Enchanted by a Lady's Talent: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  “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.

  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.

  Mr. Horace Filbert was the man who rented them the shop. His family came from money. A great deal of it. He had set his eyes upon Rosamund and made her his choice of a bride. But he also rented tenements and other shops, and Rosamund was always wondering if he might, one day, decide another patron was a better option than she was.

  She hoped he would.

  But Rosamund sat and politely listened to Mr. Filbert as he rambled on and on about whatever he considered to be important and entertaining, even if it meant nothing to her at all.

  “Those daft tenants of mine. Sometimes I cannot understand why they would rent if they cannot pay their bills?” he asked with a laugh.

  Indeed, Rosamund could not stand this pig-headed and pig-faced man who laughed at the suffering of others. Whatever his motivation for his work and for having such high rates, it was clear that he was full of glee in the suffering of others. Rosamund found it utterly abhorrent.

  “Miss Fleet, I must ask if you have given any thought to setting the date for our wedding?” he asked as a bit of gravy dribbled down his chin from the bread he was eating.

  Rosamund did not at once answer, for she was so disgusted by him that it took her a moment to recover herself.

  “Oh…yes. Um…I believe we ought to choose a date in the spring,” she said.

  “The spring?” he asked, appalled.

  “Yes, for the sake of the flowers being…ready to sprout,” she said.

  “Yes, but…but that is ten months from now. Surely you do not wish to wait such a long time,” he said, clearly bothered.

  Her father was shaking his head, nearly imperceptibly. Her aunt was looking at her with insistence, silently reminding Rosamund that she had to be kind and polite. She could not allow her true feelings to overwhelm her when this man was her family’s only hope of becoming free and independent of their financial constraints.

  “Yes, it is just that…well, I thought it would be a nice season for a wedding,” she said.

  “But surely you do not wish to wait for such a long time. By spring…by spring we may not even like one another anymore,” he said, laughing once more in that haughty tone which betrayed a true concern.

  “That would be such a shame,” Rosamund said. It was the only thing she could think to say to him, even though she wanted desperately to tell him that she could not stand him and wished that he would be gone from her life forever.

  But she remained calm and polite, showing a sweetness that was masking her secret bitterness.

  For her father, she could do this. She had no other choice.

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