubbly and rough the skin was. What sort of man, who was at a house party, was not clean shaven? Not a gentleman, t
hat much was certain. “Please, sir. Cursing is entirely unnecessary.”

  And then she dropped her hand again, where it landed on his chest. A puff of dust rose from his clothes, tickling her nose and promptly causing her to sneeze.

  He let out a decided groan. “I was going to say blazes. Is that acceptable to you?”

  Heat flared in her cheeks at the sound of complete and utter annoyance in his voice. “Oh yes. Apologies.”

  Marigold shifted in embarrassment but then realized that her bottom was seated between his rather large, muscular thighs. She imagined they were the thighs of a man who spent a great deal of time on the back of a horse.

  Even as she thought it, she realized that she really shouldn’t be thinking about a man’s thighs at all.

  She stiffened away, pressing against his shoulders, but her foot caught on something hard and as she started to rise, she fell again, crashing into his chest and knocking his scruffy chin with her temple.

  A sharp pain shot through her forehead even as he grunted in obvious pain.

  “Miss...” he hissed out. “Please stay still.”

  She swallowed a lump as she rubbed her forehead. This was definitely nothing like her books. “Apologies. Again.”

  He let out a long breath. “Just give me a moment and I will untangle us and have you on your way. Am I to assume that you are a guest at this house party?”

  Marigold nodded and then realized in the dim light he might not be able to see her movement. “Yes. That’s correct.”

  But then several thoughts of her own coalesced. His dirty clothes, scruffy face, and his question all melded together. He was not a member of the party. Who was he then?

  Her heart stopped. Had she landed in the lap of a ne’er-do-well? Merciful saints.

  He shifted under her and then stiffened, grabbing at his leg with a groan.