A/N: Hello again. Apologies for the very long delay. Between the state of the world, and adapting to it with my work life, I have not had as much time to write. Finally got some writing in! How are you all doing? I hope everyone still reading is hanging in there and in good health. This is certainly a time to be kind to ourselves, something I try to keep in mind. Hoping to get us back on a track and to the developments to come in this little story. Thank you for sticking around!

Friendship

Marigold was almost vibrating with excitement as she waited in the study in her green dress. She felt so bouncy she could hardly sit still. She cast her eyes to the clock and huffed in disappointment. It was half past 2 in the afternoon, which meant Mr. Porter had not yet returned to Brancaster with his pick up.

It was nearly time.

She was meant to be writing her correspondence (her very own!); replying to a letter she'd received from Sybbie as well as one from Aunt Lucy about their move to the new house in the Ripon near Uncle Tom's car shop as well as the baby on the way. Which Marigold was indeed excited about, for the move and that Sybbie would soon also be a big sister too.

But also just to have correspondence at all.

She liked pretending to be grown up like Mama with her own letters.

Sybbie wrote more sporadically and when George did send something, she could tell he was only writing what Aunt Lady Mary told him to. She received an occasional letter from some sort of cousin in America, but Marigold always had to double check exactly how they were cousins before she replied. Her other adult relatives stayed in touch, but mostly with addendum or questions to her in their letters to her Mama. When the season was right, Donk and Granny sometimes added in a pressed marigold flower that she knew was for her- addendum or not.

But Aunt Lucy?

Her new Aunt Lucy, despite being a grown up with all her own affairs and having a baby on the way, still replied to all her letters and sent her a note nearly every week.

"Perhaps I shall wait to do Aunt Lucy until tomorrow..." Marigold sighed, putting down her pen and turning to look across the room at her mother.

"So you can tell her about today?" Edith replied, looking up from where she was sat with Nigel on her side and Oliver in her arms.

The baby (still scrawny for 6 months of age, but otherwise in seemingly good heath) dozed comfortably while Nigel played an elaborate game with his lamb, some stacked blocks and Marigold's borrowed Teddy.

"Yes," Marigold admitted with a grin. "And my guests!"

Her friends were coming to Brancaster for her very own tea party!

Because of Oliver, she had spend the entire second half of the term in Downton with Mr. Molesley and her cousins, only coming back to Hexham for the summer holidays. Consequently, Marigold had not seen her two dearest friends, Bessie and Louisa Antonia in a very long time.

She'd missed them so and Mama and Papa had arranged for the girls and their parents to come to the castle for their very own summer tea party.

"We will call Nanny when they get here?" Marigold asked, skeptically wrinkling her nose.

She loved her little brothers, but since their arrival there were times when they could certainly take up a lot of her parent's (and Nanny Atkins') time. Oliver cried a good deal more than Nigel ever had, and though Nigel was no longer properly a baby, he still cried his share as well. Not to mention he required a lot of supervision. Even with Mama, Papa, Nanny Atkins, and all the rest of the staff, Nigel still seemed to get into trouble. Just last week Marigold herself had had to prevent him from eating an insect in the garden!

And there was also far too much drool involved with both boys, in and of itself.

Marigold wanted some time special and not shared, just for her.

Mama smirked, "Of course."

"And Papa will come?" Marigold asked, unknowingly reaching her finger to her mouth to fidget with her latest loose tooth.

"Well, he's going to do his best," Edith answered evenly, raising her eyebrows, with a slight shake of her head. Marigold's hand fell back to her lap. "It depends how long his council meeting lasts. We'll manage either way."

Edith Mama's standard mantra every time the question was asked.

We'll manage.

"Right."

Marigold sighed and walked over to join her mother. Nigel pushed Teddy into her hands and she joined halfheartedly in his game. She knew that Bertie Papa was very busy and had taken more time than some in the county liked away from his duties to see to Oliver after he was born so small. Even many months later, he still seemed to be catching up.

She understood it was important work and that Papa was an important person, but Marigold wished he could stay and meet her friends.

"Your Ladyship, Miss Marigold," Whately, the butler announced dryly, "The guests have arrived."

Marigold flew to her feet and was by the butler's side in a moment, almost before she even realized the thought. She was bursting and thrilled to do a grown up thing with her friends.

"Take them to the Lavender Room and ask for the luncheon to be brought up. Marigold will accompany you and greet them," Edith Mama said, rising to her feet and shifting Oliver to rest his head on her shoulder.

"I shall ring for Nanny and get the boys settled and follow shortly."

Clapping her hands, Marigold skipped ahead in the corridor as she and Whately made their way to the entry hall of Brancaster Castle. Whatley was not as old as Mr. Carson, but not as young as Mr. Barrow. He never carried Marigold on his back, and she wasn't quite sure of him, because he was very dignified (she came across the word in a book and Nanny explained it too her and Marigold thought it was just right for Whatley).

Stoic as he was, Whatley occasionally smiled at her if she caught his eye.

"Bessie! Louisa Antonia! I am so glad you came!" Marigold cried as soon as her friends came into view.

Having been away for so long, she'd been half afraid they would have forgotten her.

Louisa Antonia stood out front, head held high as usual, with neat blue ribbons at the bottom of her plaits. She smiled and waved. Next to her stood a short stout woman, head held equally high (and topped by a navy hat). Her friend's mother, Mrs. Doxford, nodded in greeting. Doxford's weren't particularly tall, from what Marigold could tell, but always held themselves like giants.

"Hello, Marigold!" Louisa Antonia replied. "Everyone in town said you were gone because of Lord and Lady Hexham's baby coming early, but at school we also thought you might have died. Or perhaps moved to Australia..."

Marigold smiled fondly at her chatty friend. Louis Antonia loved to talk. Mrs. Doxford shushed the girl.

By contrast, Bessie and her Papa, who was quite tall, and Marigold noted, distressingly skinny, stood a little further back. She could see that her friend was rail thin and had dark circles under her eyes, worse than the last time she'd seen them. Mr. Hull looked even more tired. Unlike Louisa Antonia and her Mama, Bessie and her Papa's clothes, hung loosely from their frames and looked a bit shabby.

Bessie lifted her hand in a weak wave.

That worried Marigold. She felt bad about not going to school and sharing her luncheon for many months.

She stepped forward eagerly and hugged both her friends, before belatedly remembering her manners.

One wasn't supposed to embrace in an entry way.

At least if Grandmother Pelham had any say in the matter. Marigold couldn't really see why that mattered. Grandmother Pelham didn't even approve of using a formal room and real china for Marigold's tea party in the first place.

"You could at least use the servants hall..." the old woman had huffed, when Marigold and Mama had invited the woman to join the tea party the week before.

"I will do no such thing," Edith Mama had replied firmly, but from the care she seemed to take to set down her tea cup, Marigold could tell she was rather cross.

"It simply isn't done," Grandmother Pelham continued.

"Guests coming to visit? Hardly, given the shooting rental calendar we keep, holiday open houses, council and agent visits and the like. Besides, Marigold has been away from her friends since Christmas. Bertie thinks it's a lovely idea. It will be good fun for all of them."

"Not these kinds of guests!"

"Marigold's friends and their parents? Upstanding tenants of our county?"

"You know what I mean. In life, Marigold may have all sorts of friends, as her position is..."

Grandmother trailed off, her thin lips twisting briefly.

"Her position is different than the boys or you or I. She may befriend many, but that doesn't mean they all ought have access to this estate or it's resources."

Marigold's shoulders sagged. It was because she was adopted. Mama and Papa hardly mentioned it, but Grandmother never seemed to forget.

"What?" Edith scrunched up her nose. "It's a children's tea! Quite innocent and from I hear from my contacts in London, growing evermore common place. Even for the aristocracy!"

"Not for families of our rank! Handing out invitations to just anyone. Dignity is inspired by distance. Eroding the reputation of this estate, which you and my son both work hard to restore."

Nibbling her biscuit carefully, Marigold's eyes had darted back and forth between the two women and returned to her mother just in time to see her sigh in frustration.

"If we've done as well as you claim, by doing what we think is right, then why do you fear that so many of our decisions will be ruinous?"

The older woman's lips pursed as her gaze flicked to Marigold.

"Some decisions are dangerous, dear. I'm sure on that we can all agree. And the one of which I speak will unravel under close scrutiny."

Mama's face flushed in rage suddenly, like nothing Marigold had ever seen. And she'd no longer taken any care to be gentle with her teacup, simply slamming it into the saucer with a clang.

"Don't you dare!" Edith hissed, eyes bright. "I chose to be an open book to you on that, before I was a member of this family at all. As I recall, you praised my honesty."

"I have no intention of being harsh," Grandmother Pelham had lifted her tea cup, looking almost guilty and took her time sipping the tea. "I am simply being honest myself."

Edith laughed humorlessly.

"I have done my best, but I do not understand you sometimes. I would have you speak no more on the topic. Marigold will have her tea party and that's my decision!"

At length, the old woman continued with a sigh, gaze flicking between Marigold and her mother. "I know I cannot prevent it, and I mean no offense to your village friends or either one of you, my dears, but I will not participate in that."

Edith Mama and Marigold had left Grandmother Pelham's apartment rather quickly after that, clutching each others hands and both verging on tears.

Marigold always did her best to be good and please Grandmother Pelham, and most of the time their visits were interesting and pleasant. True, Donk and Granny Cora were more fun to be around and were much more prone to giving Margiold and her brothers presents, but Grandmother Pelham told lots of stories, which was fun in it's own way.

Still, there were certain times it just seemed there was no winning.

Especially when it came to matters of Brancaster, the March, and the reputation of the Marquess of Hexham and so many things the old woman seemed to think were in need of fixing. Marigold didn't really understand. The castle did leak occasionally, but it was always mended in short order once anyone discovered a puddle. She visited Mr. Porter often, even when he wasn't driving her to school, and he and the games keeper always looked after the grounds.

She couldn't see why anyone would think Brancaster was broken.

Reputation was a topic Marigold had learned a bit about from school and Nanny Atkins. You learned to do certain things certain ways, like manners so people would think well of you. And when you are Marquess of a castle, it was apparently quite important that people thought well of you. But as far as Marigold knew, everyone thought well of Papa and Mama and the estate.

Perhaps there were those who didn't like that she'd been adopted?

(Marigold would never tell anyone, but she was often times very glad that Grandmother Pelham had her own set of rooms, away from the family, at the castle.)

"Now, my love," Mama had stopped and knelt by Marigold's side in the hallway outside the nursery. She used a soft handkerchief to wipe off the tears that had slipped onto the girls cheeks.

"You mustn't fret. I had only my sisters when I was your age and I think in many ways that has made it hard for me, with other people, even now."

Mama had gazed at Marigold intently as though she was trying to say something with her eyes as well as her mouth.

"I am very pleased you have as dear of friends as these, no matter their station. Good friends are not easy to come by, so we must treasure them. I hope in life, you'll have as many as you like. And I promise, your friends will always be welcome here. We'll manage."

Marigold sniffed and squared her shoulders.

"After all," Edith learned closer, pressing their foreheads together and whispering conspiratorially. "And no matter how much the senior Lady Pelham protests, it is my decision. I am the Marchioness and your Mama."

At that, they'd laughed, despite it all.

Whatley cleared his throat delicately, pulling the girl away from her thoughts.

"Eh, welcome to Brancaster," Marigold added dutifully as the three girls struggled to hold back their own giggles at the formality of it all. "I am so pleased to have you here."

"Quite the place," Mr. Hull commented, twisting his cap in his hands and eyeing the entry way uncomfortably.

"Indeed," the butler agreed.

"You may please follow us to the Lavender Room, where we will take tea," Marigold finished, finally saying aloud the words she'd dreamed of when she imagined having her own grown up tea.

That lifted Bessie's energy some, "You have a whole room of my favorite color?"

"Mine as well," Louisa Antonia agreed.

"Yes, and mine," Marigold explained as she followed Whately and led the group through the grand halls of Brancaster. "That's why I asked to use it!"

The girls moved to the front, linking hands with Marigold while the adults followed behind more slowly. Marigold found it very difficult not to skip down the hallway. Her friends stared wide eyed at the paintings that lined the walls on the way to the Lavender Room. She did her best to answer any questions they had about what they saw, but really it was Grandmother Pelham who know the most about those sorts of things.

She was certainly the one who cared the most.

Louisa Antonia and Bessie didn't seem to mind when Marigold was unsure of the answers. None of them could stop smiling.

"Who is that?" Louis Antonia asked, pointing to a tall portrait of a man in a wig and ornate green clothing.

"He seems quite grand," Bessie observed, eyes taking in the colors of the bright painting.

"The third or fourth Marquess," Marigold squinted, trying hard to remember the stories she heard from Grandmother Pelham about the noble Hexham line. There were in fact a lot of wigs on most of them and it was easy to get confused because the lives just flowed together.

Her own Papa and his late cousin Peter were not yet depicted in any painting, but might be eventually, Marigold supposed. She didn't know how it worked to get portraits put up. Someday in the very very distant future, perhaps even Nigel's portrait would look down on visitors in the hall.

Large ears, disheveled hair and all. Nigel, in a grand portrait on the wall?

What a notion!

Behind them, Marigold couldn't help but overhear Whatley conversing with the parents.

"I trust your journey went well?" the butler asked, in the same tone he always used for most everything.

"There was some car trouble," Mrs. Doxford replied.

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Oh, Mr. Hull and the driver figured it out."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir," Bessie's Papa replied. "Mr. Porter knows his stuff, but it's hard for a bloke his age to be get under a hood. I don't know much about automobiles, but I do know tractors and me joints work, so we managed together."

Louisa Antonia, never one not to chime in, addressed Marigold on the same topic, "Your driver is quite old isn't he?"

"He's really a groundskeeper," Marigold explained as they reached crossed the threshold into the Lavender Room. "We don't have an official chauffeur as Mama and Papa like to drive themselves..."

"It must be ever so lovely to have your own car-" Lousia Antonia stopped short.

Follow up questions were not forthcoming, because the guests all gasped, completely distracted by the spectacle of the room. The walls and decor were indeed all lavender themed. The paintings chosen for the room blended in with the decor as did the upholstery on the chairs, ornate framed paintings, even the curtains. It was one of Marigold's favorite rooms and one rarely used. Grandmother Pelham said it was put together by the 4th Marchioness in the last century.

Marigold supposed ladies always enjoyed the color purple.

The table had been pre-set with a pale lavender table cloth, made of silk and the setting had been placed with china that had purple flowers on it as Marigold had requested. Papa had ordered that staff devote their work to supporting any of the many visitors who used different parts of the house for shooting parties, while the family usually had pre-laid out or buffet. They had more servants working full time at Brancaster Castle than George had at Downton Abbey, but these days they had less than the past.

A fact Grandmother Pelham often lamented.

"I know you said you lived in the castle, Marigold," Bessie whispered as they all moved to take their seats. "But I never imagined it would be like this!"

"Neither did I," Marigold chuckled.

Even though she'd lived in the castle for a good long while, there were still whole rooms and wings she had never visited. There were rooms she wasn't even certain Bertie Papa had visited.

They settled in at their spots at the table, each child sat on one side across from their parent (or an empty chair, in Marigold's case). In the center of the table there were cakes and sandwiches and treats with tongs for the taking.

Louisa Antonia held up her tea cup, waving it to her mother, "Look at the flowers Mama, and the edges are tipped in gold!"

"Well, I never," Mrs. Doxford breathed, carefully inspecting her own cup as well.

Bessie was all but ogling the tray of food in front of her, eyes nearly as large as the tea saucers. Her father couldn't seem to look away either, and his hands hovered at the table setting, before he settled them in his lap.

The doors opened and the assembled group turned to face them. Marigold beamed.

"Mama!"

"I do apologize for being late," Edith explained, sweeping into the room with a flourish, a purple scarf over the shoulder flowing in her wake.

Mr. Hull just stared, wide eyed, and Mrs. Doxford hastily stood from her chair, waving for Louisa Antonia to rise as well. They were in the middle of a clumsy sort of curtsy, but Mama waved them back down.

"Welcome to Brancaster," Edith continued. "Unfortunately, the Marquess is unable to join us, but he sends his greetings and apologies. We're both so pleased to have you."

Mr. Hull still stared.

"Thank you ever so much for inviting us, milady," Mrs. Doxford replied fervently. "In village everyone speaks to how generous you are. You and his Lordship. Proof is right here with Miss Marigold, isn't it? Luckiest girl in the county, taken in by a family such as this!"

The corner's of Mama's smile dropped for a fraction of a second of a second before she settled at the table.

"Yes," she sighed, reaching for the tea kettle and looking at the guests. "Who would like some tea?"

The tea party started in earnest.

"Whole village was praying for you and the little one this winter," Mr. Hull stammered, awkwardly accepting the cup of tea she'd poured him. "Just so's you know."

"We deeply appreciate that."

"Eh," he continued. "Is he still poorly?"

"He's still small," Marigold chimed in helpfully before Mama could reply. "But he eats very well and keeps growing."

"Then all the praying worked! Even if it was rather boring..." Louisa Antonia remarked before her mother swatted at her with a napkin.

All in all, Marigold found the whole thing to be great fun. It was lovely to talk, and while most of the talking was the same kind of thing she and her friends would have done at a school luncheon, it was nice not to have a time limit and to have treats.

Marigold didn't, strictly speaking, pay much attention to the grown ups talking, but it did seem that Mama and her friend's parents were managing well enough from the snippets her ears registered.

"I do so enjoy The Sketch, your ladyship," Mrs. Doxford enthused, sipping her tea, rather more loudly than Marigold was used. "Especially Miss Cassandra Jones. I adore her column. Where ever did you find someone so knowledgeable?"

"Miss Jones is in fact a very private individual..."

"Never would have pegged you for knowing much about tractors milady..." Mr. Hull later commented skeptically.

Mama grinned, "During the war, I helped a farmer pull out a tree."

"Blimey..."

The adults allowed Marigold and Bessie and Louisa Antonia to eat as many biscuits as they liked and if Mr. Hull and Bessie ate more than anyone else, Mama and Marigold were certainly going to let them. Marigold even snagged a few extra biscuits that she wrapped in a napkin and slipped into to her friend's fingers under the table.

The girls, in turn, caught Marigold up on the goings on of the village and the school. They told her about Bessie getting top marks in maths that year and how one of Louisa Antonia's four brothers had accidentally pulled down the may pole during the festival. There was a fairy ring under a tree on Gardener Lane that the trio planned to investigate together next time Marigold was in the village. Mr. Doxford had re-painted the front of his original store and closed one of the others.

To be fair, in Marigold's opinion Oliver's birth was still probably the most interesting thing that had happened to any of them, but was all still nice to know.

Marigold already considered the whole tea to be a success, but near then end when she looked up to see Papa stroll into the Lavender Room, it became a grand success. From the look on Mama's face, Marigold suspected this was something she knew about all along.

"Papa!" she shouted in delight, unable to stop herself from running for a hug. He could only reciprocate awkwardly, having a basket on each arm.

"I am so sorry I couldn't join for the whole tea," Bertie explained. "I thank you for attending and wish to offer these gifts."

Baskets of food from the kitchens and three matching lavender ribbons, one each for Marigold, Bessie and Louisa Antonia! They made a pact to all wear them for the first day of term and that made it rather easier to say goodbye. And Marigold knew at least the Bessie and her papa would have full bellies that week.

Marigold could not even wait until the next day's correspondence to write her letter to Aunt Lucy and Nanny Atkins allowed her to stay up late to write it. After they finished brushing her hair, Nanny set the girl up at the small desk in her adjoining quarters, borrowing her own pen and paper. She kicked out her bare feet, and worried her lip as she wrote. She tried so hard to include every detail and was sure to ask after how things were going in Ripon and with the coming baby. She barely heard Nanny's voice singing their customary lullaby to the boys for sleep.

"Come now Marigold, that's all the time I can give you," Nanny tutted eventually.

"But-"

"You can add an addendum in your next reply, but now it is certainly time for bed."

As it was, Marigold's tea party was about the most interesting thing that happened at Brancaster that summer. Time seemed to drag by otherwise.

Letters came and went, council meetings convened and un-convened (Marigold wasn't quite sure if that was a word) and various unfamiliar hunting parties rented the castle. The children didn't see them much, but she and Nigel enjoyed peering through the windows into the courtyard as they arrived or departed in fancy cars. Only occasionally would one of the party look up toward the windows, and every time they did, Nigel loved to stick his tongue out and press his nose up against the glass, in dramatic fashion.

The days were long and warm. Marigold, Nanny Atkins and the boys spent a lot of time in the garden, for picnics and exploring. When Mama and Aunt Mary were Marigold's age, they had a Governess instead of going to school, while their sister Sybil had still used a nanny. But that was rather old fashioned, and they were modern folk as Papa liked to say. During term Marigold went to school, and Nanny Atkins continued their normal lessons of music and French.

Of course now Nigel participated as well, which tended to make everything slower.

In August, Mama's editor, Ms. Edmunds came down from London. A rare enough occurrence, because they usually conducted business using the telephone or on Mama's trips to to the office. A visit from the editor was always an occasion because she always had the an outfit that looked like a magazine and came with treats!

This visit was no different, Ms. Edmunds arrived on the midday train and strolled into Mama's study while she and Marigold were working on their correspondence with the boys nearby. In her bag, along with files to discuss with Mama, she brand new presents.

"Laura, you do know you are under no obligation to bring my children gifts every time you see them," Mama teased as she greeted the other woman by kissing her cheeks.

"Oh, let me have some fun with them. Then we shall get down to business," Ms. Edmunds replied. "They are such lovely children after all."

Edith chuckled and ducked her head.

"I do expect you share these though, as they are for both of you," the woman added, looking at the two older children after shooting a glace to Oliver as he drooled in Nanny's lap.

"Well, with apologies to dear Ollie, because he is too little. Do you two promise to share?"

Marigold nodded, "Yes, Ms. Edmunds!"

"I'll share!" Nigel's answer was slightly too loud.

Kneeling down to Nigel and Marigold's perch on the settee, Ms. Edmunds revealed the contents of her handbag.

"This is a Terry's Chocolate Orange," she explained handing Nigel a brightly boxed chocolate. "It's brand new. This is the first line ever made. They sent testers to the magazine in the hopes of scoring an advertisement contract. You two can help us decide whether they succeeded..."

The boys eyes went almost as large as the treat and he immediately began to tear open the shiny box. Nanny Atkins was there in an instant, to ration the treat, lest it all immediately vanish between Nigel's teeth. Marigold was sure Nanny's intervention would protect her share of the sweet.

"And this," Ms. Edmunds turned to Marigold, presenting a book. She explained excitedly "Is a publishing import from France, called Mon Chat by Andre Beucler. Submitted for a section on children's literature review, which I hope to convince your mother to make a recurring column."

Marigold couldn't help but wince at Ms. Edmunds overt mispronunciation. Nigel pointed to the illustrated cat on the cover.

"I want a cat."

"It's all in French," Edmunds continued. "But it's got lovely pictures."

Taking the book into her hands carefully, Marigold flipped through the pages happily.

"Je lis bien le francais!"

"So I have heard," the woman grinned. "Which is much more than I can do. Years of tutelage and I'm still atrocious. More's the pity. You are so clever. Like your mother."

Heat flushed Marigold's cheeks as she couldn't help but beam. If there was anyone Marigold ever wanted to be just like, it was her Mama.

"What do we say to Ms. Edmunds for her generosity?" Edith prompted before either Nigel or Marigold could get too deeply involved in their surprise treats.

"Thank you, Ms. Edmunds," they said in chorus.

Nanny escorted the children out, to allow Mama and her editor to finish their work. It was time for the boys to nap (which Nigel protested loudly, as was usual), so they made their way up to the nursery. Nanny Atkins permitted Marigold to stay awake, now that she was older. She was allowed to spend the time reading, drawing or playing the piano in other rooms of their living area, provided she not venture beyond those spaces, returned to the nursery on time, and didn't cause trouble.

That day, Marigold was eager to read her new book and skipped down the corridor excitedly to one of her favorite rooms. The golden library! Papa used it as a study, but held more books than the normal study and she enjoyed the way the sun slanted through the windows and reflected off the crystal ornaments that adorned the rooms lamps.

Marigold had stretched out under a sunspot on the crimson rug nearest to Papa's desk, flipping through the pages of the new story when she heard tense voices in the hall. With a gasp, she slid under the desk just as the door opened and Papa and Grandmother Pelham strolled into the room.

"Mother, this is not as grave an oversight as all of that," Papa said carefully. "I don't believe any of the shooting guests were even aware-"

"How could they not be?" Grandmother replied tersely. "They pay for a luxury shooting experience, the status and elegance, a taste of the old days. Not disassembled car parts and oil stains on the drive. Mr. Porter is neglecting his duties."

"Mr. Porter is not a chauffeur in the first place. And the oil spill was an accident."

"The man is getting old, my dear. Perhaps it is time to plan his exit."

"Mother, he's doing the work of ground-keeper and a chauffeur, I think we can forgive him for a spilled oil can, whether guests were present or not."

Papa slid into the seat of his desk, glancing down to find Marigold tucked in underneath, clutching her book to her chest. He did not pull up his chair completely, and held her gaze for a moment, debating his course of action, before he returned his attention to his mother.

Grandmother Pelham huffed in reply, "We came to this station by unexpected circumstance and even know there are those who see us as imposers, posing as the leaders of this county. You must strive to maintain an appearance worthy of the station. If we must have so many shooting guests and commoners over for tea, then at the very least we must be exceptional."

"To be quite honest, I expect I shall always feel rather an impostor. Cousin Peter should be here, not I."

Cousin Peter was someone Marigold knew Grandmother Pelham had disliked in life, and did not enjoy talking about after his death. She didn't know much about him, since he died before she was born. Mama had never met him and had no stories to share and he had spent so much time away from Brancaster that few of the servants knew him well.

Papa told stories about him on occasion, and Marigold could tell it made him sad. But she knew he was her father's friend, as well as cousins. As much as George and Sybbie were her friends to her. Friends as much as Bessie and Louisa Antonia. Papa still missed Cousin Peter.

"Herbert..."

"Is all this anything someone has said to you, or is it perhaps simply a fear you harbor yourself?"

At this Grandmother Pelham seemed to have nothing to say.

"Because I assure you, Mother I am doing more than you know to maintain this estate, this county and our family. The best I can do. I am not afraid a tea party or oil spills, or any other sort of scandal. It can be weathered."

Bertie's expression radiated kindness, "I can't do any more than my best and I learned to be my best from you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to get on with."

Marigold heard the click, click, click of Grandmother's even steps and the sound of the door. She crawled out from under the desk and into Papa's waiting arms.

"Hello there, are you in here for a bit of a read?"

Marigold nodded.

"Sometimes Grandmother is great fun, but she does make me a bit frightened as well," she whispered as he settled her on his lap, unable to put to rest the conversation she'd just overhead.

"Me too," Bertie agreed.

"But she is your Mama."

"Yes, and she loves us all so much that sometimes she can be so severe it's frightening."

Marigold leaned her head back, staring at him incredulously.

"Don't you think your Donk was at least a little frightened of Granny Violet?"

She couldn't help but smile at the memory of her great-grandmother. Donk was much older than Papa when Granny Violet was alive, and a single look from her could still make him stand at attention.

"More than a little," Marigold conceded. She took a deep breath, "But, I shouldn't like to be afraid of my Mama."

"That's not your Mama's personality, so I wouldn't worry," Bertie replied evenly.

"What is Grandmother Pelham afraid of, Papa?"

"A great many things, I imagine. Change most of all. Being left behind."

She hung her head, and worried the corners of Mon Chat, "Is it all because of my tea?"

Papa's arms tightened around her, and he leaned forward to look her in the eyes.

"No. Not at all, my sweet darling," he answered earnestly. "I must apologize for Mother. I'd hate for you to feel this isn't your home. Friends of yours are most welcome in your home."

Marigold blinked, suddenly verging on tears as Bertie kissed her forehead. It was so nice to have a moment alone with Papa. She enjoyed speaking with him, and ever since the money crash and then Oliver's dramatic birth, it felt like the opportunities were far too few. She knew there were big important things going on in the world and in England, that Papa had to attend to, even though she and Nigel missed him.

But Marigold also knew their father did his best, even having managed to participate in her tea party.

"Thank you again for the ribbons," she added. "We've planned to wear them the first day back at school."

"I am glad you all liked them. I'm sure you will all look very pretty," Papa grinned.

"Also," Marigold continued hesitantly. "It was even better to send the food. I know the Doxford's are grocers and I don't think they are short on eating, but Bessie looked thinner than I have ever seen her! And her Papa..."

"I know," Bertie agreed. "Times are very difficult in many sectors. Most are much less fortunate than we are."

"I used to share my luncheon with her," Marigold confessed. "At school because I knew at home I could have something else to eat before dinner. But then this year, I was gone. I feel badly."

"That's very generous of you, Marigold," Papa sounded proud. "It's not your fault you weren't here."

"If..."

Her brow furrowed, thinking of the summer's events as an idea began to form in her mind. It was the top of the hour and the shiny clock on Papa's desk struck three times.

"If Mr. Porter needs help with the engines, Bessie's Papa could help, you know. He did when he came up for my tea. He doesn't know cars perfectly well but he does know tractors. And how different can they be really? Perhaps even Mama could fill him in on the differences since she drives a car and has driven a tractor. Mr. Hull could help and you could pay him and then Bessie could eat more?"

Bertie smiled and regarded her thoughtfully.

"That might just be an idea. I shall inquire with Mr. Porter and Mr. Hull as well as the accounts here, to see what I can offer. I cannot promise for sure what will happen, but if your idea is not possible, then I promise I shall find other ways to help them."

Marigold beamed, "Thank you, Papa!"

"You are a good friend and very kind. And that is in short supply in many circles."

Bertie helped her to slide to the floor and patter her cheek. "Now run along, Nanny will be expecting you soon and the boys will be waking up."

Pleased with herself, Marigold made her way out of the library quickly, skipping down the long hallway with the new book tucked under her arms. Perhaps Nanny would let Marigold stay up again to write another late night letter! Aunt Lucy would surely approve of the plan to help the Hulls.

It felt as though all the paintings of Hexham's of the past were watching down upon her, perhaps with more approval than severity. Marigold was certain, that friends were more precious than any of the fine furniture or art or golden dipped tea cups in Brancaster Castle.

And she was determined never to forget it.