Her smile was determinedly brilliant when she met Marigold’s wary gaze again. “So, I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me.”
“Oh.” Marigold’s furrowed brow remained furrowed and she made no move to start walking again. “Lady Abigail—”
“I thought we’d agreed titles were not necessary.”
“Very well,” Marigold said. “Abigail. I did not come out here to lecture you on Major Mayfield. I merely wanted to make sure your intentions were good.”
Abigail cut her off with a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t that normally the line of a young lady’s father?”
Marigold shrugged, undeterred. “Perhaps. But Alex has always been so good to me, and he is such a dear friend to Max…” She wet her lips and Abigail could see her brain at work, searching for the right words. “I know it is not my place to intervene in his...pursuits.”
Abigail arched a brow in amusement at the word. Truly, the marquess had found himself quite the tactful partner. And for a shy little mouse, she was displaying an impressive amount of spine this evening.
“But the thing is,” Marigold said on a rush of air. “Alex is so very...good. I’m certain he’s only capable of seeing the good in others. Which is a wonderful trait, of course, but I do fear that perhaps it could be a detriment if he were to place his heart in the wrong hands.”
Abigail studied the other woman, temporarily torn between irritation on Alex’s behalf, indignation on her own, and admiration at Marigold’s temerity.
Marigold met her gaze evenly, and that gentle kindness was tempered with a steely determination Abigail had never noticed before. “I do not wish to see him hurt, Abigail.”
Abigail nodded, her heart swelling dangerously as the thought of Alex. Of him being hurt by the likes of her.
No. She did not wish that either. And that was what would happen, because Marigold was right. Oh, not about everything. Alex was far stronger and more perceptive to a person’s true character than she gave him credit. But she was right about how kind he was. How very good.
And she was right to fear Abigail. If that encounter over the cloak earlier had proven anything it was that she could not be trusted. Had he initiated the kiss or had she? Had she flirted too much or said too many unkind words about Charlotte?
No amount of riding had answered those questions, but she’d realized that in the end it did not matter. Her intentions might not have been bad, but her actions had been.
His had been, too, and that was the most alarming part.
She feared that was her influence. And whether Marigold knew it or not, Abigail suspected that was what worried the sweet girl.
That Abigail would corrupt him the way she tainted everything else that was good around her.
She criticized her mother, but how different was she really?
That weary exhaustion threatened to drown her now as she faced this girl who seemed so much younger and worlds more innocent, even though they were the same age.
It was that tired resignation that had her speaking the full truth for once, without even trying to couch it in biting witticisms or feigned nonchalance. “You’re right, of course, Marigold. He’s far too good for the likes of me and we both know it.”
Marigold’s eyes widened, but Abigail gave her no room to protest.
“But you need not fear. I will keep my distance, and Alex will be better off for it.” She started to walk away, ignoring Marigold’s attempts to reply. She picked up her pace, not wanting to draw out this painful conversation any longer than was absolutely necessary.
What she’d said was the truth. And walking away from Alex was right.
She knew all this to be true.
So why did it feel as though her heart was breaking in two?
11
Alex sat staring at Max across his desk, silence filling the room. They’d been in a standoff for a minute, at least, but Alex refused to speak first. It was bad enough he’d been summoned to Max’s study like a naughty child. He’d not explain his behavior as though he’d done something wrong.
In fact, that kiss had been perfect. He’d never done anything more right in his entire life.
Max shifted in his seat and Alex followed suit.
Max’s eyes widened slightly, as though surprised, while Alex’s narrowed. He knew what Max thought. What they all thought. That he, a grown man and war veteran, needed protection from a duke’s daughter. Utterly ridiculous.
In fact, from where he sat, he was relatively certain that the only one in need of aid at this house party was Abigail.
And her tormentors might be the very people he called his friends.
All right, perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but then again Max still had yet to speak a word. “I’ve another appointment,” Alex said, preparing to rise.
Max’s brow furrowed as Alex stood. “But we’ve yet to discuss anything. Sit.”
“Why don’t you tell me what this is about?” Alex crossed his arms, widening his stance.
Max stood too. “It’s about how you’re being led astray by a—”
Alex’s chest swelled. “You’d best choose your next word very carefully.”
Max stopped, his head cocking to the side as he studied his friend. “I think perhaps we should start this conversation over.”
“I’m not sure we need to have it at all.” Alex countered. “Hence my initial silence.”
Max cleared his throat, his hands splaying out in front of him. “Do you remember the weekend I met Marigold?”
“Of course.” Alex relaxed a bit remembering how hardheaded his friend had been. He’d resisted his feelings for Marigold, refusing to change course and insisting he was not ready to marry. In the end, it had been Alex who’d nudged his friend in the right direction.
“Then you remember that you helped me see that Marigold was the right woman for me?”
“I remember.” His arms fell to
