married the man. She had been brave enough to come to London on her own. It could not have been that much more difficult to stand up for herself, to say she would not marry. The trickles became a deluge. Third, she should never have imagined that marriage meant family. She should never put herself in a position where she could fall in love with the man. Or had she loved him all along – was that why she had run to him in the beginning? Was it all one big circle?
She heard a rider up ahead, it was impossible to see through her tears, and moved off the path.
She almost stepped on Simon Moreland who lay hidden by the bushes.
He lurched up at her. “You little bitch. It is entirely your fault.” He loosed a further sting of obscenities, as he pushed himself to his knees and then stood. His nose was bent to the side and bleeding freely. An odor of vomit mixed with brandy surrounded him.
Before Marguerite could even respond, he raised an arm, his fist curled tight.
Marguerite did the only thing she could, she turned and ran.
She did not turn to look back until she spied the road, only then did she glance back. She felt her foot catch the edge of the curb, saw the coming carriage.
She knew she fell. It hurt to land. The screech of wheels surrounded her.
Where was she? Tristan paced the upstairs corridor, impatience rippling through his body. It was his job to make her understand. That was difficult when she was not present.
He needed to see her, to be sure she was all right. The encounter with that scum Moreland had left him shaken. He could not bear that he had added to her pain after all he had been through. He really wasn’t any better than Moreland. He, too, had used her for his own purposes.
Tristan swung open the door to her chamber. He’d been in the room many times over the last months, but never alone.
It was not that different than when it had been his mother’s room, but in the subtlety lay the differences, small rosebuds instead of a more dramatic arrangement. He deliberately avoided flowers and now they seemed to be everywhere. At least Marguerite didn’t favor those overblown tulips that had become so prevalent.
He walked over and picked up the small crystal vase. He brought it to his face and inhaled the delicate scent. Normally the scent of flowers filled him with unease – put him back in that room with his mother and the gardener. Today, all he saw was Marguerite, her sweet smile, the tilt of her head, the deep fires that built in her eyes when she was too embarrassed to talk, the stubborn lift of her chin when she wanted to prove her abilities.
Why had he not realized how special she was? He set the flowers back on the table, looked at her silver brushes, the curl of a ribbon upon a table, and the decorative bowl of lemons set high on a dresser.
He heard a flurry of activity from below and went to investigate. He was just closing her door when one of the maids came scrambling up the stairs. He stopped. He had seen that expression before.
He was not surprised by the maid’s words. “It’s my lady. She’s had a fall – almost run over by a carriage.”
He was halfway down the stairs before he paused. “Where is she? Is she here?”
“No, my lord. She is at your mother’s.”
He bolted for the door.
There was the murmur of voices, soft and sweet. For a moment Marguerite let herself relax. She was warm and safe, a soft feather mattress beneath her, silk comforter above. If she kept her eyes closed she could imagine she was someplace warm and wonderful, someplace where dreams came true.
The voices grew louder. Felicity, she would recognize those soft tones anywhere – there was something so similar in the flow and pause to her husband’s voice. Another female voice, deeper, more contralto – ahh, Violet. The last voice, male, gave her pause. It was not familiar. Why would a strange man be outside her bedchamber? She wiggled in the bed trying to get comfortable. Something was not right.
She opened her eyes. What had happened? Her gaze met an unfamiliar room. The high canopy and curtains were embellished with countless flowers growing together in an enchanted garden. The scent of more flowers, real this time filled the room.