A Duke's Garden of Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 3

  “So it will only affect the roses?” Theodore asked.

  Albion inclined his ear further, trying to hear the response from that mouth which was the colour of a rose itself.

  “No, not at all. Once things like this come, they spread. I can assure you that if this is not dealt with, there will be far more problems in the garden. And I also noticed that there are aphids in the chamomile. That is an entirely separate issue,” she said.

  Albion was taken aback. He hadn’t noticed that. So there was more than simply the black spot on the roses? How had his garden fallen to pieces like this? What was he going to do now? Oh, if only he had not trusted that infernal Mr. Hillsborough!

  “Oh, dear. And how can that be solved?” Theodore asked her.

  “There are many options. One of them—which I believe the duke will approve of—is to grow marigolds nearby,” she said.

  “Marigolds?” Theodore asked.

  Albion’s eyes lit up. Marigolds were lovely. He would be more than happy to have them growing in his garden. He was not certain where she would find space, but he trusted that Miss Fleet would make room for them beside the chamomile in order to get rid of the pests.

  Indeed, this young woman, with all of her beauty, was a genius if it meant that she could solve some of these problems by making his gardens even lovelier.

  “Yes, they help to keep away the pests. Now, shall I get to work on the roses? They are the most pressing, correct?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course. I shall leave you to it,” Theodore said.

  “Very well. Thank you for these tools,” she said.

  “Oh, I assume the duke left them out for you,” Theodore said, turning towards the estate.

  Albion dropped out of the window just in time, hoping they did not see him spying on them the way he was. He felt another wave of anxiety, thinking himself such a fool for behaving like this.

  But a few moments later, he heard Theodore’s footsteps carrying him away and he decided to peek out again.

  There she was, Miss Fleet, with the shears, trimming off the dead heads of what used to be a stunning rosebush.

  Albion turned away, deciding he couldn’t continue watching her that way. It was too strange to stare at her while she did her work and he could not understand why he was so intrigued by her anyway.

  There was a knock at the door of the study and he rushed to the sitting chair so that his voice would not alert Miss Fleet to his presence at the window.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The maid entered the room with his tea.

  “Would you like anything else, Your Grace?” she asked.

  “No, no,” he said. “Nothing at all. Only a bit of time to myself.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I shall be off. Please let me know if there is anything else I may get for you,” she said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Albion replied.

  She departed and he remained in the chair for a while. Grabbing a book to distract himself, Albion tried to relax. He was used to spending his sunny days nearly exclusively in the gardens, so it was strange to be inside. But the last thing he wanted was to spend time around this woman and allow his interest in her to grow even more.

  If he was going to remain in his typical state of isolation, Albion knew that he had but one choice and that choice was to avoid beautiful women. He would never again have to hurt from the possibility of losing someone if he simply stayed away from those who might be lost.

  Later, Theodore came to inform him that dinner was ready. Albion looked up from his book and nodded.

  “Thank you, Theodore. I shall be right there,” he said.

  “Very well. And, I must tell you, Miss Fleet is astonished by the beauty of the estate and the gardens. She finds it quite lovely and has bid me inform you that she admires it very much,” Theodore said.

  “Is that so?” he asked, trying to ignore the pride that welled up inside of him.

  “Yes, it is. And she is more than happy to have the opportunity to work here and to enjoy all that your gardens have to offer. She had found a few problems which she intends to rectify,” Theodore said.

  “Very well, I am glad to hear it,” Albion said, trying not to show the extent of his intrigue.

  “You need not worry about anything when Rosamund is in your garden. I assure you that everything will be remedied at once. You shall see,” Theodore said, turning as if to leave.

  “It is a lovely name for a gardener,” Albion said, unable to help himself. Theodore turned back to him.

  “Indeed, it is. And she is the best you can imagine for the task. She really does know exactly what she is doing,” he said.

  “How did she come by this knowledge?” Albion asked.

  “Her father owns a florist shop. She grew up around plants of all kinds, but it astonished everyone to see how well she managed to handle a variety of blooms and blossoms. Honestly, I do not think anyone had ever seen such a young girl take to it with such ease,” Theodore said.

  “She was good at growing?” Albion asked, still unclear as to what exactly she had managed to accomplish so well.

  “At the age of eight, she rescued the flower garden of a baron and within a year of that, her neighbour—who lived almost entirely off the vegetables he grew in his backyard—was facing the loss of many of his crops. But she quickly remedied whatever the problem was and within three months, he was selling the excess because he had too much,” Theodore said.

  Albion raised his brows at this. So Miss Fleet truly was gifted…

  “There are those who claim she must use some sort of magic to help the flowers and vegetables and herbs grow, but she laughs it off every time the rumour is spread. I can assure you that Rosamund gives no credence to such things,” Theodore said.

  “Well, I suppose I am fortunate that she has been willing to come here and to look over my garden. If she is so high in demand as this—and if she has been so miraculous in the past—I must recognise that I am incredibly fortunate to have her assistance,” he said.

  “Indeed, you are. But she is more than happy to be here and to help. Anyway, I have told her to come and go as she is able, without interrupting the household. I thought you would prefer it that way,” Theodore said.

  “Yes, yes, thank you,” Albion said. “But if she does need anything at all, of course she may request it. Only, we will be certain that she is not bothered and that she may do her work to her own liking,” Albion said.

  “Excellent. Well, I shall leave you to it, and please come for dinner at your convenience,” Theodore said.

  He departed from the room and Albion stood, ready to prepare himself before dinner. But, unable to stop himself, he went to the window for one last glance at the young woman down below who was deeply engaged in the activity of pruning the roses.

  Something about Rosamund Fleet had Albion captivated.

  Chapter 4

  Being surrounded by such an incredible garden felt like an honour to Rosamund. Even after three days, she could hardly believe that she had such a wonderful opportunity as to work in the garden of a man like the Duke of Somerfield.

  She was curious about the man, however. As she looked at the maze of flowers, from the gardenias to the sunflowers to the wreaths of baby’s breath, she wondered why he was so mysterious. Why did he insist upon remaining hidden away? There had to be a reason for it.

  Theodore had warned her that he was very reserved, and that he would most likely not come out to see her or be overly friendly. But she had determined not to be bothered by that. If anything, Rosamund thought it was all the better that she be allowed to do her work in peace as opposed to having someone hover over her shoulder as she made the flowers grow healthy once more.

  But she could not help wondering about him and the reasons that actually lay behind his mysterious nature. What sort of duke would not wish to be seen? Were they not all the same? She had only ever known of men of nobility who sought after fame and enjoyed parties and balls.
r />   To know a man who felt otherwise was simply strange to her.

  Rosamund realised that her curiosity was beginning to distract her. She accidentally clipped the stem of a healthy rose and it hung, limply, by the woody, green flesh that had provided life to the flower until her error.

  This was why she was glad the duke was not present. If he had been standing behind her watching every move, she would have made a great deal more errors than this.

  Just as that thought passed through her mind, Rosamund looked up at the estate, as if hoping she had not been caught.

  There, in the window, was a handsome, dark-haired man. He was slender, but still quite masculine, and he appeared to be rather tall. The man was watching her but immediately looked away, as if he had been staring far off into the distance. Quickly, he turned around and left the frame of her view.

  For a moment, Rosamund was not quite certain what had just taken place. Was that the duke? Why had he been watching her like that? It made her uncomfortable. And yet…it only served to increase her curiosity.

  She was beginning to wonder when she would have a chance to meet him, but it hardly mattered if she did or not. After all, who was she to start noticing how handsome he was? She was going to be married…even if she did detest her future husband.

  “Rosie?” Theodore called, somewhere in the garden.

  “I’m over here,” she replied.

  “Where? I don’t see you,” he said.

  “I’m here by the chamomile. With marigolds. Remember?” she called back, trying to remind him that she had intended to plant the marigolds in order to keep the aphids away.

  “Oh, I’m coming,” he said.

  A moment later, Theodore was there beside her, watching as she covered the roots with dirt.

  “Where did you get these?” he asked, looking at the blooms.

  “My father is a florist, Theo. We do sell more than just bouquets,” she said, amused.

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” he said.

  Rosamund knew that she had an opportunity now. She could ask Theodore a little bit more about the Duke of Somerfield. Although she understood that Theodore was quite loyal to him and to his privacy, she imagined he would be willing to share just a bit of information with her. Why not?

  “So, I believe I saw the duke from the window. Is he a dark-haired man?” she asked.

  Theodore did not immediately answer, but after a pause, he confirmed it.

  “Mhmm, he is,” he replied.

  “Why is he so eager to maintain his privacy? Does he not wish for companions?” she asked.

  “He is a man who would rather keep his own company. There is nothing wrong in that,” Theodore answered.

  “Certainly not, no. But I do find it quite strange, regardless,” she said.

  “There is no reason to find it strange,” Theodore replied.

  His vague and brief responses only made her more curious. Why was he not elaborating on anything she asked? Were her questions not interesting enough to him? Or was he trying to hide and protect something about the duke? There had to be something about this mysterious man.

  “You regard him rather highly, do you not?” she asked.

  “Of course I do. He is my employer and he is also a friend. Truly. There are not many noblemen who would treat their butler the way in which he treats me,” Theodore said.

  “Very well, then. I am glad that he is good to you. But I cannot stop myself from being curious about him and you cannot judge me for that,” she said.

  “No, I suppose that I cannot. But I can insist that you do not bother him,” Theodore said.

  “I never claimed that I wish to bother him. I am only asking questions,” she said, defensively.

  “And I am telling you now that it is not wise to push to do so. Please, Rosie, understand that there is nothing strange or mysterious. He simply likes his solitude. You need to respect that, and not put me in a situation in which I have no choice but to either speak about him or be rude to you,” Theodore said.

  Rosamund understood. She was not the sort to continue pushing once she had been unequivocally told to let a matter rest. Even if she found it unfair that the duke could watch her from his window and yet she could not even so much as ask a question about him.

  But she made a decision to trust Theodore and went about her duties. By the end of the day, she was quite proud of her work and hoped to see the garden improving swiftly.

  Rosamund returned home that evening with eagerness, looking forward to getting to go back again the next day. However, she was surprised upon arriving home to find that she was not going to have any sort of freedom for the rest of the day.

  “Ah, there she is! Beautiful as a rose of course,” Horace Filbert said, laughing as though Rosamund had never heard her name equated to a flower before.

  Mr. Filbert stood before her, round and piggish, with an abnormally red face and a stature which forced Rosamund to look slightly downwards, despite her own petite frame. But Mr. Filbert took up far too much space. As if his very survival depended upon it, he always ensured that everyone in the room was looking at him, and that he was being properly acknowledged.

  His pride was his greatest source of…well…pride.

  “Mr. Filbert, I was not aware that you would be joining us this evening,” Rosamund said.

  “It was not originally planned, but I thought that I might as well come and pay a call. After all, I am certain that you need someone to brighten up your day a little bit. I have heard that you are stuck in the gardens of that awful, drab duke. I thought you may need a bit of fresh air,” he said.

  “Fresher than what I breathe out in the gardens?” she asked, aware of the sudden and harsh glare from her father.

  But Mr. Filbert did not even notice the sarcasm of her question.

  “Precisely, my dear. Now, we must sit for tea. Or is dinner ready? I should like to enjoy a bit of dinner with you,” he said.

  Rosamund’s eyes traveled forlornly to her father, as if pleading with him to send Mr. Filbert away. But her father gave her a terse, insistent smile.

  “Dinner shall be ready shortly,” she said, leaving to help her aunt in the kitchen.

  “Oh, goodness, did I hear Mr. Filbert’s voice?” her aunt asked in a hushed tone.

  “Unfortunately…” Rosamund replied.

  Her aunt tutted at her.

  “Have a care, my dear. You must be kinder to him. You are to marry him soon and need to ensure that he continues to care for you. He is not clever enough to realise many of the things you say to him and how you disrespect him, but one day that could change,” her aunt warned her.

  “And what do I care about that?” she grumbled.

  “Do you care for your father?” her aunt asked with a brow raised.

  The answer was, of course, yes. She did care for her father. And Rosamund knew that this marriage had to happen for the sake of her father.

  For as long as Rosamund could remember, it had just been herself and her father. She did not remember her mother, who had passed away when she was young. But without her mother to care for her, Rosamund had spent all her days with her father at the floundering shop, losing money more often than making it.