Chapter Twenty-Six

The table has someone at every seat; the Lord and Lady Claude sit at opposite ends. Frankie, August, and Mr. Woodrake sit along one side, while Marigold, Lottie, and Aster sit along the other.

"It's so lovely to have you all here," Marigold's mother says.

"A toast," her father says as he stands and raises his glass. "To my lovely daughter and her betrothed. May life award you years of happiness and peace. And," he continues, turning to Marigold, "a toast to Marigold's first return to Bardshire, and her new lovely friends. Thank you all for being here to celebrate with our family. We welcome you."

Everyone raises their glasses and sips softly. It takes Lottie only a moment to catch on and replicate the movement. August seems to be acclimating quickly, and Marigold imagines that Frankie must have given him a lesson or two in high society behavior during their time together. She regrets that she did not do the same for Lottie, as this dinner will be very involved. At least six courses: a soup, a fish, and four entrées. And, of course, puddings. It would not be a Claude dinner without puddings.

"Father," Marigold says, turning to him. "I should mention that Miss Burke is a fan of your work."

Her father beams and clasps his hands together. "I am beyond honored to hear that."

"She is quite an artist herself," August chimes.

"Really? What is your medium of choice, Miss Burke?"

Lottie freezes and looks at Marigold, panic in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and clears her throat. "I have a few mediums I enjoy, but I am working on improving my skills with simple charcoal and paper."

"Wonderful! Drawing with charcoal is deceptively difficult, wouldn't you agree?"

"Very much," Lottie says.

"I would love to see your work during your visit. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two. Would that suit you? Perhaps sometime tomorrow?"

Lottie exhales softly, as if in disbelief. "I would be honored, though I can't imagine I will be able to teach you anything."

"Nonsense," Lord Claude says. "We're both artists in our own right, and I have as much to learn from you as you could learn from me. I'm quite excited!"

"As am I," Lottie says, and Marigold gives her an encouraging nod.

The first course comes, and everyone grabs the proper utensil to enjoy the piping-hot butternut squash bisque—except for Lottie. She stares at the array of forks and spoons and knives before her, and her eyes look almost glassy. Aster leans over and whispers, "Start from the outside and work your way inward as the new courses come." Marigold catches Aster's eye quickly and she smiles in thanks.

There is mild conversation over the soup—the weather, the wedding, the plans for the days leading up to it. Aster and Mr. Woodrake sought out a special license that would allow them to wed at the Claude estate rather than the church. The church is fine enough, but very few places can rival the beauty of their own garden.

The soup is taken away and replaced with a delicate fish as Aster babbles on and on about her dress.

"You'll have to go to the modiste first thing tomorrow for a fitting, Marigold," Aster says. Marigold almost protests, but this is her sister's wedding. She must have a new dress that actually fits properly, and she can't wear one of the casual dresses that she has been living in while on the isle. So she simply nods and shoves a huge bite into her mouth.

"You will go as well, Lottie. The modiste will make you a new gown for the occasion. I'm thinking emerald green with black lace. You will look lovely."

She nearly chokes on her fish. Lottie cannot have a fitting with the modiste without revealing all of her tattoos.

Oh no.She forgot, until this moment, that she now has a tattoo to hide as well. They look at each other with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. Both of them absolutely require a dress for the event, but they have an important secret to hide from the most notorious gossip in town. Wary of leaving the silence for too long, Marigold says, "Lovely."

She leans close to Lottie and whispers, "We'll figure something out. Don't worry."

Lottie does not look fully relieved yet, but the next course comes before any further conversation about it can continue.

"Marigold," Frankie says, "I intend to show your friend August the pleasure gardens tomorrow evening. Would you and Lottie like to join?"

"Pleasure gardens?" Lottie asks.

She nods. "They're sort of like parks, only with more entertainment. There's a garden maze, gorgeous statues, and many other surprises."

"And tomorrow is the masquerade," Frankie says.

She stiffens. "Is it? I forgot about that." She did always enjoy the masquerade and its delicious proximity to trouble—not that she ever did anything scandalous. It was simply a thrill to know that around any corner could be an adventure with a masked stranger. After she and George ended, she'd always hoped she might find someone who interested her, but she never did.

Until now.

Bringing Lottie to the masquerade sounds like a dream, but with her curse still intact, it could be a nightmare. Who knows what they might get up to with champagne in their blood and masks hiding their truths? If they go too far too fast, Lottie could wind up seizing in the middle of a waltz.

"This will be your first masquerade, right, Frankie?" Aster says.

"Yes, and I'm sure it will be the best one yet for us all." He looks at August, his gaze unmistakably excited for what is to come.

"Will you two be joining us?" Marigold asks Aster and Mr. Woodrake, but Aster shakes her head.

"I'm afraid we will be far too busy. But you all should go," she says with her words aimed toward Lottie. "You'll love it."

The following courses come and go—rich savory meats, hearty fresh vegetables, and decadent sauces that decorate the plates. The tablecloth is removed and replaced with heaps of puddings. Servers pile up everyone's dishes with a little bit of everything. Marigold and Frankie are the first to dive in, neither able to resist a dessert for long.

"You haven't changed at all, Marigold," her mother says, laughing, and then she looks to Lottie. "I want to thank you personally, Miss Burke, for keeping my daughter company. You as well, Mr. Owens. We are very grateful for you both."

August smiles. "It is we who should be thanking you. We are so lucky to be surrounded by so much love."

"Yes, thank you very much," Lottie says, but Lady Claude waves it away.

"You owe me no thanks. Please allow our family to care for you all as long as you would like to stay."

Marigold smiles softly. She had not forgotten how lovely her family is, but it is always nice to be reminded that one has kindhearted people in their corner. After every crumb of dessert has been devoured, everyone moves to the sitting room to enjoy some entertainment.

Aster plays a sweet song on the piano, and she then sings a lovely duet with her betrothed. Then Frankie makes a cruel suggestion.

"Why don't you sing for us, sister?"

Marigold glares at him, but her father seizes the conversation. "Oh, please do, darling. We have missed your singing voice so much."

"I'm quite tired, Father."

"Just one song?" he says.

She sighs. She cannot say no to him, no matter how much she detests singing in front of people. She sits beside her sister in front of the piano as Aster plays a soft ballad. Her voice fills the room, falling from note to note until the melody finishes.

No one claps. They all simply stare. She sees August and Lottie looking at each other with great concern. She stands and walks back over to Lottie.

"You're not very good at that, are you?" Lottie says, intending to whisper but failing to do so. The entire room hears her comment, and Frankie is the first to erupt in laughter.

"Stop it!" Lady Claude says to her son, but even she cannot help but laugh.

"Dear sister, it remains true that you are the worst singer of Bardshire, and possibly the entire country," Frankie continues.

She pouts until even she must laugh a little. "I don't know why you always make me sing, then."

"Because it is so funny," Aster says. Mr. Woodrake sits snickering beside her, fighting with everything he has to stay polite.

"Come now, everyone, quiet down. There is nothing wrong with my daughter's singing," Lord Claude says, but his smirk says otherwise. "She just always chooses to scream along with the music instead."

The entire room bursts into a cacophony of laughter, some more musical than others. There are a few more minutes of small talk and pleasantries before everyone excuses themselves for the evening.

Marigold, Lottie, and August all find themselves alone in their rooms, nearly collapsing into their beds. The exhaustion from the travel is heavy, and there is no more energy to fight or argue or plan.