"To the world you may be one person; but to one person you may be the world." -Dr. Seuss

Always His Lady

Dickon watched relentlessly as Mary bowed and curtsied to a young man of a very elevated status to that of even the Cravens. He was a Duke, or something of the same thing, and one who is rumored to surpass his own brother on the throne. Martha had told her little brother that Mary met him at a ball she was invited to last minute by another young man of high status. The Duke had stolen her away from her company, and had insisted on a dance, then they talked, and they laughed. Now here he was. Making surprise visits at Misselthwaite Manor.

Dickon didn't understand why he felt tense every time he saw the Duke put his hand on Mary's hand or wrap his arm around her waist, the same way Dickon does. He doesn't understand why he feels a moment of relief when Mary pulls away from the Duke's touch, claiming it was making her uncomfortable, or it was just improper. And when such a thing is said, Dickon can't help but laugh quietly and admire the way Mary had never said anything of that nature to him.

He knows he shouldn't feel this way. The Duke is a good match for Mary. If she were to marry him, she may one day be the queen, and would never have to worry ever again. She could want for nothing and make gardens ten times as large as the Secret Garden. He should be happy for her, but as selfish as it may sound, he would hate it more than anything, if she married the Duke. He would feel betrayed and used, if she married anyone that wasn't…

Dickon laughed at the wild and mad thought. Why would- Why should Mary ever marry him? He's just a gardener and an ameture one at that. It's not as if gardening was all that difficult. All you do is put a seed in the soil, water it, and make sure it was plenty of sunlight. Mother nature does all the work.

Mary joined him an hour later. She kneeled down and kissed her rose petals, just as she always done and claimed a space beside him.

"My beautiful, beautiful roses," Mary sang before picking one, "A token for your hard work Mr. Sowerby."

"Mr. Sowerby?" Dickon laughed, "Tha's never called me tha' b'for."

"Just wanted to know what if felt like," she smiled. She tucked the rose into one of Dickon's suspenders, locking it there with one of her hair pins.

"An how does tha li' it?"

Mary took a moment to think about it. Her smile becoming less playful and more sincere, as it faltered gently, "I don't." Her hand remained frozen on his suspender, gently grasping his shirt. Dickon dare not move. He could feel her hand move to his shoulder and down his arm, and it made him tremble. "Dickon would you… am I…"

"Mary it's not proper," Dickon said a bit more sternly than he meant to. Still he didn't move. She continued to pull on his sleeve and he didn't pull away. He wouldn't dare it.

Mary laughed. It was a depressing pathetic chuckle of understanding and grief, "I know." For a while they didn't say anything at all, but just stayed there. Mary finally stood up and smiled gently at Dickon, "Do you think I should marry for money like the rest of the ladies? Or marry for love, like Martha did?"

Dickon sighed. He already knew where she was going with this. "Mary, tha should marry som'un who is tha's equal. Som'un who could take care of tha."

"So for money-?"

"For luv, of course!" Dickon snapped, "But yes! Money, Mary, is important."

The sudden outburst had silenced Mary and it made Dickon regret it. He never used to have a temper. He never used to be so… so… contrary. Just as Dickon had introduced new emotions to Mary, Mary had introduced new emotions to Dickon. Since he first met Mary, he learned of jealousy, anger, and possessiveness. Was it a good thing? In moderation of course, Martha thought so, but she understands the way her brother feels.

Mary approached Dickon again, just like he approaches the animals, with a slow and gentle hand. She pushed away the individual curls overlapping his ear and rose to her toes. Dickon was frozen, waiting in both anticipation and uneasiness as she slowly leaned into him and kissed his high cheek. Suddenly giving him a smile, which Dickon has come to recognize, she reserves just for him. "How long are we going to keep pretending we're just friends?"

"We are just friends," Dickon answered stoically.

"No we aren't," Mary continued to push away some of his curls as she continued to smile quite flirtatiously, "I'll always be your lady, Dickon."

Dickon was momentarily silent. He didn't trust his own mouth to come up with the words, when his heart was too busy battling his brain.

He had finally did, but just like he'd fear, they all came out wrong and instead of saying what he was thinking, out came, "an' I'll always b' yor Dickon."

It was always like this. Dickon knows it to be true. Mary will have her way.

She smiled at him as Dickon could roll his eyes at himself.

Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?

READER'S NOTE-

Something quick, cute. Tell me what you think. I know the accent isn't right. Hate it, Love it, Don't understand it. Go ahead…

REVEIW!