Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (good fiction books to read TXT) 📕

the second cup from him. "And now, back to bed, before someone catches you."

"Souci. . ."

"Hush, Robbie. Please go back to bed like a good little boy."

He hesitated. "Will you walk partway with me? The hall is awful dark."

Reconciled to seeing him down the hall to his door, Marigold put her arm around the little boy and walked with him to his own bedroom.

"Can you make it from here?" Marigold asked at the door. "Oh, that's all right. I might as well tuck you in, now that I've come this far."

Marigold leaned down and brushed the burnished gold hair from the child's forehead. "Good night, Robbie." She planted a kiss on his chubby face and then backed away from the bed.

"Souci, I'm sorry that I. . ."

"That's all right, Robbie." Marigold cut him off. "Now go to sleep."

She disappeared and Robbie sighed. She had not let him explain about the note. He was sorry that he had lost it that afternoon before giving it to her. But maybe it wasn't so important, after all. And he would tell her about it tomorrow. With that decision made, Robbie turned over on his side and went to sleep.

3

Shaun was not in the garden. Marigold waited in the gazebo, with her valise at her feet. In the darkness, she hugged her bombazine cloak closer to her body and listened for the slightest sound that would alert her to Shaun's coming.

But there was nothing, except the occasional bark of Mr. Gammon's dog down the street. Lucky for her that Jason's hunting dogs were at Midgard. It would not have done for her older brother's hounds to be in the garden with her. They would have given her away immediately.

While Marigold watched, the moon began its descent from high in the sky. It hovered near the treetops before finally plummeting out of sight. Gradually, Marigold's head drooped against her chest and her eyes closed.

The sea breeze, rising from the ocean, spread over the coastal battery and invaded the garden where Marigold rested. With a sudden flapping noise, the wind whipped the hem of her cloak against the valise. She sat up with a start. Had she gone to sleep? And if so, for how long?

Marigold rubbed her eyes impatiently and listened. Horses' hooves, clattering on the cobblestoned street, grew louder and then stopped.

It had to be Shaun coming for her. Eagerly, Marigold clutched the handle of her valise and listened for the gate to open and close. At its click, she felt relief. She had been so afraid that something would stop him from coming. But now, Shaun was here.

When the tall, dark figure started down the path, Marigold could wait no longer. Grabbing up her valise, she hurried from the gazebo to meet him.

"Shaun," she whispered, her mouth curving into a welcoming smile. But the voice that greeted her was not Shaun's voice. Marigold stiffened when she recognized the man standing before her.

"He's not coming for you, cousin," he said, taking the valise from her hand. "He never intended to elope with you tonight."

It was her cousin, Crane—not Shaun. And what was he saying? That Shaun was not coming?

"I. . . I don't believe you," Marigold responded in a faltering voice. "Something's happened to him. I know it. Tell me, Crane. What's happened?"

A harsh laugh escaped from Crane's lips. "What's happened?" he repeated. "Do you really want to know, Marigold?"

"Yes," she hissed with impatience. "Tell me."

"Then I suggest we go where we can't be seen. It is a long tale, and I don't relish being caught by your father in such a compromising situation. Even if your reputation is ruined, I still have mine to think about," he added in a pious tone.

Marigold, swallowing the lump in her throat, ignored his barb and walked back toward the gazebo. Crane followed, bringing her valise down the path with him.

When they were seated on the bench inside, Crane, speaking more gently to her, said, "Marigold, I wish there were some way I could tell you the truth without hurting you."

She clasped her hands tightly together and said nothing, waiting for Crane to continue. Her body shivered, and she drew her cloak closer around her.

"Are you cold?" he asked, suddenly solicitous.

"Yes—no," Marigold hedged, not wanting her cousin to know the effect his words had on her.

"Shaun Banagher is a bounder. He does not deserve anyone as beautiful as you. . ."

"For heaven's sake, Crane, spare me the sympathy and get on with it," she said, forgetting to keep her voice low.

"All right, Marigold. Even though it hurts me to tell you. It was all a joke—from the very beginning. A bet Shaun Banagher made at Keppie's Tavern last December, when he had had too much to drink."

"A bet? What kind of bet?"

"That he could get the proudest girl in all of Charleston to fall for him and agree to run away with him. He didn't even choose you, Marigold. The tavern keeper did. Shaun merely took up the challenge. And from the looks of things, he won the bet."

"I don't believe you, Crane." Marigold's voice was horrified at Crane's words.

"Would you believe me if I took you down to the tavern where he is now, and let you hear it for yourself?"

"You mean S-Shaun's discussing me—in a c-common bar?"

"Yes. And still drinking to his victory when I left."

Marigold turned to flee from Crane and his cruel words. She could not believe it of Shaun. Yet, how would Crane know that she had planned to elope that night with Shaun—unless Shaun himself had told it?

"Just a minute, Marigold," he said, putting his hand on her arm to stop her from escaping. "There is a solution, you know. You could marry me. That way, no one would believe that Shaun had jilted you. And he would have to return his winnings."

Crane's offer of marriage was the final insult. Marigold's temper overrode her caution, and she blurted out her refusal. "I would sooner be disgraced and in