Chapter 28

C HAPTER 28

The heart wants what it wants—or else it does not care.

—Emily Dickinson

As soon as the first dance was done, Cab appeared and put his hand to the soft, exposed skin at the inside of Marigold's elbow in that way he seemed to have of neither pawing at her like a masher nor startling her with an inappropriate touch—a delicate balance only he seemed able to achieve. "This is my dance, I hope."

"Naturally," she agreed. "But first, Seviah, would you be a lamb—and increase the suspense and anticipation of the other young ladies—by asking Miss Morgan to dance? I know you like the buttoned-up ones."

"Reckon I do," he agreed with a forbidden wink. But then he switched his dark focus to Amelia Morgan and set himself off. And if Amelia Morgan didn't find herself very much in demand as a partner by the end of the evening, Marigold would be very much mistaken.

"Arranging everyone to your satisfaction, are you, Marigold?" Cab asked as he led her into a slow, gliding two-step.

"Helping my friends make the most of their evening."

"It's just the evening, then, and not the rest of Tad and Daisy's lives you've got planned?"

"Tad and Daisy were secretly arranging their own lives long before either you or I came to the North Shore, Cab. I'm just helping them along by removing what obstacles I can."

"Removing. Arranging. Managing."

"Yes, arranging—arranging for a dress from Isabella. There is nothing sinister in that."

"No." He looked over to where Daisy was still dancing with Tad—a faux pas Marigold was doing nothing to oppose. "Isabella has done you proud. Though I don't suppose she actually sewed the thing. Such toil would never do for our Isabella." He turned Marigold's hand within his, finding that singular open spot at the buttoned wrist of her kidskin glove. "She's not like you, rolling up your sleeves and setting yourself to whatever work needs to be done."

"Are you saying my hands have grown so rough you can feel my calluses through my best gloves?"

"I'm saying I admire you for doing what needs to be done. All the work I hear you've done out on Great Misery at the Hatchet Farm—even if it is managing. From what I hear, it's for the best."

She could not deny that she was very proud of what she had accomplished for her cousins, but one didn't want to make too much of oneself. "I'm just doing my part."

"Your part seems to be dragging them into the nineteenth century."

"Just in time for the start of the twentieth," she joked. "And you? What are your plans now that I've exacted my promise from you?"

"I reckon I might extend my vacation a bit."

"You reckon," she echoed. "Just listen to yourself, Cab, talking like the veriest rural rube."

"When in Rome, Marigold."

"But this is not Rome, Cab."

"No. But I'm determined to make the most of it and think the best of its citizens without condescension."

Marigold was taken aback. "And is that what you think I'm doing—condescending?"

"With all this ‘arranging,' it's obvious you think you know what's best for everyone—for Daisy and Tad, for example."

"No." For a man of such rare understanding, it was his attitude that was condescending—and infuriating. "They decided what was best for themselves," she repeated. "Again, I'm just helping remove the obstacles that might keep them from making it happen. That's what friends do for each other."

The smile he turned upon her was ironic—a full display of that steely way he had of never letting on. "Is that why you're so determined to keep me at arm's length, Marigold? Because you know, deep down, that I won't ever let you arrange or manage me?"

"Cab." Marigold was shocked into silence. "What—"

A spate of clapping brought their t ê te- à -t ê te to an abrupt end.

Tad had mounted the small dais where the orchestra sat and had raised his arms, calling for the assembly's attention. "Well, I reckon this is just about the swellest night of a fellow's life, to have such a grand party. I want to thank everyone for coming and my folks for giving me such an all-get-out party. But the best thing about tonight is that I'm the proudest man in all of Pride's Crossing and the happiest too, because I want to announce that Miss Daisy Hatchet has agreed to be my wife."

Around Marigold, gasps of delight and moans of despair were all melded into a roar of astonished clapping as Tad held his hand out to invite Daisy to join him. For her own part, Marigold could hardly breathe, so stunned was she.

"I'll ask you to raise your glasses in a toast." Tad drew Daisy to his side. "That's right—everybody get a glass of this swell champagne." He raised the coupe an obliging person pressed into this hand. "To my darling Daisy. What do you say, Daisy? Are you ready to become Mrs. Thaddeus Endicott?"

Daisy, bless her, looked genuinely shocked and happy and surprised all at the same time. She put her hand across her heart and looked at Tad with all the love in her eyes.

And behind Marigold, someone—was that Seviah's clear tenor?—broke into song.

" Daisy, Daisy, give him your answer, do! He's half-crazy over the love of you! " A little space cleared around him, and Seviah looked every inch the matinee idol as he crooned, " It will be a stylish marriage, he can afford a carriage … "

And then the rest of the crowd was swaying along as they joined in the popular song. " But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two. "

Another round of applause broke out before the room quieted enough for Daisy to answer. "Oh, yes. Yes, please!" She threw her arms around Tad's neck in an adoring embrace.

Marigold let out her breath in stunned relief. She could not have hoped for a better result than a well-received engagement—it was well beyond her expectation, though not her imagination.

"You're to be congratulated," Cab murmured. "And only twenty minutes into the evening. That must be some kind of record."

"Cab." Marigold could only laugh at his ironic rebuke. "The secret is in the never letting on." When he smiled, she asked, in a repeat of her request at the boathouse, "Celebrate by taking a turn with me, for old times' sake, will you?"

"Love to," he answered, his voice full of amusement and regret all at the same time.

But before she could lose herself in the quiet steady companionship and fellow feeling of her partner's arms, George Endicott came bearing down upon them like a gunboat, all weapons showing.

"Brace yourself," was all Cab managed before Endicott launched his first salvo.

"Did you put him up to this?" the irate man growled. "If you—"

"Miss Manners, my uncle, Mr. George Endicott," Cab interjected evenly, trying to mitigate some of the man's apparent anger. "Uncle George, may I introduce Miss Marigold Manners, who knows nothing of your antipathy—"

"Antipathy? By God!" Endicott became so red in the face, Marigold began to grow alarmed for the health of his heart. "Did that demented Ellery Hatchet put you up to this? This is just his damn sort of goddamned gambit. I swear to—"

"No, sir." Cab purposefully steered the three of them off the dance floor. "You are ascribing to me powers I do not possess and schemes in which I would never participate."

"And what about her?" Endicott jabbed a finger at Marigold. "She looks every bit the schemer. Ellery Hatchet sent her , sure as day. He—"

"Knows nothing of this evening, nor this mooted engagement between your family and his." Marigold felt it was time to take up her part the conversation—if the low shouting match could even be called a conversation. "For if he did, I'm certain he would forbid it."

"Ha! As if we're not good enough for him and his lunatic kin?"

"Indeed, sir." Marigold's smile was all crocodile, but it served its purpose, alarming Endicott just enough that he stepped back to a more cautious, gentlemanly distance. "Clearly you feel the same."

"Perhaps, Uncle George, we may discuss this at another, less public time." Cab's voice was all low caution. "But I assure you, this was all Tad's idea. He never breathed a word of it to me."

Endicott nearly chewed his mustache in vexation. "Just remember who's side you're on, son. One word from me and those senior partners will jump to do my bidding."

If Cab was surprised by this indiscreet intimidation, he never let on. "I understand you, sir."

"See that you do." And with that, Endicott tugged aggressively at the waist of his evening vest and took his fulminating leave of them.

"Well," was all Marigold had to say in the moment. "That was … instructive."

"Indeed." Cab heaved out a sigh. "My apologies."

"You've nothing to apologize for," she assured him. "But perhaps you had best tell me what this antipathy—or is it really a full-on feud? I didn't lie that Daisy's father knows nothing of this, because Ellery Hatchet's adjectives for George Endicott are much the same as your uncle's about him. Well, you heard him that morning out on Great Misery— spawn of the devil , I think he said. Although he says much the same of his own progeny, so I didn't think it suspicious at the time." She considered. "But I sense there is more to the equation that mere antipathy."

"We're going to want a drink for this." Cab steered her off the dance floor, swiping a bottle of champagne and two glasses off a tray as they went by.

He let her out onto the wide, brick terrace overlooking the sound, where the dark shadow of Great Misery Island hulked against the wind offshore. "You remember I told you about the legal case my uncle fetched me up here to try?"

Marigold made an encouraging, if not impatient, sound of assent to hurry him along—the party was proceeding apace, and she wanted to be able to support Daisy, should she need it. As well as get to her list.

Cab moved fractionally closer and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, even though they were quite alone. "It seems some years ago, when the Endicotts were still clipper ship sailors and sea merchants in the tea and spice trade, my uncle's father, Captain Jacob Endicott, had a particularly unsuccessful voyage and gave a man who sailed for him a deed to some land in lieu of wages, with the unwritten—and perhaps unspoken—understanding that once Endicott had gathered enough money to pay the back wages, the fellow would return the deed." He paused and glanced around. "But by the time Endicott had the pay, this fellow had decided that he wanted to keep the land instead."

Marigold tried to understand what Can had not said. "Great Misery Island?"

"Naturally." Cab seemed relieved a little by the telling. "Elijah Hatchet was Jacob Endicott's first mate for many years and many voyages. But once Hatchet got the deed to Great Misery, he swallowed the anchor, as they say, took himself a bride, settled upon that rock. And then, strangely enough, promptly died."

"And the curse of Great Misery was born?"

"What curse?"

"No, never mind." Marigold didn't want to complicate the tale with extraneous superstition. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" This information seemed vitally important to helping her cousins, even if she didn't yet know why or how.

Cab looked unhappy. "I meant to, but the moment never seemed right."

"Well, it's certainly not right now!" Not when she ought to be paying all her attention to helping Daisy. "Perhaps you might tell your uncle that if he approves of the marriage, he might sooner get at least some portion of the island as her dowry?" She didn't imagine that Ellery had anything but some worthless, hardscrabble land to give his daughter. "And you might suggest to Tad that he hire you as his lawyer in drawing up the marriage contracts, so you could work to that end. I would trust you to see to Daisy's interests as well as Tad's." He had already demonstrated that he would do what was right instead of what was personally convenient.

"Perhaps I might." Cab cast his gaze through the open terrace doors to where Tad and Daisy stood arm in arm, their heads bent in an arc toward each other as they accepted kind congratulations. "They certainly do look happy."

They did—the complete opposite of how Mr. and Mrs. George Endicott looked on the other side of the room, heads nearly butting in heated conference. Watching them, one question, in particular, sprang into Marigold's mind—why should Mr. George Endicott, with a magnificent mansion on the North Shore and all the wealth of a revered old-money family, want a scrabbly, scrub-covered glacial island? And why should he try for so many years to get it back? And why should Ellery Hatchet, who hated to farm and was, to all accounts, out of money, not want to sell it to him?

A great mystery indeed. And one that Marigold most assuredly meant to solve as soon as she could set her mind to it. But now, as Cab had said, was not that time.

There was other work to be done this night.