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

  “I am sure it benefitted you all,” he said.

  “Indeed, it did,” she replied.

  Rosamund was struck by how natural it felt to openly share these things with him. She rarely spoke of her grief and recognised that he rarely spoke of his. So, how was it that they were now able to speak to one another so freely? They had only spoken four times before.

  First, there was their strange meeting in the hall, then the day with Lord Hawthorne. Twice since then, he had come to see what she was doing, and now a third time. But this was the first time they had truly opened up about the past and what had hurt them.

  “Oh!” Rosamund gasped and fell backwards from where she had been sitting.

  “What? What is it?” he asked, in surprise.

  Rosamund calmed herself immediately and took a deep breath, embarrassed by her lack of composure.

  “Forgive me. You would think that with my years of experience in gardening, I would not still be bothered by the presence of a spider. But, alas, I still hate the creatures with every fiber of my being,” she confessed.

  The duke eyed her in surprise for a moment before a grin spread across his face.

  They both laughed and Rosamund looked up at him with interested eyes. She saw that he was looking back at her. In that moment, they were connected. They had similar thoughts, or so it seemed to Rosamund.

  As their gaze held and the smiled diminished into something a good deal more understanding, she acknowledged just how handsome he was.

  It was a silly thing to notice. After all, he was a wealthy and important duke. She was simply a gardener, the daughter of a florist. There was no reason to notice him at all and she felt quite foolish for allowing herself to think anything about him other than the fact that he was someone she had no right even to look at.

  But there was a look in his eye, she realised. He was noticing her just as she noticed him, and the Duke of Somerfield had grown quiet and sensitive, as if curious to learn more about her in the same way she hoped to learn about him. No matter what she knew about their differences, this drew them a little bit closer.

  Rosamund cleared her throat and turned from him, looking back to her work. This was the right thing to do, she knew. After all, staring directly at the duke was only going to reveal her utterly ridiculous notion of attraction.

  But she saw, from the corner of her eye, that his shoulders sagged upon her glance away. That small action gave her the horrible cruelty of hope.

  “Well, I am sad for the losses we have faced, but I must confess that I am glad that it has brought you here. I do not know many who have a similar affinity for growing things as I do. Of course, your skill is far beyond mine, but the interest which you have is something which we share,” he said.

  “Indeed, aside from my father, I do not know many others who care at all for the beauty of flowers to this extent. My dear friend, Miss Grimes, wishes for me to teach her, but I think it is more to do with her ideals of romance and femininity,” she confessed.

  “Miss Grimes…has she met Mr. Connelly?” he asked, as if he had heard something.

  Rosamund looked up at him, at first surprised and then amused.

  “Has he said something?” she asked, looking back at the flowers but still grinning.

  “Oh…um…I was simply curious,” the duke said.

  But it was clear that he was lying.

  “Yes, they have met. And I do believe that they would not be opposed to meeting again,” she remarked.

  The duke laughed.

  “Yes, I gathered as much,” he confessed.

  “Well, I shall see to it that they have another opportunity. Honestly, Miss Grimes is a good woman,” Rosamund said, although she began to think about the tales Juliet had told her about the duke.

  He was so kind and calm. How could there be rumours of him having gone mad and stolen away to his home in the dregs of insanity? It did not make sense. Rosamund wondered again where Juliet had come up with these things and determined that she would have to ask her about it.

  Was it possible that the duke had, in the past, been that way? Had he only recently calmed himself and become the man she was seeing? Or was it possible that he still had fits of rage and madness and despair? Perhaps she was only seeing him in the midst of when he was in a better place, in better control of himself.

  Rosamund thought about asking Theodore. He would know for certain. He lived with the duke and they were close to one another and he would be able to tell her whether or not the rumours were true. But would he tell her? After all, he was incredibly loyal to the duke and he had been angry in the past when she had tried to ask.

  But maybe, when confronted with the specific rumours, he would be more inclined to honesty.

  Either way, Rosamund wanted to understand the Duke of Somerfield. She wanted to know what it was about him that caused him to be so intriguing or why she could not stop thinking about him when she went home each day.

  As if he was listening to her thoughts, the duke spoke up.

  “Mr. Connelly mentioned that you are betrothed. Do you see your intended often? And are you to be married soon?” he asked.

  She was surprised by the directness of the questions and halted for a moment, spluttering before she could answer.

  “Oh…forgive me for being so forward. I was only asking because I know that it may be difficult for you to come and work upon the nuptials. I wanted to be prepared in case it was soon,” he explained, although he appeared to be grasping for the explanation.

  “Yes, of course. I understand,” she said. “And he is pushing that we marry within the next three months, but I would prefer to wait. I have made my request as such, but I am not certain that it shall be honoured.”

  He raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

  “Is that so? I thought young ladies always wanted to rush these things,” he admitted, apologetically.

  She tried to find the right words. It was difficult to be both honest and still respectful of the man she was supposed to marry. In truth, Rosamund did not respect Mr. Filbert, so that was an added challenge.

  “Young ladies wish to rush into marriage when they believe that it will benefit them in some way. Whether that be love or wealth or status,” she said, vaguely.

  He paused, as if cautiously trying to decide whether or not he would push the matter.

  “You do not believe you shall benefit? I have heard that your intended is very wealthy,” he said.

  She looked up at him and tried to maintain a flat expression that did not betray her utter dismay on the topic.

  “Wealth is not the thing which drives me to happiness. I fear that it is only a necessary assistance for the sake of my family,” she said.

  The duke nodded in understanding, his eyes full of compassion.

  He said nothing more, clearly gathering that it was a difficult thing for Rosamund to address. She appreciated his balance of care and discretion. She had hardly even spoken of this with anyone aside from Juliet and her aunt.

  But, here she was, telling one of the richest men in all of England, a powerful duke with a garden magnificently larger than her home. How was he able to make her so comfortable?

  “Well, I do hope that you shall find some form of happiness within the marriage. Perhaps you just need to get to know him better,” the duke said.

  She smiled to herself, aware that she ought not to say the next words to come out of her mouth, but unable to stop herself.

  “Or perhaps I know him too well already.”

  The Duke of Somerfield burst into a musical laugh that nearly took her breath away. Rosamund was relieved that he did not think ill of her for speaking that way about Mr. Filbert, but she was only caught off-guard all over again by how interesting she found him.

  So much had changed for her since coming to these gardens. She began to wonder if she could chase after that.

  Chapter 11

  Unable to explain why, Albion was unusually bright and cheerful. He found
himself actually wanting to do something different. Rather than simply sitting in the garden, thinking about the past, he realised he wanted to have a rather new experience that day.

  “Theodore,” he called from the study.

  A few moments later, Theodore arrived.

  “Yes? What may I get for you?” he asked.

  “Would you please arrange for the coach?” Albion asked.

  “The co—” Theodore stopped in the middle of the word, his face awash in confusion.

  “We do still have one, do we not?” Albion asked, only half-joking.

  “Indeed, you do. Mr. Henley will be delighted,” Theodore said.

  “Yes, I’m sure that he will. The poor fellow spends his days with the horses but never has a chance to actually take them anywhere,” Albion said.

  As he so rarely left the estate, his groom had also become the coachman for those rare occurrences when Albion needed to go anywhere. But it had been such a very long time. He could hardly even remember the last time he had left.

  “Where shall I direct him to take you?” Theodore asked.

  Albion paused in thought for a moment.

  “I should like for you to join me, Theodore. And we shall make our way into the city. I would like to walk for a short while, to remember what it feels like to be in London,” he said.

  “Are you quite certain? You have not been in a very long time,” Theodore said.

  “I know, but I think it is a rather good idea. Perhaps I shall not enjoy it necessarily, but I think it will do me good. What do you say?” Albion asked.

  Theodore smiled and nodded, although he still looked a bit stiff and uncertain.

  “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” he replied.

  “Very well, then. Off we go,” Albion said.

  It did not take long for the coachman to prepare everything and Albion waited patiently, trying to steady his heart. This was going to change things for him, he knew. No longer could he claim his determination to remain at the estate at all times. No longer could he say that it was just the man that he was.

  This decision meant that he was someone else. He was a man willing to depart from his home for an afternoon. A man who could be in a good humour and who could be around others.

  That had to mean something, didn’t it?

  He both feared and craved this change. No matter how it caused his heart to race, he believed that it was right.

  Soon enough, Albion and Theodore were on their way into town. He was eager to see what was going to come of it. Would he enjoy his time being surrounded by people? Would it feel like something from the past, when he and his brothers would wander the streets in search of a fine cravat or some sort of cake that they might bring home to their mother?

  Albion thought back to those days with fondness and imagined what they would think of him now, readying himself to go out again. Surely his family would be proud of him, wouldn’t they? He certainly hoped so. Just the thought of it made him even more cheerful.

  “We are very nearly there,” Theodore said, looking out of the window of the coach. Albion did the same and his heart thudded as he saw all of the people they were passing.

  Had London always been this crowded? Or had it got worse in the past couple of years? Surely he could do this, could he not? Walking through the streets of the city was nothing. There was no reason to be anxious.

  Finally, the coach stopped where Albion had instructed and the coachman opened the door for him. Along with Theodore, he exited and found himself along the side of the street.

  “My goodness, there are a great many people, are there not?” he asked with a nervous laugh.

  “There are. If you would prefer that we return—”

  “No, no. I am very well, Theodore,” he said, more to convince himself than his friend.

  “Yes, of course,” Theodore said.

  But Albion fought to ignore the growing sense of unease that he was feeling as they walked through the throngs of people.

  “Where would you like to go?” Theodore asked, staying close by his side.

  Albion exhaled, trying to think. It was too loud to think. There were too many people suffocating him to let him think.

  “I…I am not certain. Where do people typically go when they are out?” he asked.

  Theodore winced.

  “It all depends. Most people do not have your resources. If you would like, we may sit and get a cup of tea. Or we may wander the market,” Theodore said.

  The market sounded overwhelming.

  “Let us begin with tea,” he said.

  Tea would be calming and soothing. It would also be less crowded.

  Mercifully, that proved to be true as Theodore led him to a small teashop with only a few other tables and guests. They took their seat and smiled at the young woman who came to see them.

  “Yes, we would like two cups of tea and…would you like a cake, Theodore?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” Theodore replied.

  The young woman nodded and left them. Albion stared out of the window at the people outside, still walking amongst one another as if there was nothing at all unusual about being so squished together and so utterly devoid of the beauty of nature.

  He could not understand who would want this but he put that aside, choosing instead to focus on what was important. At the moment, the important thing was trying to be a bit more sociable than normal, trying to enjoy life outside of his estate even if that was a terrifying thought.

  It was only a few moments later when the young woman returned with tea and cake for the men. Albion noted the way she looked at him strangely for clearly being nobility drinking tea with an employee, but he ignored it.

  There were not many who would understand his friendship with Theodore. Certainly not any other noblemen. It was unusual, to be sure, but he could not understand why. His family had always treated their employees well. Albion even cringed at the word servant, which he deemed to display little dignity for men and women like the ones who worked for him.

  He took a sip of the tea and found that it was quite delightful.

  “There is something different,” he said. “Cinnamon?”

  “Cardamom,” Theodore said.

  “Interesting. I have never had it like this before,” Albion said.

  “It is simple enough. I shall get some cardamom spice and instruct the maids to put it in your tea henceforth,” Theodore said.

  “Thank you. I would be delighted. It is quite interesting,” he said, feeling the spark on his tongue.

  He took a bite of the cake and found it equally delicious. Was there something about food eaten outside of the estate? Were his cooks not as skilled as he had always imagined? Or was it something about enjoying this food out of his own home that made it even more spectacular?

  He could not understand why he suddenly felt so alive, but Albion wanted to cling to that feeling. He did all he could to put himself into the shoes of those who sat in teashops like this one every day, like those who walked up and down the streets of London regularly in the hopes of seeing friends, selling their wares, or performing whatever other tasks they may face.