Anyone in London who wasn’t a complete fool knew to tread lightly around Percy Bellowes. The man had taken his father’s small manufacturing operation and, within the course of twenty years, turned it into a vast industrial empire that spanned the textile, machinery, and shipping businesses. He was rumored to have more money than Croesus, and to have reduced the men who had applied for his daughters’ hands to quivering piles of jelly when they stood before him.

Alex had argued law before a crowded House of Commons, and had had audiences with Queen Victoria herself. He was certain that asking Percy Bellowes for Marigold’s hand in marriage would be child’s play compared to that.

He was wrong.

“And what makes you think a bounder like you would be a good match for my eldest daughter?” Bellowes accosted him, pointing the stem of his pipe at Alex as he leaned against an enormous, mahogany desk in the office of his grand and spacious London home. “You have a reputation, you know,” he went on before Alex could open his mouth to reply. “A reputation for taking up with actresses and other trollops.”

Twin spikes of anger and embarrassment snaked up Alex’s spine. Under any other circumstance, he would have defended Violetta with every breath he had, informed the man she was a lovely, sweet woman who’d had a hard time of life and didn’t deserve the reputation or the end she’d had. But sense told him that defending his deceased lover to the man whose daughter he was hoping to marry wouldn’t be a strategic move.

“All of my wild oats have been sewn,” he said instead, his jaw tight. “The time has come for me to take a wife worthy of the Croydon name and ready to step into the limelight of the position I plan to hold someday.”

He hoped the hint of his political ambitions would work in his favor, but Bellowes just narrowed his eyes to suspicious slits and said, “You mean your friends have bullied you into doing the respectable thing at last. I’m friends with Lord Dunsford and Edmund Travers, you know. I’m well aware of what they say about you in regards to matrimony.”

“Yes, well, um….” Alex fumbled for the right response. Peter and Edmund had needled him about marriage as much as Katya over the last few years.

“Why should I let my dearest daughter go to a man who is marrying because of the pressure of his peers?” Bellowes asked, jabbing the air with the stem of his pipe once more. “Why should I hand her over to you when half a dozen other men have wanted her?”

Alex swallowed. The interview had to go better than this if he were to have a chance of securing Marigold. And after the tension and the kiss they’d shared in the elevator the night before, he had to have her. Reason had nothing to do with it, but reason was exactly what he needed on his side now. And yet, he couldn’t possibly come out with the truth and tell Bellowes that if he didn’t get his daughter in bed as soon as possible, he’d likely go blind with need.

“The fact that my friends have been urging me to marry in no way detracts from the admiration I have for Marigold,” he said, using the same voice and posture he used to deliver biting arguments in Commons. He could feel the heat rising up his face, though, and figured he probably looked like a damn fool. “Almost from the moment I met her, I was charmed by her intellect and wit.”

“So you think you can use her to make a good impression on the wives of ministers you need to sway to your cause?” Bellowes pressed him, arching a brow.

Alex wanted to curse and scrub his face in frustration. The man was going to turn every argument he had on its head. No wonder he had more money than the Queen.

“It is my understanding that Marigold wants to take a more active role in political society,” he said, feeling the sweat dripping down his back. “I would simply be giving her the outlet for those ambitions.”

“Oh!” Bellowes’s brow flew up. “So you think you’re doing my daughter a favor, do you?”

“I would hope that—”

“And I suppose you think you’d be doing her a favor by venting your lusts on her, now that your actress has died and you need someone else to—”

“Violetta was a kind and beautiful woman who does not deserve your scorn,” Alex snapped before he could stop himself. He winced at his combative tone, but so help him, he was through with the meanness of the world when it came to women who had fallen through no fault of their own. “I loved her the best I could, and I took care of her when many others would have cast her aside. So for you to imply that she was just another replaceable fixture in my bed, one I am seeking to fill with Marigold, is an insult of the highest degree, sir. To me, to Violetta, and to your daughter.”

The air crackled in the silence that followed. Alex braced himself for another tongue-lashing, but to his surprise, Bellowes raised his pipe to his mouth and smiled. A fragrant puff of smoke followed before he said, “Good man.”

Alex blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Bellowes puffed a few more times. “I like a man who cares for the women in his life, no matter who they are. My own mother was a seamstress in Oxford Street. I don’t care if my Marigold marries for love or not, but I want to be damn sure that the man who takes her from me will care for her as she deserves.”

Alex let out a breath, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow as though he’d finished a grueling race. “I can assure you, sir, I will take great care with your daughter.” Whether the infatuation he felt for her blossomed into love or not. After all, Violetta never had anything to complain about, even after the first ardor of their relationship cooled. Perhaps if she had complained, she wouldn’t have met her sad end. Although if she had left him, he wouldn’t have James.

“To be honest, sir,” he said, pushing forward to banish those thoughts. “When we discussed it, your daughter made clear to me that she is in favor of this union because it will further her personal aims.”

Bellowes laughed and shook his head. “That’s Mari for you. She bossed you into proposing, didn’t she?”

Alex’s mouth twitched into a sideways grin. “In a manner of speaking. Though I can assure you, the feelings are mutual.”

“And orchestrated by the indomitable Lady Stanhope, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Alex repeated with a wry expression. His shoulders began to loosen, and his heart rate eased away from panic levels.

“Well then.” Bellowes pushed away from his desk and circled around to take a seat at the large, leather chair. “Have a seat and we’ll battle out the details of the union.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alex moved to take a seat in front of the desk. “I promise to do my best by your daughter.”

Marigold pressed her ear to the door of her father’s office, like a girl half her age peeking to see what Father Christmas was up to. She cursed the thickness of the door and the quality of the wood that kept her from hearing more than a drone of voices. Of course, her father had arranged for a sound-blocking door on purpose, since he conducted his most sensitive business at home instead of at his office along the waterfront, and the number of times his children had been caught with their ears to the door in years past was legendary. The only thing Marigold had been able to hear clearly was Alex defending someone named Violetta for the space of about ten words before he lowered his voice again.

“Oh, this will never do.” She sighed and straightened, wanting to kick the door.

“What will never do?”

With a gasp, Marigold turned to find Lavinia approaching from the front hall. She’d completely forgotten that Lavinia was due to join her for tea that afternoon when Alex arrived, but the idea of having her friend with her for the momentous occasion upon her was a brilliant one. She motioned for Lavinia to hurry and join her at the door.

“Mr. Croydon is here speaking to Papa,” she whispered, leaning toward the door again.

“Oh!” Lavinia picked up her skirts and rushed to the door. “Oh, oh, is this what I think it is?”

Marigold smiled from ear to ear and nodded. She pressed her ear to the door, hearing nothing but the mumble of men’s voices again, and Lavinia did the same.

No sooner had Lavinia’s ear touched the door, though, then she jumped away. “I can’t do it,” she said breathlessly, pressing her hand to her chest. “Aside from the fact that Mama would never approve, I couldn’t possibly listen to such an intimate conversation that has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you,” Lavinia whispered. “Who do you think I’ll be asking to be my maid of honor?”

“Oh!” Lavinia brightened, then burst into a giggle and hunched forward, ear to the door again. After a few seconds, however, she whispered, “I can’t hear anything.”

Marigold sighed and straightened. “Neither can I. And really, I’m far too old to be listening at doors.”

Lavinia stood as well. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do but wait.”

“More’s the pity.” Marigold grinned. Her heart was so light that she wanted to jump up and down or twirl in circles. She settled for clapping her hands to her mouth for a moment, then squealing, “I’m going to be married.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Lavinia rushed forward to hug her.

The two of them embraced, then Marigold gestured for Lavinia to follow her down the hall and across to the parlor. “Levins, could you have tea sent up, please?” she asked the butler as they passed through the entryway.

“Certainly, miss.” Levins bowed and headed for the kitchen stairs.

“Does it bother you to marry a man so much older than you?” Lavinia asked once they’d seated themselves in the formal parlor.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, adding to the joy in Marigold’s heart. “Not at all,” she sighed happily. “Mr. Croydon is distinguished and experienced, not at all like those drooling, hideous caricatures of old men who heroines in novels are constantly being sold off to.”

“Yes, but aren’t you worried about his experience?” Lavinia asked with a hint of dread, her cheeks flushing bright pink.

Marigold was instantly taken back to their moment in the elevator the night before, the way his eyes had bored into her, full of carnal knowledge, the way she’d wanted to give in to him in every way possible. Just thinking about it sent flutters through her.

“Not at all,” she whispered, leaning toward Lavinia conspiratorially. “I think his experience could be one of his greatest assets.”

“But aren’t you the least bit frightened by it all?”

“Why should I be?” Marigold straightened, tilting her head up with a faux haughty look. Her insides quivered all the same. “Those things are a natural part of a sophisticated woman’s life. I’m sure it’s nothing at all to be frightened by.”

Lavinia’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “I’m not so sure. You remember the things Irene Danville used to say when we were at school.”

Marigold fought not to laugh. She and Lavinia had attended Mrs. Collingswood’s Finishing School together years ago. Marigold had been a year away from graduating when Lavinia had enrolled, and in spite of their age difference, they’d become fast friends. The other girls had teased Lavinia with stories expressly designed to give her nightmares. Irene in particular had enjoyed spinning tales of her older sister’s depraved husband who ravished her in hundreds of dastardly ways, none of which Marigold believed for a moment.

“Irene Danville is now a happily married woman with three children and another on the way,” Marigold laughed. “I’m sure she’s eating her own words now.”

“Still,” Lavinia said, folding her hands soberly in her lap. “If what Mama tells me is true, a husband can be a difficult burden to bear.”

Marigold’s lips twitched as she fought not to laugh at her friend outright. “Mothers everywhere attempt to frighten their daughters into chastity because they know that if the truth got out, we’d all be like…like Lady Stanhope.”

Lavinia gasped and her eyes went wide, then she dissolved into laughter. “Don’t let Lady Stanhope hear you say that. Or Mama, for that matter.”

“Lady Stanhope would hold her head high and tell me I am absolutely right,” Marigold said, nodding for emphasis. “I intend to follow her example instead of the one put forth by the fainting Mamas of the world.”

“By taking a string of lovers?” Lavinia teased.

Gretta, the Bellowes’s maid, chose just that moment to enter the room with the tea tray. Her brow shot up and she nearly missed a step.

Marigold raised a hand, laughing. “We’re just being silly, Gretta. Don’t worry. I have no plans to take a string of lovers.”

“Yes, miss,” Gretta said, resting the tea tray on the table between the chairs where Marigold and Lavinia sat.

“Although,” Marigold added in a whisper, “I may end up with a husband very soon, depending on how Papa’s meeting goes.”

Gretta’s face lit up. “Congratulations, miss. I’m happy for you. Would you like me to pour?”

“I can do it,” Marigold said, letting Gretta know she was free to go with a nod. She turned to Lavinia and whispered, “Soon I’ll be able to do a great many things.”

Lavinia giggled so hard she snorted, which only made both of them giggle more.

“I would still be terrified out of my mind on my wedding night,” Lavinia said once her tea was poured and in hand. “The whole thing involves removing your clothes in front of a man,” she whispered, her face going red.

“What’s the trouble with that?” Marigold asked with false calm, even as the idea of undressing in front of Alex filled her with nervous tremors. She really would have to do a better job of training her emotions to be as bold and casual as her outward demeanor.

Lavinia blinked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “That means naked,” she whispered. “With someone else looking at you. Someone else male.”

“So?” Marigold shrugged, raising her teacup, and trying hard to keep it from shaking. “Turnabout is fair play. You get to see the man naked as well.”

Lavinia had just sipped her tea, and spit it out in shock. She laughed to the point of tears, and Marigold joined her.

The two of them were giggling madly, blinking back tears and incapable of rational speech, when Alex and her father appeared in the doorway. The shock nearly made Marigold drop her teacup, and if Lavinia hadn’t already set hers aside and leaned back into the chair as she laughed uproariously, Marigold was certain her friend would have tumbled to the floor. As it was, the two of them struggled to compose themselves and stand.

“Why is it that my otherwise steady daughter is always reduced to silliness when you are in her presence, young lady?” Marigold’s father demanded.

Marigold knew her father well enough to see that his frown was teasing and his eyes were filled with fondness and approval, but Lavinia began to choke as her laughter turned to horror. Marigold leapt to her side, throwing a supportive arm around her friend’s back and thumping it to make the coughing stop.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” her father said with a chuckle. “Just having a bit of fun. You know me. It’s a glorious day, after all. I’ve just palmed off Marigold on this irascible rake.”

Marigold sucked in a breath and glanced from her father to Alex. Indeed, Alex stood with his hands behind his back, an incredibly pleased smile on his face. His blue eyes sparkled as though he’d won a parliamentary debate and a prize at a county fair all in one.

“You said yes?” Marigold asked her father, her voice an octave higher than it should have been.

“I did.” Her father nodded, then gestured to Alex. “Behold, my dear. Your future husband.”

“Oh, Papa, thank you.” Marigold checked on Lavinia, and when she was sure her friend was all right, she skipped across to kiss her father’s cheek. When that was done, she turned to Alex, wanting to kiss far more than just his cheek.

“I trust you are pleased?” he asked, a thousand times more formal than she wanted him to be. He certainly contained himself far better than he had in the elevator.

“Very pleased,” Marigold answered with a cool nod, taking her cue from him.

“Your father and I discussed it,” he glanced to her father, “and he has consented to having the banns published as soon as possible so that we can be married in three weeks’ time.”

A ripple of excitement shot through Marigold. They’d discussed the night before that they should have a short engagement because of the fire between them, and it hadn’t been a joke. She should be thinking about her imminent rise in social status, should have focused on the good she could do once she had his power and influence behind her. But the only thoughts that flooded her mind were all of Irene Danville’s stories of debauchery, and how she was but three short weeks away from learning the truth.

“I have so much to do, then,” she said all the same, drawing herself up to her full, regal height. “Preparations will need to be made. A church will need to be reserved, and a venue for the wedding breakfast and reception.” She glanced to Lavinia. “Dresses, flowers, food. There’s so much to do.”

“I will gladly help you in whatever way I can,” Alex said with a nod.

“I may need your influence to pull this off,” Marigold said, her heart beating up a storm.

“Have a seat, then, and we’ll get started,” her father said, gesturing toward the sofa. He turned and called over his shoulder, “We need more tea in here.”

They fluttered into motion, taking their seats and beginning discussions about what would, out of necessity, be a smaller event than a man in Alex’s position should have had. Not more than three minutes had passed, however, when, instead of Gretta with more tea things, a handsome man in this thirties with bright auburn hair and a simple but finely-tailored suit, who Marigold had never seen before, stepped into the room.

Alex rose instantly. “Phillips, what brings you here?”

“Urgent business, sir,” Phillips said. His look was grave, and he darted an anxious glance to Marigold and Lavinia.

Alex frowned and stepped over to him. “Mr. Phillips is my valet and man of business,” Alex explained briefly, then focused on the man. “What news?”

“It’s Turpin,” Phillips said. “He’s brought the restriction bill up for a vote.”

Alex’s expression flooded with alarm. “But it’s not on the docket for today. It hasn’t even been approved.”

“I know, sir. I believe that when he saw you were not present this morning, he figured he could throw a spanner in the works.”

Alex cursed under his breath, causing Marigold’s brow to shoot up. He rubbed a hand over his face, then turned to her with an anxious, apologetic look. “I’m sorry, my dear. I have to address this immediately.”

The fact that he’d referred to her as his dear was quickly eclipsed by the way he marched for the door. Marigold stood, following him. “Go,” she said. “I understand completely. Some things are far more important than planning a wedding.”

They paused in the doorway, and he turned to her with a smile. “I thank you for your understanding.” He hesitated, then reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m sure you will.” Marigold smiled, squeezing his hand when he lowered it.

A moment later, he was gone. Marigold watched as he and Mr. Phillips strode down the hall. Levins stepped forward with Alex’s coat and hat, then escorted them to the door.

In the silence that followed, Marigold let out a sigh. One instant she’d been filled with joy, and the next it was almost as if nothing had happened. Everything had changed so fast, and with one snap of the door closing, it was life as usual.

“I can see you actually want to marry the man,” her father spoke behind her. Marigold turned to him, catching his slightly-pitying expression. “But Alexander Croydon will not be an easy man to be married to.”

A prick of anger followed her father’s words. “What are you talking about, Papa?” She feigned casualness once again as she walked back to her chair and took a seat, reaching for her cold tea. “Alex is a marvelous man. He is important and influential.”

Her father smiled sadly at her. “You may find that important and influential men are married to their work as much as to their wives.”

“Then I will be married to his work as well,” Marigold declared, tilting her chin up in defiance.

Her father chuckled and shook his head. “Your mother, God rest her soul, loved me dearly. But even before her illness, she came to see my work as her bitterest rival. It threw a wedge between us that I deeply regret.”

Marigold’s heart squeezed at her father’s sad declaration. She had been only seven when her mother had died and had only limited memories of her. In the over twenty years since then, she’d liked to think that her father had never remarried because he’d loved her mother dearly, even though he’d always insisted it was because the demands of his work wouldn’t have been fair to any woman married to him. A chill slithered through Marigold as those words took on new meaning.

“I’m sure everything will be fine between Alex and I,” she said with a shrug. “I’m as interested in politics as he is, and Parliament only sits for a few months out of the year. Our life together will be happy.” Her smile returned, warming her.

“There are other things that could ruin—” Her father stopped mid-sentence and pressed his lips together. He let out a breath and shook his head. “I’m being too hard on him,” he said, smiling and sitting forward to help himself to a biscuit from the glass bowl on the tea tray. “I’m quite certain that you and Mr. Croydon are a fine match, and that you will never want for anything, my dear. Don’t you agree, Lady Lavinia?”

“Oh yes. I agree entirely,” Lavinia smiled.

“This is a perfect match,” Marigold added, trying to feel pleased for herself.

One thing stuck out in what her father had said, though. Or rather, one thing didn’t stick out. He hadn’t mentioned anything about love.