Free Marigold's Marriages by Sandra Heath

why you wish to do this? As far as I am aware, you are not connected with either boy.”
    “I have the honor to be Perry’s future stepfather,” Rowan replied.
    The doctor’s jaw dropped. “Indeed?” He looked quickly at Marigold, belatedly recalling her all-too-recent widowhood.
    “Do we have an agreement, sir?” Rowan pressed skillfully.
    The carrot was taken. “We do indeed, sir.”
    “Excellent.”
    * * *
    A little later, Marigold walked alone with Perry in the doctor’s garden. Sunlight was dappled through the leaves of a weeping willow overhanging the small stream that formed the garden’s boundary, and at last Marigold reluctantly came to the point of her visit.
    The coming few minutes wouldn’t be at all easy, especially as she feared her news concerning Rowan might stir a dormant sense of honor in her son toward his hitherto intensely disliked sire. She sat down on the grassy bank, where daisies were scattered like tiny white stars. “Perry, there is something I must tell you.”
    He smothered a huge yawn, then said quickly, “Forgive me, Mama, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
    “What’s wrong? Aren’t you sleeping well?”
    “I sleep excellently. I really don’t know what’s the matter with me today. Bysshe feels the same. We’re peculiarly tired. I hope it’s the chicken pox.” He leaned back against the willow.
    “You hope it’s the chicken pox?”
    “Yes, because we’ll be sent home to recuperate. Everyone else who’s gone down with it has begun by feeling tired.”
    “You and Bysshe do not seem too tired to indulge in all manner of disagreeable experiments,” she pointed out, aware that she was diverging from the point of her visit.
    He looked down at her a little guiltily. “We didn’t mean any harm.”
    “Nevertheless, harm is what you caused.”
    “I know.”
    “Where is the unfortunate duck now?”
    “Sir Francis?”
    “Sir Francis?” Marigold looked blankly at him.
    Perry tutted, “Oh, come on, Mama! Sir Francis Drake!”
    She had to smile. “How very slow of me.”
    “Indeed. Anyway, we think it’s a good name. He seemed to think so too, because when we told him that’s what he was going to be called, he got quite excited, and kept nodding his head up and down. Anyway, he’s gone. Bysshe took him down to the Thames. He was going to put him on the stream here, but then decided— Oh, no!” Perry straightened and ran out of the shade of the willow to look skyward in dismay as a distant quack carried on the air.
    “What is it?”
    He pointed as a mallard drake flew down to the stream. “It’s Sir Francis, I’d know that quack anywhere!”
    As they watched, the drake swam to the bank, and after clambering ashore to shake its tail and have a short preen, it waddled up through the daisies toward them. To Marigold’s astonishment, it then settled down beside her, quacked once or twice in an amiable tone, rattled its bill a little, then buried its gleaming dark green head under its wing, and went to sleep.
    Perry came over and gave a huge sigh as he looked down at the bird. “What am I going to do? Dr. Bethel will think we didn’t get rid of it!”
    “There’s nothing you can do, short of shooing it away, and that seems a little unkind.” Marigold put out a tentative hand, and touched the drake’s glossy feathers. Sir Francis raised his head, gave her a cross look, then muttered as he pushed his bill under his wing again. She drew her hand back, and then looked up at Perry again. “You really must behave, Perry. Lord Avenbury has extricated both of you this time, but I pray you will not give further cause for concern.”
    “We won’t, truly.” Perry gave her a quick smile, then changed the subject. “Anyway, you said you have something to tell me. Does it concern Lord Avenbury?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “I knew something was up the moment you called him by his first name,” he replied knowingly.
    “Before I get to that, I think you should know what