A Duke's Garden of Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 7

  Unaware of the deep offense he had caused, Mr. Filbert took a sip of his tea, crinkled his nose as if he did not like it, and then looked up at Rosamund.

  But she said nothing. Deeply hurt by the suggestion and dreading this marriage more than ever before, she wondered all over again if she could possibly get out of the arrangement.

  Horace Filbert was the worst man she had ever met and the idea of marrying him was agony. But what could she possibly do otherwise? Would she ever manage to escape this unfortunate path? Or would she be stuck marrying a man she utterly detested?

  Her father remained silent, although Rosamund knew that he understood her anger. But he was the one who had made the decision to force her into this marriage, so she did not trust that he would do anything to defend her against this man.

  Rosamund was on her own, she realised. And she had no choice but to push through until she had what she truly wanted from life.

  The freedom to grow.

  Chapter 9

  It had been a quiet morning. Albion spent most of it in the garden, but Miss Fleet would be coming eventually and he decided to go inside.

  Once he was inside, he was surprised by the sound of a knock at the front door.

  Albion had not heard the coach or anything else. He was completely surprised.

  He stayed in the study and listened as Theodore opened the front door and spoke to whoever was there.

  Finally, footsteps came towards the study and Theodore entered.

  “Theodore, who is it? I was not aware that we would have a visitor today,” Albion said.

  “Forgive me for the intrusion, but it is Lord Hawthorne who has come to pay a call,” Theodore said.

  “Lord Hawthorne? How wonderful!”

  It had been such a long time since Albion had seen him. But Lord Hawthorne had been a dear friend of his father’s all those years ago.

  Lord Hawthorne was still working in the local government in finance. He was a very well-known figure, a man who was much admired by others.

  And although it had been a very long time since they had seen one another, it was good that Lord Hawthorne had decided to come by.

  “Wonderful! How wonderful. I shall be there at once,” he said.

  He quickly put his things aside and made his way to the parlour, where Lord Hawthorne was already seated.

  “Lord Brightling! At last,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “Indeed, my good man, how are you? It has been such a long time since we have seen one another. How are you? Is everything well? And how is your family? Oh, you simply must tell me everything for it has been such a very long time,” Albion said.

  Albion was thrilled. He had not expected a visit from anyone he knew and having this opportunity was better than he could’ve expressed.

  He thought again about the fact that he was such an isolated person. He did not have to be. In fact, he could have guests like this anytime he wanted to. It was only because of his own cautions that he had to live in such away.

  But seeing Lord Hawthorne was quite encouraging. It reminded him that there were still friends out there in the world. Not simply strangers or acquaintances, but people who had been true and close to Albion’s family.

  “Yes, all is well. Truly, the family is doing well. My sons are away, studying, and my daughter is growing like a weed. You would hardly recognise her,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “I am sure of it. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I am entirely thankful to see you, but why this honour?” he asked.

  “Well, as it happens, I was in London on business and you were the first person I thought about for paying a call to. I know that we have not often seen one another, but I do miss your family dearly and thought that it was a good opportunity to come and see you and remember them,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “Yes, well, it is wonderful to have you,” Albion said again.

  They enjoyed a bit of tea and catching up. Albion learned that Lord Hawthorne’s two sons were doing very well in their studies and were certain to be pioneers of industry in England. And his daughter was soon to enter society, and already had gentlemen lining up with interest.

  “Well, that is marvellous,” Albion said.

  “And what of you? I have heard that you are rather intent upon building a magnificent garden,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “Oh, yes, I am and I have. It is quite elaborate, but I do hope it is not garish,” he said with a laugh.

  In truth, Albion knew that due to his solitude there were rumours spread about him. He imagined that Lord Hawthorne had heard many of them and likely believed that Albion really was a closed-off madman. But if he did think that, he gave no sign of it. For that, Albion was grateful.

  “How long have you been working on this garden?” Lord Hawthorne asked.

  “Well, it is the same garden which has existed in my family since before I was born,” Albion said.

  “Yes, and your father always kept it tidy, but that is surely not what you have made it into,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “No, indeed. I began growing flowers in honour of my family once my father passed. And then as Michael and Albert passed away. And after my mother left us, I added the roses. From there, I have added as I please,” he said.

  “Well, I am intrigued. Do say that I shall be allowed to see it,” Lord Hawthorne said, more as a question than a statement.

  “Certainly. If you would like to, we may go out and take a walk. We may even have our tea out there if you would prefer it,” Albion said.

  “Lovely. I should like that very much,” Lord Hawthorne replied.

  Albion called to one of the maids, asking her to bring the tea on a tray to the garden so that they could sit and drink it out there. Once they departed from the estate and the garden was within view, Lord Hawthorne’s eyes widened.

  “It is something like the jungles of the southern Americas I have heard tales of. They are covered in walls of plant-life. But this is colourful and fragrant. Good heavens, there was no exaggeration in the legend of this,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “I am glad that you approve,” Albion said.

  “Indeed, it is greater than I had fathomed,” Lord Hawthorne replied, still utterly astonished.

  It was the expression Albion always enjoyed seeing on the faces of those who saw his gardens for the first time. Sheer amazement that anything could be so beautiful.

  Indeed, upon trellises there were walls of flora and it pleased Albion to have it compared to something so intriguing as a jungle.

  “Ah, there is the tea. Let us sit for a while and then I shall take you along the path that you might see the entirety of it,” Albion said.

  Lord Hawthorn nodded and followed along. They sat with the tea for a short while longer, laughing about the silliness of some of the men in town who were so overrun by their greed and arrogance that they did not know what fools they were.

  But eventually, they finished drinking and Albion was pleased to guide Lord Hawthorne through the paths of the garden.

  “And this here is my memorial to Albert. The baby’s breath was, of course, meant to be a representation of his youth in our family. And how he was utterly innocent and wide-eyed,” Albion explained.

  “I am certain that he would appreciate such a kind and thoughtful choice,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “I like to think so. Then again, I do not know if either of my brothers would approve of their memories being in florals as opposed to bullets,” he said.

  “From you, they would,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  Albion thought back to the days of recruiting. He had gone with his brothers, intending to serve. But only days passed before he was wracked with illness.

  The cough was so forceful that he could not hold himself steady, and the doctor deemed his lungs unfit for the efforts of battle.

  It had been humiliating at the time, feeling as though he was not as tough as his friends and brothers and compatriots. A part of him was still bitter about it. Bu
t Albion had to put that aside. He could only make every effort to continue honouring the memories of those who had served and were lost.

  “And what else have you?” Lord Hawthorne asked.

  “Just up ahead you shall see the roses for my mother. They do not look as they typically do, for my former gardener failed me greatly and I now have a Miss—”

  In that moment, when he was about to speak of Miss Fleet, they turned to the rose bushes and there she was. Miss Fleet looked up at them, having heard him begin to speak about her.

  For a moment, she was stunned, the way a deer might look when someone comes upon it in the woods. But then she remembered herself and stood, curtsying politely as if she were not covered in dirt and flecks of petal and stem.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, sweetly.

  “Miss Fleet, good afternoon. I was just telling my dear friend, Lord Hawthorne about you. Lord Hawthorne, Miss Fleet is a rather legendary gardener in London. She has quite some skill,” he said.

  “Is that so? What a shame that my estate is so far from here. I should love to have you come and take a look and get it looking even a fraction as wonderful as this,” Lord Hawthorne said.

  “I should like to assist if could. For the moment, I am quite busy here,” she said.

  “Well, it was lovely to meet you and, Lord Brightling, I shall pay another call before I leave town. But I realise that I may be late for an evening meeting if I do not depart,” Lord Hawthorne said, somewhat abruptly, clearly having only just realised how much time had passed.

  “Yes, yes, of course. You must come again,” Albion said.

  “I assure you that I shall,” he replied.

  Lord Hawthorne turned away to leave and Albion was left standing there with Miss Fleet. A part of him considered running after Lord Hawthorne and seeing him out of the door, but they were on friendly enough terms that it was not necessary. Besides, he wanted to see what Miss Fleet was doing now and what progress she had made.

  “Are those—are those new buds?” he asked, examining the roses.

  “Yes, Your Grace. They are starting to grow anew,” she said.

  “You have done much over these past two weeks. Two weeks is it?” he asked.

  “Just over,” she said.

  “Well, I continue to be impressed. You are magnificent,” he said.

  She blushed and looked at the flowers again.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. You are too kind. I am only adequate,” she said in the same way she had before. Albion first thought it must be the same attempt at humility that many young women showed, but she really did seem to think that her skill was nothing as special as others made it out to be.

  “Is there anything I might get for you? Do you need tea brought out?” he asked.

  “Thank you, Your Grace, but I am fine. Mr. Connelly had tea brought to me just an hour ago. I am perfectly well,” she said.

  “Good, very good. I am glad to hear it. And is there anything more? Please, I am happy to help you. You must not hesitate in telling me if there is something which might make your life a little bit easier while you are here,” he said.

  She smiled and laughed in a lovely way. It was not mocking or insensitive or disrespectful. Instead, it was amusement and gratitude combined and Albion was glad to see this response from her.

  “You are far too kind to me, Your Grace. I am thankful for all that you have done, but please, I am very well and I do not need anything more,” she said.

  “Ah, yes, well, that is very good to hear,” Albion said.

  “But if you should have any other concerns, do let me know. This garden is so incredible that I am eager to see it flourish. Honestly, I have never seen anything so beautiful. And I must continue hoping that it shall only grow ever more lovely,” Miss Fleet said.

  “With your skill, I trust that it shall,” he said.

  Miss Fleet beamed at him and he thought for a moment that he could be blinded by the beauty of her smile.

  Yes, she was an intriguing young woman. Perhaps she was even enough to draw him out of his solitude.

  Chapter 10

  Rosamund was struck by the duke. She could not quite figure him out. He was both entirely kind and also deeply mysterious.

  It was interesting to see how he was always at the estate. He never left. Why would he not leave?

  As a man for solitude, she would not think that he would be so friendly. And yet, he had been nothing but kind to her. She was always offering her assistance and it surprised her.

  On some days, he would come out and watch her do her work as they spoke. It was so different from the strangeness of when he had stood in the window and watched her from above. At that time, it had been uncomfortable and quite unnerving. But now? Now it was simply an invitation for conversation.

  He was actually quite sweet. There was an innocence to his nature that she had not expected. Something about him reminded her of a giddy child when he started speaking about the garden and his desires to see it continue to grow. But he also had the mature nature of a man his age. And it was in that where she saw the dark depths of his sadness.

  “Yes, these roses are important to me,” he said.

  “Clearly. I cannot imagine you would put so much effort into them if they were not,” she acknowledged.

  “Yes, but they are representative of my mother. That is something I have told few people,” he said.

  Rosamund was surprised by his candour. She had not known that the roses were so precious or meant something so important. But from what little she had learned of the duke, it did not surprise her. Nor did the sadness on his face surprise her as he was clearly struggling to tell her even this small bit of information.

  “May I ask when she passed away?” Rosamund asked.

  “Two years ago,” he answered.

  She cast down her eyes, thinking how difficult it must be to have lost her so recently.

  “I am sorry for your loss. It must have been a very challenging season,” she said.

  “Indeed, it was. And it still is. My family meant very much to me,” he said, eyeing the rosebuds.

  “You have done something beautiful in their memory,” she said.

  “I like to think so. But you, as well, have lost your mother, is that not so?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I was young. She passed away while giving birth,” Rosamund confessed.

  “You have a sibling?” he asked.

  She looked down, saddened by the truth.

  “No. He, too, was lost that night,” she said.

  Lord Brightling took in a sharp gasp of air and Rosamund understood that he grieved on her behalf.

  “I am terribly sorry for that. I cannot imagine being a young woman and having to grow without a mother,” he said, rather sensitively.

  “Yes, well, my father did the best he could. And my aunt lives with us, which certainly helps. She lost her husband in the war and then moved to London to be with us,” Rosamund explained.