A Trace of Roses

by Connolly, Lynne

  To get it over with, Grant said, “I am married, Johnson.”

  Clothes brush in hand, the man regarded him, his dark eyes expressionless as always. “Congratulations, your grace. To Lady Dorcas, I take it. I heard in the kitchen on my arrival here.”

  “You prefer her to Lady Elizabeth?”

  “It is not my place to offer an opinion, sir.”

  Grant goaded him just a little more. “Then make it your place.”

  Johnson blinked twice before he answered. “Lady Dorcas will prove you an excellent partner, sir.”

  And that was all Grant was getting. Johnson returned to his work, and Grant strolled to the wash stand. While he allowed Johnson to shave him, mainly because the man was an expert wielding the razor, Grant could manage to wash himself. He shouldn’t have been so eager to rush her into bed. Recalling the pink patches his beard had left on her body, Grant felt ashamed he hadn’t treated her with the care she deserved.

  Many dukes could not even shave themselves. Without their servants, they’d die in a month. They’d starve to death stinking to high heaven. Grant had just spent the best part of three weeks in a camp looking after himself. He tried not to feel smug.

  Life was returning to normal, with one big change. Once his mother arrived, he’d break the news as gently as he could.

  His man scraped the razor over Grant’s cheek, the soothing strokes so normal, giving Grant a chance to work out his next moves. Marrying Dorcas should have happened after his mother and brother arrived, but his impulsive move had given her no chance to object.

  He would talk to Carbrooke, too, get the necessary business of the marriage contract sorted out. Just because they were signing it after the event and not before would not make it any less valid. He had to discover who wanted her so badly they would kill for it. He had his suspicions. Whoever they were, they would be the ones to die if they came anywhere near her again.

  He dressed modestly, since he planned a visit to the mine, and went down to breakfast. Regretfully, his new wife wasn’t yet down. In fact, only Elizabeth was in the cheerful breakfast room overlooking the gardens. She’d collected a few newspapers and was reading them as she ate. Grant went to back out, but she motioned to him.

  Seeing no escape, Grant greeted her with an easy smile and went to fill his plate before taking his seat.

  The Duchess of Beauchamp wore a gown of pale cream satin, embellished with tiny rosebuds. A very romantic garment.

  “My poor husband is exhausted by the journey,” Elizabeth said, applying herself to a delicate slice of ham. A portion of scrambled eggs and two slices of dry toast appeared to be the sum of her meal. That would have to last her until dinner at four. The idea made Grant’s stomach shrink in sympathetic horror. “I have left him to rest.”

  “You are happy, Elizabeth?” Grant asked softly. He didn’t mean to do her ill, or force her to compare her choice with his. He’d left her with little choice. If she had ended this season unmarried, she’d have been in a worse state. With so many men walking away from her, she would have been labeled unmarriageable. And the words would have been enough for most people.

  He understood, though he couldn’t condone what she had done.

  “Perfectly,” she said. “I find marriage suits me amazingly well. I cannot imagine why I didn’t do it before.”

  So she was playing that game, was she? Grant didn’t mind. In fact, he’d help her by not contradicting her. “Would you like more to eat? I’ll willingly fetch it for you.”

  “No, thank you.” She glanced over at the sideboard and wrinkled her nose. “I find excess in the mornings too much to bear. It shows an excess of effort, as if the owners have to match their ability with others.”

  He followed the convoluted statement because he knew her. “I prefer to make a hearty meal.”

  She gave him a cool glance, her heavenly blue eyes revealing little. “You have much to maintain. If you had gone through with your promise and married me, I would have ensured you had what you needed.”

  “I don’t marry to ensure an excellent breakfast, Elizabeth. Marriage holds quite different pleasures.”

  Her mouth flattened. “Indeed, it does.”

  She wasn’t altogether happy, he could see that, even though her mask was firmly in place. “I know you, Elizabeth,” he warned her. “You will tell me if he is cruel to you.”

  “What business is it of yours?” For a few seconds, she lost her mask, let it fall. Beneath it, Grant saw distress, pride, and a shocking bewilderment. “You walked away from me, as did everybody else. My mother warned me I must step aside for my cousin, who she intends to bring out next season. I had to shift for myself, even though everyone I called friend left me.”

  Which included him, no doubt. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. But you have your duke now.”

  “And I have never been happier,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Fortunately, the family chose that moment to enter. All but his wife, that was. Carbrooke looked at Grant, who shook his head the tiniest bit. He wanted Dorcas to be present when he gave the news.

  So the Carbrookes collected their plates and set to eating. Footmen brought in fresh coffee for Carbrooke, and tea for his wife. Elizabeth politely accepted another cup of tea from Annie, but complained, “I usually prefer green tea in the mornings. A quirk of mine, I know, and far from usual, but I find it more palatable.”

  When Annie would have signaled the footman to bring the tea, the new duchess sighed wistfully. “No, please don’t bother. I’ve managed with the black.”

  Thus putting the Carbrookes in the wrong. Grant had seen her do that numerous times, leaving people confused.

  Polite nothings flowed well, mostly led by the duchess. Grisly, Grant privately labeled it. Elizabeth was a mistress of this behavior. He watched her putting everyone on edge, but never crossing the border. Except him, because he’d seen her do this before. He applied himself to his hearty meal with gusto. A body like his needed a great deal of fuel, and he had no time for frippery conversation.

  The previous evening, he’d arranged for the mess in the orangery to be cleared up, so Dorcas did not have to face so much destruction and be reminded of the devastation the attackers had wrought.

  The memory of her expression when she’d seen the mess would never leave him. He’d do everything in his power to prevent that look from ever happening again. He’d seen it once before; when Baker had produced the twigs that had been her rose bushes. That would never happen again. He was glad that his memory was coming back. Pleasing Dorcas had become very important to him.

  He did not linger on the reason why. He was her husband. That was enough. No need to wonder more. He liked her, he respected her, he desired her. What more was there?

  Stifling his instincts to add one more word, he left the dining room and went upstairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After breakfast, he inquired after Dorcas, to be told she’d eaten early and gone to the orangery. With Gorman, so at least she’d minded his words. He planned to go to the mine, so he would stop off at the orangery on the way. Perhaps steal a kiss or two.

  But as he turned into the rose garden, currently full of late blossoms of pink, red and white, he was halted by a call. “Grant? May I walk with you?”

  Damn. And Elizabeth had used his first name, an intimacy she rarely allowed herself these days. He would have to take care. Not wanting to tell her where he was going, he changed direction. The fewer people who knew his wife was spending a lot of time in the old orangery, the better. At least she had three strong men with her—well, two strong men and the older Crombie, who was an unknown quantity.

  He forced his society smile to his face, and crooked his arm so Elizabeth could slip her arm through it. Perhaps a conversation was in order. And telling her like this wouldn’t be as humiliating for her as telling her in company.

  While he was still searching for the right words, Elizabeth spoke. “I married Beauchamp because he is my
last chance. You know that, don’t you?”

  He would not hang his head. She made it sound as if her marriage were his fault. “I thought perhaps you had developed a tendre for him.”

  She laughed, a harsh edge in her voice. “Not precisely, though he is not as bad as some people imagine him to be. He is intelligent enough to hold a decent conversation with, and his daughters are gracious. They all expect me to perform miracles.”

  Grant suspected the miracle was to do with Beauchamp’s performance in bed. And in any case, he didn’t want to know. “If anyone can, you can,” he said, praying that his vague response would guide her away from the subject. “You will have his servants eating out of your hand.”

  “I already do.” She shrugged. “They do as I bid them, and I’ve instituted some changes. His daughters love me, too. Which I admit, I did not expect. But they all want an heir.”

  “Which you will provide, I’m sure.”

  “Not if I do not get some help.” She gazed up at him, her celestial blue eyes guileless and melting. He’d seen that look before, and he would not be falling foul of it again. Behind those eyes was a clever, calculating mind.

  “I’m not going to say anything I can do, I will. What do you want, Elizabeth?”

  She glanced around; they were out of sight of the house, behind a dense, high bush that would conceal whatever they did. Grant sighed. She had guided him here. He was going in this direction in any case, because the path to the orangery was here. But not like this.

  She pressed him against the bush and moved closer, nuzzling into him. Short of shoving her, Grant couldn’t get away. He would let her talk, but not for long. He had held her before, had comforted her.

  As children, they’d comforted each other. But as she’d grown older and more determined to control her own fate, she had grown harder, more cynical. Yet someone like Lady Carbrooke took an altogether different view. She controlled her own business and her husband’s houses, but she did it without fuss and without having to prove herself all the time.

  “I need a son, Grant. I can give you anything you want, including myself.” Even now, she preened, half-closing her eyes and turning her head slowly, to display her beauty.

  He thought about pretending to misunderstand, but she would only give him more details, which he desperately did not want. Except for one thing. “Is he threatening you?”

  “With what?” Again that harsh laugh, that grated through him. “I’m his wife. He can’t…he can’t. He can’t pass his title and estate to his daughters, so it will all die with him. He’s eager to find an answer, and I am that answer. Old enough to understand, and to have thrown off any youthful ideals. The right birth.” She cast a glance back at the house, but said nothing more. She must know that Grant would walk away if she disparaged their hosts.

  “Did you know I was here?” That mattered. He’d come here incognito to recover from his head wound. Although it was healed well enough for him to feel strong enough to counter his enemies, two weeks ago had been altogether another case.

  She sighed and looked down. Lifting one delicate hand, she toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Yes.”

  So their appearance wasn’t an accident.

  “Who told you?”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed.

  “It’s important, Elizabeth. Who told you?”

  “Why is it important? I just found out, that’s all.”

  “Servants?”

  That would be the most likely explanation.

  “Yes.” Lifting her gaze, she gave him a defiant glare. “Servants.”

  “You’re lying.” He gripped her upper arms, but only to keep her in place. “Who, Elizabeth?”

  Her mouth flattened, but she didn’t pull away as if offended by his accusation. “I visited your house. Your servants know we are friends.”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded. “All by myself. I left my carriage outside.”

  “To try to persuade me to change my mind, yes?” About marrying her. Once he’d made that clear to her, she’d wanted to change his mind. He knew the way her mind worked. She would make him change his mind, and then she would likely walk away before finally accepting him.

  “Perhaps. But it’s too late now. I’m married.”

  “Yes, you are. So what did you do on that visit?” He wasn’t about to let her off. She would tell him everything, because, God damn it, she’d put his wife into danger as well as him.

  “I saw a letter about you inheriting a small manor. When you left, I knew you had come here. To be near her, no doubt. You’ve been making a fool of yourself over Dorcas Dersingham all season. It was not hard to work out that you would go there to be near her.”

  “So you came, too.”

  She swallowed again. “I did not mean to. When you said—what you did, I knew you meant it. So I had to find someone. And I did. He made a bargain with me. Once I give him a son, two to be on the safe side, I could do whatever I wanted, go where I wanted. But I can’t, not while…”

  She’d seen the letter from his great-aunt’s man of business. Who else had seen it? He’d left it in his office, folded under a paperweight. Nobody was to enter his study when he was not there. Except, of course, the maids. And, it seemed, Elizabeth, who probably pushed her way in there. She knew that when he was rejecting visitors, the most likely place he would be was his study.

  “Did you tell anyone else?”

  She shrugged. “Possibly. I don’t know. Why, was it a secret?”

  Not when he had the news. Only when he needed a sanctuary. And to attend to business at the same time. He sighed.

  “Grant, you have to help me.”

  “No, Elizabeth, I don’t.”

  “But I’m a virgin!” Tears rolled down her face, but these were not false tears. Her face crumpled. “Grant, he can’t!”

  “Give him time,” Grant said.

  Finally, he eased her away. He was tired of innuendo. “And if you’re looking for someone to father a child on you, don’t come to me.”

  “Grant!”

  He was a pace away from her by now. He turned around to face her again. “Are you telling me that’s not what all this is about? That your husband has not given you permission to find a capable male to act as stud? Well don’t come to me. I won’t do it.”

  Turning back, he took another stride away from her. Recalling his news, he glanced back. Tears were streaming down her face, but he hardened his heart to her. He couldn’t give her this. She shouldn’t have asked it. It felt like the greatest betrayal, to him, to her, to their friendship and to her new husband. “And by the way, Dorcas is no longer Lady Dorcas Dersingham. She’s the Duchess of Blackridge.”

  Ignoring her harsh scream, he walked away. He was done with her. Getting away from Elizabeth was truly a relief to him. He was done with her, after her outrageous request, but he wanted to know more about who knew he was at the camp—and who would think to attack him.

  Unless Elizabeth herself had done it, to stop him staying there. Although he doubted she would have his life threatened, she may not have realized how far the attackers had been prepared to go. Typical of her to “leave the details” to someone else.

  He’d done his best to guide her, to provide a counter to her distant parents, to show her what humanity was. They’d had unsatisfactory, distant parents in common, but Elizabeth’s way of coping was entirely wrong. And he could no longer hide from that, or persuade her to change her mind.

  Grant found Dorcas in her orangery. The handsome building was bright with light, the columns between the windows of a classical design, deceptively simple and to Grant’s eyes, more attractive for it.

  Unfortunately, inside, chaos still reigned, despite Grant’s efforts to help. Dorcas, dressed in her gardening clothes, a plain cap tied over her hair, was not only supervising the gardeners who were cleaning up, she had a broom in her hand. “I don’t think any of the seedlings will survive,” she told him as he came up behind
her. She hadn’t even looked around.

  “I don’t know, my lady,” the older of the two men attending her said. “We should save a few. We don’t know what they are.”

  Grant strode across the brick floor and Dorcas spun around. The pleasure in her face warmed his heart, and he found himself smiling back. “I came to see if I could help,” he said. “And to see you. I missed you at breakfast.”

  “I made an early start,” she told him.

  “I know.” He lowered his voice. “Have you told them?”

  She nodded. “But they’re still calling me ‘my lady’. I can’t stop them. Why, does it upset you?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. Let them call you what they want, as long as it’s respectful.”

  When he put his hand on hers on the broom, she looked up at him. Her eyes widened. “Good morning, Husband.”

  He liked the sound of that. Leaning forward, he stole a kiss. She made a small sound of appreciation, and he felt valued. That small gesture meant so much to him.

  This was one piece of gossip he wanted to spread. Gossip was as endemic in the country as it was in town. More, because servants in the country tended to come from the same group of families.

  He stared at the mess of soil on the floor. Shards of terracotta were all that was left of the vessels she’d used, and the scraps of green were, he assumed, the seedlings they were talking about. “I’m surprised nobody noticed anyone doing this.”

  “Wouldn’t have taken long, your grace.” The older of the two gardeners straightened, putting his hand flat on the small of his back. Despite the difference in age, the resemblance in the two men told Grant they were related. That large nose, the dark eyes, even the way they stood.

  “Crombie, your grace,” he said. “This is my son.” Also Crombie, Grant presumed.

  Grant nodded. “I’ve ordered a footman to attend my wife,” he said. “Have you seen him?”

  “Sent him back to change his fancy livery for something more practical,” the older Crombie replied. “If he’s spending the day here, he might as well make himself useful.” He nodded at the younger man. “My son is a strong boy. He can take care of her.”