Dreams of Marigolds and a Marquess

Mother's Missing and The Boys are Home

My day started as a rather simple one. I woke before dawn as I typically do and dressed as swiftly as possible. I climbed out of my window and into the great branches of the ancient oak that stood by it. It's not a very difficult climb though a long one. I finally made it to the bottom and leapt down to the soft grass below. With a grin, I ran toward the fields holding my skirt up a bit to allow my feet to move. I hopped over the little stones in the creek before finally coming to a stop in my favorite place.

Oh goodness, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is March Holmes. I am fourteen and a half years old. I have two older brothers and an older sister. My eldest sibling is . The next eldest is —I'm fairly sure you've heard of him. Then comes my sister, . So as you can see, I have the most normal name of my siblings. I was not named, however, for the third month of the year. My mother is quite found of word games and therefore, my name is an anagram for Charm. My middle name, Gin, then adds to it to make Charming.

Ever since I can remember, Mother told me my charm would be the key to my greatest successes. She had a funny way of saying it though. Quite often it came out as almost an insult.

"A charming little thing you are, my smallest dear. Sadly, charm only gets you so far," she'd say.

Or something like this:

"Of all the wretched things to be blessed with, you were blessed with natural charm!"

And on the occasion:

"Damn that smile of yours!"

Now that one would always make me laugh. After all, I cannot control the way my lips twitch up at one corner and my brow rises with it. It's a rather mischievous and playful look that any matter of things can bring out. It starts small, timid with an air of mischief then quickly grows to a dazzling grin and often progresses to a breathy laugh that always draws attention in the best of ways. I cannot help that people find me charming, it's just the way it is.

Right, now back to the matter at hand: my favorite place. It is a field of wildflowers if you wish to know. Daisies and lilies, lavender and clover, yarrow and poppies. A wide assortment you see and a vivid one at that. I could spend hours in this field with nothing but the wind and the flowers. In fact, I often do. As I sat there among the flowers, the sun slowly began to rise over our estate. I let out a soft sigh and smiled.

Once the sun was up and shining in all its glory, I began to gather up an assortment of flowers. I selected ones that were just the right shades of purple, blue, and red. These were perfect colors for a perfect day. Today was Enola's sixteenth birthday and I couldn't wait to celebrate. When I finished, I grabbed my skirt in one hand to keep it from trailing in the dust and hurried back home.

"Morning, Mrs. Lane," I called as I breezed passed her into the kitchen.

"Oh, goodness, you're up early," she gasped turning from the stove where she was making breakfast.

She was our housemaid and cook. It was just the four of us: Mother, Enola, Mrs. Lane, and I. But I enjoy it that way as does Enola.

"But of course, today is a very, very special day," I laughed digging through the cupboards for a vase.

I frowned when I couldn't reach the one I wanted as it was on the middle shelf and unfortunately, I had yet to hit my growth spurt and sprout up like my siblings. I climbed up onto the counter to fetch it ignoring the teasing snicker from Mrs. Lane. I climbed back down and moved to fill the vase with water.

"Is she up yet?" I asked setting my flowers down in order to prep the stems before placing them into the water.

"Not that I was aware," she shrugged and shook her head.