A Duke's Garden of Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  A Duke's Garden of Love

  A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

  ABIGAIL AGAR

  Copyright © 2020 by Abigail Agar

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  Website: Abigail Agar

  Table of Contents

  A Duke's Garden of Love

  Table of Contents

  Free Exclusive Gift

  A Duke's Garden of Love

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  For a Dreamy Lady's Honour

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

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  A Duke's Garden of Love

  Introduction

  With her mythical abilities to grow and restore any garden in England, Rosamund Fleet is living a happy life in the midst of nature. Unfortunately, she is engaged to be married to Horace Filbert, a man with no respect to her abilities or the work she does for her father. Just when life starts feeling meaningless, she gets a surprising invitation by a mysterious Duke and instantly packs all her belongings. Moving to the brooding Duke’s mansion, the last thing she expected was to fall for him and get herself into trouble... Soon, she finds herself determined not only to save his precious garden, but the Lord himself. Will this bright Lady find her soulmate in this magical garden of love?

  Lord Albion Brightling, the Duke of Somerfield, is a lonely soul. After the death of his entire family during the war, he dedicated his garden to those who mattered most to him. He would rather die alone than love and lose again, so he chose isolation and he decided to spend his days at his estate far away from everyone... But when Albion’s roses grow sick, his butler calls in the only person in England who can save the garden, Rosamund. What he would never expect, though, is that this charming lady will soon threaten to destroy the walls he has built to protect his broken heart with her soft tenderness. Will this compassionate Lady help him fight the demons of his past and start all over again by believing in true love?

  As Rosamund brings his flowers back to life, love and hope are also finding their way back into the Duke’s life. The more the two of them emotionally connect within this magical garden, the more the Duke’s reputation as an isolated madman is challenged. When Rosamund’s betrothed discovers this unexplainable connection, he will do anything he can to stop the two from growing closer… With everyone set against them, will their love come up roses? Or will they be pricked by society’s hurtful thorns?

  Chapter 1

  Lord Albion Brightling, the Duke of Somerfield, was not known for his sparkling personality or indulgent parties. At times, he wished that he could be the sort of man who entertained others, who made them happy to be near him. But it simply was not in his nature.

  He had always been a serious man, but since the war he had grown ever quieter and overwrought by his need for solitude.

  His dark eyes scanned the garden, taking in the image of all that he had built in memoriam. The sunflowers were a tribute to his older brother, who had always brightened their days. He passed away early on in the war.

  The baby’s breath was for his younger brother, the baby of the family who had made it nearly to the end. And the roses were in honour of his mother, who had passed away from her grief.

  And now, Albion was alone. He had been left with the family estate, the title, the fortune. All of it was meaningless, but he wished to use it wisely. And a part of that use, he decided, would be building this garden to remember them.

  The previous four days had been awful, not being able to come out and see the garden, to smell the beautiful flowers, and to relive the memories of his family. Albion had been bedridden with a brief but terrible cough.

  The fresh air was a delight, as was the process of inhaling without descending into a fit of coughing. But when Albion reached the roses, the part of his walk when he typically stood and lingered over thoughts of his mother, he was immediately shocked by what he saw.

  A handful of the blooms were covered in ugly, black spots.

  They appeared diseased, hideous and ruined. Albion had never seen anything like this before and could not understand what was happening.

  Was this normal? Was it something that he had done to the flowers or had they grown this on their own? Was it an insect that had poisoned the roses?

  He couldn’t imagine what it was.

  Albion needed to speak with his gardener. Perhaps the man knew something about this. But why had he not told Albion? Why was he not, this very moment, handling the problem?

  Rushing back to the house, Albion quickly found one of the maids.

  “Miss Potter, where is Mr. Hillsborough?” he asked.

  Miss Potter appeared alarmed and confused by his sudden need for the gardener.

  “Honestly, Your Grace, I cannot say. I have not seen him at all this morning. Actually I have not seen him for the past few days, now that I think of it,” she said.

  “Please, do find him for me. I shall continue looking, but he was not outside. Perhaps he is in his room?” Albion asked.

  “I am perfectly happy to check for you, Your Grace. Give me but a moment,” she said.

  Albion waited and then heard a screeching sound. He rushed to see what it was that Miss Potter had been upset by, but she came rushing out to him instead.

  “That man! Oh!” she said in anger.

  “What is it? What has happened?” Albion asked.

  “He is lost in a drunken stupor. What a useless creature,” she said, shaking her head.

  Albion fumed. He paid this man very well to keep the gardens in perfect shape. And he had spent the past few days locked away in his room with a bottle? Albion would not stand for that!

  Within the hour, Mr. Hillsborough had been packed up and sent from the estate. Under his lack of care, Albion’s roses were dying and he had no one to tell him why. What was most important to Albion was figuring this out and ensuring
that he was able to have the garden honour his family in the way he wished.

  “What am I to do now? He was considered one of the best in all of England,” Albion said, collapsing in his study as Miss Potter brought him tea.

  “There has to be someone better out there, Your Grace. Someone who will not be a slave to his vices,” she said.

  “Oh, dear. It appears I missed something quite devastating,” Theodore said, rushing into the study.

  “I shall leave the two of you,” Miss Potter said, shuffling away.

  Theodore Connelly had worked at the estate for nearly ten years, and the past two as Albion’s private butler. He was also Albion’s dearest friend, the only companion with whom he could share what was on his mind during the difficult days.

  “Theodore, I am so glad that you have returned,” he said.

  “Of course, of course. Now, what is it? What has happened? I saw a couple of the maids clearing out some bedding, all in a huff,” he said.

  “It is Mr. Hillsborough. He has proven to be a drunkard and he allowed the garden to grow…diseased or something. He has been stripped of his duties,” Albion said.

  Theodore’s brows drew together in thought.

  “I see. But who is going to care for the gardens now?” he asked.

  “That is precisely my dilemma,” Albion said.

  “And what do you mean when you say that they are diseased? What, precisely, has happened to them?” he asked.

  “It would appear that they are covered in some sort of black spot. Not the whole garden, mind you, but a portion of my rose bushes,” Albion said.

  “Well, that cannot be good at all,” Theodore said.

  “No, it is not. You know how important the gardens are to me. And my own knowledge is enough to care gently for the garden, but certainly not enough to keep it alive. I am limited in my skill with plants, even if I do adore them and wish to have them providing such beauty,” Albion said.

  “Certainly, it is important that they do not die away,” Theodore said, as though he was going to continue speaking.

  “I need someone who can rescue the roses before it is too late and we have to begin anew. I know no other who is so well-connected in society as you and I trust that you shall be able to find me the right man for the job. I need someone who is able to be here often, to take care of everything,” he said.

  “Indeed, and I think—” Theodore began.

  “If you are able to find someone who comes highly recommended and is able to start right away, all the better. This all began during my four days inside, in the midst of Mr. Hillsborough’s neglect. We cannot delay another day if we do not have to,” Albion continued on.

  “Certainly, and I know—” Theodore began again.

  “I do not know what I would do if we had to start all over again,” Albion said in despair, wondering if he had failed in creating the stunning memorial to his family.

  “Ahem?” Theodore signalled, clearing his throat as politely as possible.

  Albion paused and looked up at Theodore, patiently.

  “Oh, forgive me,” he said. “I was interrupting you. I know that I am in a panic and have not allowed you to speak.”

  “I understand. I know how important this is to you. But, if you will, I do have an idea,” Theodore said.

  “Yes, yes, of course. You must forgive me for being so distracted. What is your idea?” Albion asked.

  “I understand that you are seeking a gentleman for this task, but would you be opposed to a young lady instead?” Theodore asked.

  Albion cocked his head to the side. He had not considered hiring a young woman for his garden. But he had female maids in the home, so why should he not? After all, a young woman might be equally skilled in the task for which he needed her.

  It was clear to Albion that Theodore had someone specific in mind. Was this a young woman Theodore cared for? And why had he not mentioned her before?

  “I certainly do not mind,” he finally said. “Is this a young lady well known to you?”

  “Indeed, she is. In fact, she is a relation of mine. Her father is my mother’s cousin,” he said.

  “Interesting. And she is aware of the ways of plants?” Albion asked.

  “She is the best. People say that she has nearly mythical abilities. Her father is a florist, but she is the one who truly brings the plants to life,” Theodore said.

  “Is that so?” Albion asked.

  “Indeed, it is. And I would guess that she would find herself utterly astonished by your garden. Her own family cannot afford such extravagance, but to work in a place like this? I assure you that she would be most impressed,” Theodore said.

  “Very well, very well. You have convinced me. If she comes at such a high recommendation from you, I can hardly deny her. Do you believe that she would be willing to start at once?” Albion asked.

  “I can hardly see why not. She is always looking for an opportunity to be outside of the house,” Theodore said with a laugh.

  “Ah, so she is not overly fond of being indoors with her family?” Albion asked, wondering if this young woman would prove unruly.

  “No, it is not that. Simply, she needs to have her hands in the dirt and among the plants. Nothing else makes her so happy as that,” Theodore said.

  “How delightful. Well, in that case, please welcome her here, most heartily. I look forward to meeting this cousin of yours and seeing whether or not she can save my garden,” Albion said.

  The truth was that he had no desire for anyone else to come into his home. Albion did not do well with people. Even the maids, he often wished to be rid of. Theodore was the only person left with whom he was truly comfortable.

  This young woman would need to be set apart from the rest of the staff, left entirely to her own devices. Albion had no intention of speaking with her directly, but Theodore would take care of that. It was his duty and it worked out nicely that this young florist was his relation.

  But what mattered most would be for Albion’s garden to be restored. Whatever the cost of this young woman’s services, he would pay it. He had to.

  Albion recognised the strangeness of his affinity for the garden. No, it would not bring back his family, but he couldn’t help feeling as though it kept them close to him, somehow. When he really, truly needed to know that he was not alone, he could wander among the flowers and feel his family again.

  His father had died when he was young, but his mother had raised him along with his brothers to be a good man and to be a leader. It was simply a shame that he was the only one who survived. And as the only survivor, the responsibilities upon his shoulders could seem daunting at times.

  Perhaps that was why he chose to withdraw. Maybe it was easier this way; to be alone and to pretend that he could go amongst the flowers and be with his family all over again. But Albion could not stop himself. It was too tempting to isolate with nothing other than his hopes.

  Regardless of what he wanted, there would soon be a new life among them. And if Theodore’s recommendation was anything to go off—which Albion believed it was—she was something of an enigma.

  Yes, it was a misfortune that he had lost his old gardener, but perhaps this was how it was always supposed to be. Maybe this young woman could truly bring the beautiful flowers into a flourishing splendour.

  At least, that was what Albion was hoping for. And he realised then that he had something he had not had in a very long time. That very feeling of having something to hope for.

  Chapter 2

  It would do no good to prune off every last leaf.

  Rosamund well knew that she needed to stay busy. But did that really mean she had to take apart each plant, bit by bit?

  Surely, her father didn’t mean that.