The Duke Dilemma (29 page)

“Then I should tell her?” He sounded encouraged.

“Oh, yes. How can you not?” Louise hoped it was not bad advice. “If your intentions are honorable, I think you must.”

The door swung open, revealing Augusta, with a heavy shawl in hand. She blurted out, “I’m sorry it took so long, Louise—oh, Papa! How nice it is that you’ve arrived. You can join us for tea.”

It felt as if minutes rather than seconds had passed until he tore his gaze from Louise to address his daughter. “I’m sorry, Gusta. Another time, perhaps, I must leave. I have personal matters which cannot wait.” He turned back to Louise and bowed. “Thank you for your time, Lady Vernon. I shall take your words to heart.”

“I wish you the best of luck,” Louise replied with a tentative smile.

His Grace walked out of the parlor, past his daughter, who proclaimed, “You are being absolutely horrid. You must stay and take tea!” which had no noticeable effect upon her parent.

He was attending to this matter at once, and it was clear he would not allow anyone, not even his eldest daughter, to get
in the way. The Duke had steeled himself before Louise’s eyes; frightened or not, he would take the risk at her word.

Louise certainly hoped she was right.

Louise left Worth House soon after the Duke’s departure. Upon returning home, she changed into her work attire and headed directly to her garden, hoping to find some peace, comfort, and a much-needed diversion.

She took up the pruning shears, in her gloved hand, balanced the basket on the edge of a planter, and set to work clearing dried, wilting leaves and vines from her struggling climbing roses. As far as she could see there were still no hopes of a floral offering from any of her plants, which, for some odd reason, made her much more melancholy than she’d ever felt before.

The day was wretched, cold, and still gray. Louise had never been more aware of the stark quiet that surrounded her. The only small sound was a trickle of water, a collection of dew and fog, draining from large planters in the rear of the garden to the low spot toward the street. There were no birds chirping in celebration for the summer afternoon, no bees buzzing about looking for flowers to collect their nectar. They must have all heard that her garden was barren and unproductive. That thought caused her to sink into a case of the dismals. Louise set to work removing the unsightly material from the rose canes.

Perhaps it was more than just her garden or the gray of the sky that caused her to feel so abysmally dismal. She must confess, at least to herself, that it was the Duke of Faraday and his newfound joy. What did it matter to her that the Duke had formed an attachment? Why should he not? Why had she cared? She did not…should not.

Climbing upon the small wooden box to reach the top of the lattice, she returned to the place she had left off. Reaching out in front of her, Louise snipped the dried vines and pulled at them with the tip of her tool.

Her mind again drifted back to the Duke. Her invitation to accompany him was to keep other females away. Instead he had met someone and now professed himself in love.

One piece of severed vine proved uncooperative. Instead of retrieving a more useful implement from her basket, she reached between the canes with her fingers. “Oww!” she cried out when a rose thorn went through her glove, piercing her fingertip.

Her eyes filled instantly with moisture. “Oh, you wretched,
wretched
thorn!” Louise had been stabbed many times, but none of them had brought her to tears before. Not only were there tears: she wept. Not caused by the pain from her finger, but by the pain emanating from her heart.

He
was in love with someone else.
He
did not love her. And to confess the dearest wish of her heart, she would not even do so with her barren garden as witness, she secretly wished he had.

“I am the most foolish woman to think such a thing.” This was impossible. She could not be in love with him. She could
not
…“He knows so many other very lovely ladies. Effie, Miss Dillingham, is young and beautiful.” Louise turned toward the large planters where the normally tall mignonette now hid. “Why would he care for an older—old, I need not mince words. He is acquainted with all the most fashionable ladies. Why would he care about me?”

Louise dashed away the tears coursing down her cheeks with the back of her gloved hand still clasping the pruning shears, and silently wished him happy. That is what she truly wanted. She sniffed and turned back to her work, removing shriveled leaves and discarding them in an old container.

No doubt she would eventually hear the lady’s name through Augusta or Sir Samuel in a few months’ time. Louise might even have the good fortune of meeting the new duchess at some point. That would be…she dropped the clippings and stilled.

The distinct fragrance of honeysuckle and mignonette scented the air. She glanced at her clump of honeysuckle. It had only just begun to sport new growth, but there were, as of yet, no buds. As for mignonette, it was strangely absent from its normal large planter. Then she detected the merest hint of roses.

Footsteps sounded behind her, alarming her, soft as they were.

Better she be cautious than—catching the hanging scarf that fell from one side of her hat, Louise pulled it across her face, fastening it securely before carefully turning on the small box to look behind her. Startled by his presence, she could only gaze at him wide-eyed.

“I used the front door this time.” The Duke of Faraday indicated, nodding over his shoulder. Presumably he’d left his hat and coat at the front door. He stood there, hands behind his back, looking at ease.

What was he doing here?
Shocked into silence, Louise could not utter a single word. She could not ask him the question that was on her mind, nor even welcome him, nor ask him to be seated. She stood there immobile and stared at him.

He glanced about the area. “I must tell you, since my first visit I’ve always thought this the most beautiful garden in all of London, nay, all of England.”

Could he not see the planters and pots were near empty and void of color? “Beautiful?” Louise found her voice but kept it soft as she had previously when speaking as the lady gardener. “There is nothing to admire and not a single prospect of a flower in sight.”

“That is the reason I brought these for you.” From behind his back he produced a bouquet with sprays of pink honeysuckle, short spikes of white mignonette, deep green ferns, and several red roses.

Louise wordlessly gasped. What was he thinking? The Duke moved closer and laid the flowers in her arms, and she could not refuse with the pruning shears still clasped tight in her right hand. Actually, she could not even manage to thank him properly.

“Alas, they are only hothouse flowers and not fostered by Mother Nature’s, nor your own fine hands. I must confess that I adore this garden above all others for the one true beauty it contains.” He lifted his hand to her face, and she recoiled. “Please, if you would allow me…”

Louise stilled, frightened that her unmasking would be the ultimate disgrace. Stranded atop the box, with her arms filled with flowers, she could not avoid him.

“I know who you are”—he pulled the strip of linen from her face—“Lady Vernon.”

“No…” She turned from him, coloring up the instant the veil fell from her face.

“Why do you look away, my lady?” His words were spoken with gentleness. His smile radiated warmth and reassurance.

“I am so ashamed, Your Grace.” She could not tolerate his gaze upon her. “I portrayed a gardener, now to be found out—I feel so ashamed. Our first meeting was highly inappropriate. If we were to be discovered—it might be scandalous.”

“Come now, we are both adults and not unknown to one another for some time. There is no objection to our previous interaction, is there? We observed every propriety. There cannot be a question as to—”

Louise glanced at him, feeling more despondent by the moment. This could not be considered correct, and they had to put an end to their acquaintance at once.

“Why would you feel ashamed?”

“You thought I was a servant. I never expected we would meet, and then when we did it was so awkward. How could I tell you? I could not.” She was close to crying and did not wish to dissolve into a watering pot before him. “How can you ever forgive me for deceiving you? If it should be known that I—”

“There is nothing to forgive. You have done nothing wrong.” He pulled her free hand and held it firmly but gently with his own. “If I am to be completely honest with you, I find you quite lovely. You are perfection, whether in the finest of silk gowns or brown serge masquerading as a gardener. I thank providence that has caused our paths to cross and has brought you into my life. I cannot imagine a day without your company and look forward to the hours, no, the years we shall spend together.”

“What?” Louise could not think he meant what she thought he was saying.

“If you will recall, you advised me to declare my affection to the lady I have chosen to wed,” he reminded her, then slowly proceeded to remove her gardening glove.

“Yes, but…” Realization dawned upon her. He was speaking about her? It must have been the heady fragrance from the flowers and the Duke’s pleasant voice that, together, made her feel a bit light-headed.

“I believe I did so earlier, and you heard me sing your praises, did you not?” His smile remained steadfast, as were his intentions to rid her hand of the glove.

“Yes, but I did not understand that I might be the female of whom you spoke.” Oh, goodness. This went so very beyond the pale. Louise thought he had meant someone else, not her, never. Her hand now rested in his. His thumb caressed her knuckles. She felt the warmth of his skin upon hers.

“What say you, my lady? Will you accept me?” He kissed her hand. Louise gasped at the contact.

“Well, I…I honestly do not know what I should…” She was caught completely off guard. He
loved
her?

“What can you mean by that?” he remarked, surprised. “I was told, by you, mind, that any woman would be honored by my attention and flattered by a duke’s interest. You never mentioned the part about the lady being baffled.” With a slight shake of his head he addressed her anew. “Allow me to come to your aid. You might reply, ‘I am so very
honored
, Your Grace. Yes, I will be delighted to marry you!’” His voice rose an octave in imitation of hers. “‘How
flattering
is it that you should look to me. I would be delighted to be your duchess!’” At this last bit of teasing, he began to cough from the strain on his vocal cords.

Louise stifled a chuckle, which brought her even closer to tears. This time they were tears of joy, delight, of complete and utter happiness. He, indeed, loved her. And she could finally, freely, admit, not only to herself but to the Duke as well, that she loved him.

“Still you do not answer?” He continued after clearing his throat again. “Allow me to advise you. Say, ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ or, even better, ‘Yes, Edward,’ for I should love to hear my Christian name upon your lips.”

“Very well.” Louise smiled, releasing the love and joy that came upon her in a sudden rush. She loved him and would gladly marry him. “Yes, Your Grace…
Edward
.” The use of his name felt so intimate. “I will be your wife.”

The Duke lifted her from the box and swung her around, crying out with a cheer. Her hat spun from her head and landed across the way. The armful of flowers nearly flew from her grasp and she nearly lost hold of the pruning shears.

“Your Grace, please!” she cried out. Louise felt as if all semblance of decency had abandoned him.

He lowered her to the ground. “I cannot tell you how long I have thought of this.”

“It was your dearest wish to embrace a gardener?” She stepped back from him, catching her breath. “You are making my face flush, and I thought I was beyond that at my age.”

“Lady Vernon…my dearest
Louise
, I do not know how it is I have come to love you, but it is true. I adore you, my lady.”

Louise did not know what to say to this. Just moments ago, she thought he had favored someone else, but he was here, confessing his affection to her. Her mind could not keep up with her heart.

“Let us trade in your straw bonnet for a duchess’s coronet. I shall, however, not expect you to abandon your gardening hat if that is what you wish. I shall lay the grounds of Faraday Hall at your feet. I shall encourage your every excess if you take on the challenge of draining the pond and constructing a grand pavilion with hanging gardens in its stead. You may fell the hedge maze to create an enormous window box, if that is what you wish.”

“I hardly think that likely!” Louise had no idea the size of the maze, but even the smallest labyrinth would make such an oversized monstrosity that could not be borne. What a ridiculous notion!

His expression became serious and his countenance darkened. “Despite our happiness, dearest, there is some plaguesome bit about all this. I must consider my children, you know,” the Duke confessed with a sigh.

“Your children? I thought they all wished you to remarry.” There could not be a misunderstanding in this. “Will they not be overjoyed?”