A Duke's Garden of Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 6

  “From what I have seen, it is a reputation well-deserved. You do know what you are doing. You have already proven that,” he said.

  “Knowing how to garden successfully is vastly different from possessing a magical ability to do so,” she said with a laugh, acknowledging some of the rumours that had been said about her.

  “Oh, I do not know that it is. After all, there are a great many men like myself who wish to possess your skills. We are wealthy and powerful, with titles and high rankings within society. We may have nearly anything we want,” he said. “But we cannot control and manipulate the earth in the way you do.”

  Miss Fleet looked somewhat in a daze and her faint smile appeared perfectly genuine for a moment.

  “I am sorry, did I go too far?” he asked, embarrassed.

  “No, not at all. Rather…rather that was poetry for someone like me. I am humbled by how highly you prize my abilities. I admit that I feel quite foolish for not seeing them in such a light,” Miss Fleet said.

  “You must not ever take them for granted. I am pleasantly surprised to see that you are a humble young woman when others might be quite proud when they are able to do what it is that you do. But you must also be aware that there are those who will not see the value in it,” he warned her.

  A dark cloud passed over Miss Fleet’s face.

  “Yes, you are correct on that matter,” she said.

  Albion sensed that there was something more to this; that there was someone in her life who did not understand the greatness of her abilities. But he also recognised that there were many who were not as obsessive about their gardens as he was about his.

  Whomever it was who had made her feel as though her talents were uninspired, he hoped that it would be someone she did not have to spend a great deal of time around.

  But Albion was truly astonished by her. Had she been this lovely her whole life? Was there something about him that was making her uncomfortable, or was it the situation? Or was she shy?

  He couldn’t know for certain. But he did know was that she was uncomfortable. And her discomfort only made things more difficult for him.

  Then again, this was also the first time they had acknowledged one another face-to-face. In the past, he has always looked upon her without her knowing. Perhaps that was what made things so strange.

  He had been a voyeur in some ways. He did not like to think of it that way as he had never had ill intentions, but having watched her do her work, it felt as though he was lying about not knowing her. It was strange to not be allowed to compliment her skill to the full extent of what he had seen.

  “Well, again, I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to do this work on your garden. As it is, I must get back to it now. I know that I have much to take care of,” she said.

  “Is there much more?” Albion asked.

  “I must do another treatment of the lavender solution. As well, there is a salt compound which needs to be sprinkled on some of the plants to ensure they have the proper soil,” she said.

  “A salt compound?” he asked, having never heard of this.

  “I assure you, it will help your flowers to flourish. Of course, I am sure that you have seen how beautiful it was before and it is only going to be lovelier,” she said.

  But Miss Fleet was the only lovely thing Albion could focus on in that moment.

  “Very well. You must do your work, but please do not hesitate to ask if there is anything more which you are in need of,” he said.

  “Yes, thank you. I shall ensure that Theod—Mr. Connelly—handles everything necessary,” she said.

  “Right. Mr. Connelly. Yes, he is the one to speak with,” Albion said, although he would have preferred that she come to him.

  “Thank you again, Your Grace,” she said with a low curtsy before she rose, smiled once, and passed him on her way to the door.

  He did not want her to go. It was too difficult to let her go when he wanted to know more about her. Then again, that was precisely why he needed to give her room to leave.

  He wanted to learn more about her, but he made the decision that he would not. Honouring both her and his own heart, he stepped aside to allow her to leave.

  Indeed, he did not learn anything more about her. He learned only that he was weak himself.

  Albion reminded himself that this was better. As he watched her depart, he told himself that he was better off alone.

  Whether or not that was true, he couldn’t say. He only knew that it was easier to believe them to think that there could ever be the potential for a true friendship for anything more between them.

  She was a lovely young woman, more beautiful than he could’ve predicted, but maybe that was the very reason why they would not complement one another. Maybe the fact that he had learned only about her appearance and had strangely watched her meant that he could not be taken seriously as anything more.

  Still, his desire to know her better surged within him. He did not think that he would ever have an opportunity to do so, but it hardly mattered. He didn’t need the distraction.

  He only needed the memory of his family.

  Chapter 8

  “What is it like? Is it as stunning as they say?” Juliet asked.

  “The garden is grander than any I have ever seen before. I honestly do not believe there is a palace in all the world which compares,” Rosamund said.

  She meant it. But it was not only the garden which now intrigued her.

  There was something about the duke. Perhaps it was because of the air of mystery that Theodore had placed upon him. But Rosamund had been confused by the insistence Theodore had placed on the duke’s privacy when the duke himself had seemed reluctant to allow her to leave.

  It had all been very confusing.

  But his words? There had been no confusion in his words. Rather the Duke of Somerfield had spoken so sweetly, reminding her of the importance of her work.

  Horace Filbert was not someone who would ever value her skills. Rather, he was the sort of man who would only make her ashamed of them, ashamed of the fact that she was not better or more capable of the typical things young women knew how to do.

  “Tell me more about it. I have heard that he has quite immaculate roses,” Juliet said.

  “He did. But now, they are struggling,” Rosamund said.

  “Oh, no! Why? What has happened?” Juliet asked.

  “The roses are the very reason I was originally called to assist. They have black spot and are dying,” she said.

  “And how do you fix it?” Juliet asked.

  “I have already done the tasks required to put a stop to the spread of it and now I must simply observe. There is a great deal more work to be done and I am now working on those other things as I monitor the progress of the roses and ensure that they recover,” she said.

  “Oh, well, that is good. At least you have other things to keep you busy there,” Juliet said.

  “Yes, I do. Each day, I seem to find something new. But in a garden that is easily eight times the size of my home, you can imagine that I am often running to and from in order to catch up to things,” she said.

  “Well, it is very nice that you are able to do all of that. And what of the Duke of Somerfield? Is he as strange as they say?” Juliet asked.

  “I must confess that I have not heard anyone speak of him being strange. I had only heard of his kindness. But I have only met him once and did find him to be quite strange,” Rosamund said.

  “How so?” Juliet asked.

  “Well, I have seen him watching me on occasion. I cannot explain it. I find that I am both bothered and flattered by it. He loves the garden so I have little doubt that he watches to ensure that I am not burning it down,” she said.

  “Perhaps. Or, perhaps, he is intrigued by the gardener instead,” Juliet suggested.

  “Ha! I think not. Anyway, whatever it is that he is hoping to see, I trust that he will not cast me away entirely,” Rosamund said.

  “Very wel
l, but what else? I am curious about him because of all of the things I have heard,” Juliet said.

  “And what exactly have you heard?” Rosamund asked.

  “Well, it has been said that he went mad after his family passed away,” Juliet said.

  “Mad? I did not see that. Eccentric he may be, but certainly he is not mad,” she protested.

  “What I heard is that he lost his entire family as a result of the war. Well, his father had passed sooner, but his two brothers were both killed in battle and then his mother died from her grief,” Juliet said, her eyes wide as if trying to convey that this could have caused him to lose his mind.

  “That is awful. I know that many families lost sons and brothers and fathers in the war, but to have lost everyone? Well, I do not think he lost his mind, but I could hardly blame him if he did,” Rosamund said.

  “Yes, it is quite sad. But I am still wondering more about him. You ought to try and find out what sort of man he is,” Juliet said.

  “I suppose I ought to. But not because of any macabre curiosity. Rather, I should like to know if he is a good man to work for or not. You know, it can be very difficult to find positive work opportunities for young women like us,” she said.

  “Which is why I have no intention of working. I wish to marry and move on with my life,” Juliet said.

  Rosamund laughed.

  “Is that so? And yet, you are always asking me about plants and how you might be able to make them grow. Why the curiosity if you do not intend to use the skills for work?” she asked.

  “I wish to learn about flowers because they are beautiful and feminine and I should like to have the pride of being a woman with talents,” Juliet said.

  “You are, indeed, a very skilled woman. Why do you need to add this to your repertoire?” Rosamund asked.

  “Me? Skilled? Hardly. I only wish to be,” Juliet said.

  “That is not true. You are an elegant dancer, an accomplished player of the pianoforte, and a dear friend. Those are all excellent abilities,” Rosamund told her, making Juliet blush.

  She was glad to have changed the subject and distracted her friend. The truth was that Rosamund did not wish to discuss the Duke of Somerfield. But it was not because she feared a discussion as to whether or not he had lost his mind and gone mad. Instead, it was because there had been something about their meeting which Rosamund had been trying very hard to ignore. Or deny. One or the other.

  The truth was, the Duke of Somerfield was a very handsome man. And Rosamund was uncomfortable with acknowledging this.

  He had a dark, nearly oppressive air about him. And yet, it drew her in. It was not frightening and it did not cause her to think ill of him. Rather, it led her to be more intrigued.

  Yes, he was clearly a man haunted by the past, but she was starting to understand a little bit more about him now that she knew what had happened to his family. No wonder Theodore had tried to get her to stay away from him. And no wonder he was so isolated.

  The Duke of Somerfield was clearly still overcome by the past and had not yet managed to accept it.

  The way in which he had towered over Rosamund had intrigued her just as much as his personality; the contrast of sweet and innocent with the imposing bleakness. How was a man able to be both of those things and how was he able to balance them so strongly?

  But Rosamund was taken from her thoughts by the sudden change in Juliet’s air.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Juliet said.

  “You wish to know about Theodore?” Rosamund surmised.

  Juliet looked up at her in wide-eyed horror, as if she was terribly anxious now that Rosamund had figured it out.

  “Am I truly so obvious?” Juliet asked.

  “Not in the least. But I am not so simple as you might think. You and Theo have both chosen to vaguely mention the other,” Rosamund said.

  Juliet’s face turned crimson. And, just then, Rosamund was interrupted before she could say another word.

  “Rosie!” her father called in a harsh whisper.

  Surprised, she stood up from the settee and made her way to the door of her room, but he had already reached her.

  “Hurry. You must come to the drawing room. Mr. Filbert is here,” he said.

  Rosamund cringed. The last thing she wanted was to have to see Horace Filbert again. He was always insulting their home for being so small. The drawing room was certainly unimpressive. He would most likely on criticise it again as he was prone to do.

  “It appears that I ought to be on my way,” Juliet said, forlornly.

  “No, please. Stay. Do not leave me,” Rosamund begged.

  “You know that I do not wish to subject you to that man, but what am I meant to do? I can hardly stay here when your father is so desperate to ensure that he has as much time with you as he would like,” Juliet said.

  “Yes, yes, I know that, but I cannot possibly bear to sit with him for another afternoon. Juliet, he is awful,” Rosamund said.

  “I know, Rosie. But there is nothing I can do and you know that as well. I simply have to wish you all the best and hope that you are able to push through this struggle,” Juliet said.

  She was right and Rosamund knew it. Nevertheless, as she walked towards the drawing room, it was near agony to have to face Mr. Filbert.

  “Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Filbert,” she said, curtsying before him, rather uncomfortably.

  “Yes, it is a good afternoon, is it not? I am sure that you are glad to receive a visit from your intended,” he said, as if he truly believed that she sat around all day pining for him to come and pay a call.

  “Of course,” she said, flatly, taking her seat across from him.

  “And how are you? Exhausted, I assume?” he asked.

  “Not in the least, Mr. Filbert. Why do you ask?” Rosamund asked him, confused as to the meaning behind his remark.

  “Well, I know that you have been rather busy working on that garden for that awful man. Surely you are tired of all of that…ugh, that dirty work,” he said.

  “Not in the least,” she said, her eyes squinting at him.

  Just then, Rosamund’s father came into the room and took a seat as well. Her aunt promptly arrived with the tea on a trey.

  “Ah, at last. I was beginning to worry that you would not bring the tea and then where would we be, hmm?” Mr. Filbert asked, rather rudely. He looked at her aunt as though she was simply a servant.

  Of course, even if she had been a servant, Rosamund would have expected him to remember that she was also a person. However, his attitude rarely conveyed an interest in the humanity of others so she recognised that there was no real reason to be surprised by him any longer.

  “Anyway, my dear, I was mentioning the awful nature of your work,” he said, continuing down a line of thought that Rosamund thought to warn him against.

  “Yes, what of it?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “I just want to reassure you that once we are married, you shall never again have to do such dirty work. Your tasks shall be nothing but the simple things around the home such as cooking and cleaning up,” he said.