A Duke's Garden of Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 11

  He pursed his lips and looked at his fingers, inspecting his nails for cleanliness.

  “You would hardly understand,” he said.

  “I believe you are correct about that. Regardless, I am asking. Why do you hate him? What has he done to you?” she asked.

  “It was not he who did it,” Mr. Filbert said.

  “Then who? And what has any of it to do with the duke?” Rosamund asked.

  Mr. Filbert sighed, as if to go into some very long discussion about his pains.

  “His brother,” he finally said.

  “His brother?” Rosamund asked.

  “Indeed. His brother was an awful man. I am glad that he is no longer around to make me so miserable,” he said.

  It was a terrible thing to say of a dead man and Rosamund was horrified that Mr. Filbert would go so far. Nevertheless, she decided to give him a chance to explain.

  “What did his brother do to you that caused you so much grief? Why would you be happy about the death of another man and the misery of his brother?” she asked.

  “You can hardly imagine the insult which I was given,” Mr. Filbert said.

  “I think I must not be able to imagine it because I honestly cannot think of anything which would justify relief in a man’s death,” Rosamund said, hoping that her words would convict Mr. Filbert into showing some sort of remorse for his behaviour.

  Instead, he simply began to laugh.

  “Oh, Miss Fleet, you really are a charming young lady. You are so sweet and simple. I do wish you could hear yourself just now. As it happens, he really did slight me in a dreadful way,” he said.

  The offense of his words struck Rosamund, but she tried to let it go. After all, he was about to share some awful treatment which he had received from the duke’s brother and that would surely impact her view of him. Maybe he really was justified in his bitterness.

  “Well, one day, I was speaking with him and telling him all about my excellent skills with a foil. I told him of a time I fought with famed swordsman Bartholomew Windsor and won against the man. It was a rather humourous battle against him, actually. There was no way in which I would not have won. Believe me, I was excellent,” he said, going on about his skill which did not interest Rosamund in the least.

  “Yes, all right,” she said as politely as she was able in order to get him to move along.

  “Well, as I was sharing my story—you cannot imagine it—he told me that I was being arrogant and that I ought to watch how my words might be perceived,” he said.

  Rosamund waited, still wondering what the slight was. She expected Mr. Filbert to tell her at any moment.

  “Did you not hear me?” he asked.

  “I-I did. And?” she asked, waiting for more.

  “And can you believe he would do that? He called me arrogant. He actually believed himself worthy of calling my skill into question and saying that I was somehow flawed for being happy that I had achieved something so incredible,” Mr. Filbert said.

  “He…he called you arrogant?” she asked, astonished that this was deemed worthy of being glad that he was dead.

  After all, Mr. Filbert was extremely arrogant. Did it bother him to have someone point it out? Or was he bothered by the suggestion that he ought to change? Rosamund still did not understand why he was so angry.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Filbert, but perhaps he did not mean to be so rude,” she said.

  “Of course he did. He was terribly jealous, you see. He was also an excellent swordsman and he wanted to be the better of the two of us. It bothered him that I had challenged and won against someone so powerful as Bartholomew Windsor,” he said, making every effort to tell her again about his victory.

  “I see…” she said, unable to think of anything more to say.

  They continued to walk and speak of absolutely nothing important. Rosamund listened to Mr. Filbert go on and on about his own greatness and she wondered why any man would be so happy to share these things. How could he not have a little bit of humility? Was it really so painful?

  But she allowed him to continue and dreamt of the moment she would be free of his company and allowed to depart for home.

  That moment came nearly an hour later and, by the time she saw her father, Rosamund was utterly at a loss for what to do. She could not imagine her life with this awful man. Her father had to understand that. Would he really want her to be so miserable and unhappy?

  “Father?” she asked, finding him in his little greenhouse in the back of the shop.

  “Ah, my dear. How was it? Did you enjoy your walk with Mr. Filbert? Has your aunt returned with you?” he asked.

  “She went to the house. And she followed behind us at the park as a chaperone but I did not even remember she was there most of the time. Chaperones always act no different than a ghost,” she said.

  “That is her duty,” her father said.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” she said.

  “And did you have a nice time?” he asked again.

  Rosamund was unable to keep her tears at bay. How could she go on like this? Surely her father had to see what it was doing to her.

  “Father, do I truly have to marry him? Oh, he is so awful!” she exclaimed.

  He looked at her with compassion, but also with resignation. Rosamund knew what his answer would be, but she had to ask anyway. She had to beg and plead if she thought that it would convince him to set her free from this horrible obligation.

  “My dear, I know that you dislike him, but things change. Over time, you may grow to see the value in being married to a man like him,” he said.

  “But how? You dislike him as well. Why am I to be forced into this union?” she asked.

  “Because it is the only hope your family has,” he replied, voice laden with his own guilt and shame. “I am sorry, my dear. I wish that I could be a better provider for you, but life has not gone the way I ever expected it to.”

  “I know, Father. And I know that it is not your fault. But you have to understand how painful it is. What you are making me do is agonising. How am I to marry a man like him?” she asked.

  “Because you must, my dear. I am sorry for that, but you must,” he replied.

  “Even if I can find more work? What if I am able to do that? What if I pay my own way in the home?” she asked.

  But she already knew from the look on his face that it was not an option.

  Rosamund was doomed to marry Horace Filbert. There was no other choice in the matter. She would be his wife.

  Chapter 15

  Miss Fleet ripped the weeds up from their roots, her arms working tirelessly and with fury. Albion did not know what it was that was bothering her, but there was clearly something. It was evident that she was upset, even if he had no idea why.

  He continued to watch her. For a good long while, she kept pulling up the weeds. Rhythmically, one at a time, she yanked them hard and angrily.

  It was difficult to see her so upset and not know why. But he could hardly go down and ask her. It would be too much, too soon. He would be invading her privacy and forcing her to confide in him. Not only that, but he still tried to maintain his solitude. Although there were days in which he would go down to speak with her, he was not ready to make it a common activity.

  Each day that passed, it seemed as though it would be easier. He felt that he might learn how to engage with others, slowly but surely.

  However, he was not ready for that yet. He was not ready to open his heart up to even this lovely young woman.

  Some moments were easier than others. He would have days like the one in which he had spoken with Theodore about the possibility of a future, and then he would have days in which he would not allow himself to even consider it.

  This was one of the latter days. It was a day in which she would not give himself even a moment to consider that they could ever be together. And if she was this angry, while working on his garden, obviously she would not wish to speak with him openly about what was on her min
d. Perhaps it was working in the garden that had her so upset. Maybe he had done something wrong.

  And that was all it took.

  Recognising that he may be the cause of her frustration, Albion decided to go down to see her. The whole walk, he was hesitant and cautious. After all, she may misunderstand him. It was possible that she would think that he was trying to get closer than he should.

  He still had to consider and respect the fact that she was engaged. Anytime he allowed his thoughts to wander, anytime he wanted to be her confidant, he would remind himself of that fact.

  He would ignore the hope that the door had offered and tell himself that he could not be the one to break up and engagement.

  However, he reached the garden and knew that he wanted nothing more than to speak with her.

  Albion made his way through the flowers. At last, he reached the rosebushes where she was tending the earth with such rage. She had not yet seen him, but he decided to clear his throat to alert her to his presence.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking up at him. “Forgive me; I did not see you there. I am sorry. What may I help you with, Your Grace?” she asked.

  “Nothing, nothing. I am sorry for having startled you. I wished to come and speak with you and I did not know the best way of telling you that I was here as you did not hear me approach,” he said.

  “Yes, forgive me. I did not hear you. I fear that I have been rather distracted by my own thoughts and it caused me to be slow in responding. But I know now that you are here and I am at your service, Your Grace,” she said.

  “Well, I thank you for that, but there is nothing I need from you,” Albion said.

  “Very well. Of course. Are you here just to see the gardens?” she asked.

  “No, not exactly,” he said.

  “Oh, all right. Well, if there is anything you need from me, I shall be here,” she said, uncomfortably and as though she still was not quite sure what to say or do.

  She still looked unhappy. He wondered what he could do to change that. What could he do to make things right? What could he do to make things better?

  Her sadness was more than he could handle. And yet, coming down here was already a violation of his own solitude. He had already disregarded what made him comfortable and he had to accept that he was no longer in his own area of comfort.

  He had come for her. And even if it was uncomfortable to push her to speak about what was bothering her, he was going to do it.

  “Miss Fleet, I have actually come because I wished to speak with you directly,” he finally said.

  “Oh? Me?” she asked.

  “Indeed. I have a few things I wish to address,” Albion said.

  “As you wish,” she replied, standing and walking with him through the garden as Albion led her to a bench where they might sit.

  “Miss Fleet, I have noted that your mood does not quite appear…you seem troubled,” he said, struggling to find the appropriate words.

  “Yes, I am very sorry. I know that it is hardly the sort of behaviour which you should like to see from your staff. I know that I am simply a servant in your house and I ought to behave as such. It was not appropriate for me to throw a tantrum as I have been doing all day,” she said by way of apology.

  “No, no, Miss Fleet, that is not it,” he said.

  “Oh?” she asked, sounding even more distressed. Her face gave way to worry, as if she was really going to be in trouble. She was so upset and Albion was not sure what to do about it.

  “Miss Fleet, you appear terribly upset. I wished to come and speak with you that I might help you to be calm,” he said.

  She looked at him with confusion for a moment before her shoulders did, indeed, relax.

  “I see…forgive me then for being so anxious. You must understand that I have had a very trying few days,” she said, apologetically.

  “Yes, I can see that. But I am here to listen, to allow you the space which you appear to need in order to relax. I know that you are a very intelligent, brave young woman, but I want to know what it is that is hurting you so deeply,” Albion said.

  Miss Fleet took in a deep breath.

  “You are too kind for being willing to hear the story of my woes. I am a fool for feeling the need to tell it,” she said.

  “Not at all. I am more than happy to listen. In fact, it would be my honour to listen. You know, I am more than happy to be here when you need someone to speak with. I should like to be your friend,” he said.

  “My friend?” she asked.

  “Indeed. I know that it may be a bit unorthodox, but if you do not mind, I would be happy to hear your burdens,” he said.

  She smiled softly and then readied herself to tell him what was going on in her heart.

  “Well, I believe you know by now that I am betrothed. And I wish that I could say that I am happy about it, or even that I respect the man whom I am to wed,” she said. “But I simply do not. I cannot. He is an awful man. Truly callous.”

  “Callous?” he asked.

  “Yes. He cares nothing for the lives of others, nor their feelings. He is so in love with his own self that he could never even begin to comprehend what the rest of the world is really like or the serious nature of the lives of others. He has no awareness of what it means to be gracious,” she said.

  “He sounds utterly dreadful,” Albion said, feeling great sadness for her.

  “I cannot even begin to express my dismay in knowing that I must marry him. I promise that I am not a woman with unrealistic standards. I know that I shall never have a great choice in marrying for love or anything so…so foolish,” she said with disappointment. “But to marry someone without character?”

  “That is a terrible pity,” he agreed.

  “It truly is. I would not wish this on anyone,” she said.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. It was evident that she really did not wish for this. Her marriage was going to be the end of her, it seemed. She would be incredibly miserable.

  Albion thought back to what Theodore had said. He had spoken of being a good friend to Miss Fleet. Perhaps, being a good friend to her really was getting her out of this marriage. Maybe he truly could do something about it.

  Only there were still other concerns to contend with. There were still the issues of how her reputation would be questioned, how her father would respond, and how her betrothed would respond. Although he did not know anything about the man, he had heard his name before. So far as he could remember, his brothers were not overly fond of Mr. Filbert.

  If he was indeed an unpleasant man, he would probably not respond very well to having his betrothed taken away.

  Indeed, Albion would have to be very careful. He would have to tread lightly to ensure that he did not ruin things for everyone.

  Either that, or he would have to let it all go. The best, safest option was simply to be there for Miss Fleet without inserting himself into the situation.

  “Miss Fleet, how may I help you in this? I would love to assist you if you can think of anything,” he said, his heart hopeful even if he knew that she would never suggest that he make a proposition of marriage. It would be such an outlandish request.