The Rogue's Flower: A Smithfield Market Regency Romance : Book 1

by Rose Pearson

  Miss Elsbeth Blakely.

  When he had first seen her, back at the Smithfield House for Girls, he’d found her to be an intriguing beauty, with mousy brown curls escaping to blossom around her temples and such a beauty in her eyes that he had been unable to look away. A half smile caught his lips as he recalled how frosty she had been towards him, how determined she had been to ignore him – and how unwilling he had been to forget her.

  It was more than just her physical beauty that tore at his heart now. He had realized that her heart and soul held just as much loveliness as her eyes and that he had come to value her honesty, her steadfastness, her determination and her compassion. Miss Blakely had become his guiding light, his beacon of hope – and he could not let her go.

  Over the last fortnight, they had talked in depth about Miss Amy and about his brother’s decision to completely ignore the child. He had seen her hurt, seen her pain and wanted to soothe it, aware that she saw herself in Miss Amy’s shoes. It was to be expected, he supposed since they came from very similar backgrounds. Miss Amy, however, did have a family of her own surrounding her, whereas Miss Blakely had no one to call her kin. She had challenged him when it came to Miss Amy’s knowledge of who he was to her, for even though the child now called him ‘Radford’ there would soon come a time where questions began to form in her mind, where she simply had to know who Andrew really was to her. He had not yet come up with a decent solution, aware that if he told her the truth that he was her uncle, she would easily surmise who her father was – and might presume that she had a mother also. It would be difficult to explain, but Andrew had seen the pain in Miss Blakely’s eyes as she’d spoken of never knowing the truth about where she had come from and had known in his heart that he could not do the same thing to Miss Amy.

  He had not yet fully decided what to do, but he knew in his heart that he would not allow the child to grow up with no knowledge of who she really was or where she had come from. He could still remember the smile of relief on Miss Blakely’s face as he’d promised to do just that, his own heart filling as she’d done so. There was so much about her that drew him to her, so much he could not pretend did not affect him.

  Miss Blakely was becoming everything to him.

  Looking out at the gardens below, Andrew smiled to himself on seeing Miss Blakely and Miss Amy playing in the gardens. Miss Blakely was currently hiding behind a tree, although very plainly still in sight, whilst Miss Amy was giggling and running towards her, her face wreathed in smiles.

  Miss Blakely was bringing out the best in Miss Amy, just as she had brought out the best in him.

  For a second, a vision of Miss Blakely surrounded by children flashed into his mind. Her children. His children. The ones they’d brought into this world together.

  The thought took his breath away and he stepped back from the window, his body alive with the idea. Andrew found he had never wanted something so strongly in his life, realizing that the depths of feeling he had for Miss Blakely went far beyond a simple appreciation or a small fondness.

  It had to be more than that. It had to be his first taste of love.

  His stomach churned wildly, and his legs wobbled just a little as he went to sit back down at his desk. Love? He had never thought in all his life that he would feel such an emotion as that, having once laughed at the very idea and considered it to be nothing more than romantic nonsense, designed to make a man weak.

  Yet now he welcomed it, even if he was not quite sure what to do with the emotion. It was all-consuming, devouring his soul entirely, and bringing with it such a depth of feeling that he was quite at a loss as to what to do next. Should he find Miss Blakely and confess all, in the hope that she might feel something akin to what he did? Or should he simply allow it to linger, allow it to grow until he was unable to keep silent? Putting his head in his hands, Andrew let out a long breath as his eyes looked down, unseeingly, at the letters on the table. He had very little idea as to what Miss Blakely might feel for him, even though he knew that she was, at the very least, enjoying his company and conversation of late. They had spent hours talking and laughing and Andrew had found himself growing eager to spend more time with Miss Blakely; likewise, she did not seem disinclined towards spending time in his company either. That had to bring a spark of hope to his soul, could it not? Even his mother was taking to Miss Blakely, which he had not been certain would occur.

  Shaking his head to himself, Andrew sat back in his chair and reached for his other two letters, trying to put all thoughts of Miss Blakely to the back of his mind. The first of the two letters appeared to be from his brother and, with a small snort, Andrew deliberately set that one aside. Most likely, it would be yet more explanations as to why he had told their mother about Miss Amy, and more begging that Andrew continue on as he had done before. Andrew had no intention of treating Miss Amy any differently – in fact, Miss Blakely had encouraged him to show more interest and more care in the girl, which he had found himself willing to do – but there was no need to reply to another one of his brother’s begging letters. Cecil thought of nothing and no-one but himself and it was not something Andrew wanted to encourage, even though it had never irritated him before.

  “That is most likely because I was like him,” he muttered aloud, picking up the second letter and turning it over.

  Seeing that it was from his steward back in London and feeling a curl of excitement and trepidation in his belly, Andrew broke the seal at once and unfolded his letter. His steward had written a rather long letter and Andrew read it eagerly.

  ‘My Lord Radford,’ it began. ‘I have made an extensive search and discovered that the Duke of Bartonshire has never once been to the Smithfield House for Girls. However, the Duke of Broadshore has recently traveled to the Smithfield House for Girls in search of one Elsbeth Blakely. Miss Skelton has done all she can to assist the duke and I believe the Duke to be soon coming to your estate in search of the girl. He was, I believe, taken ill in London and has been forced to wait there for some time until he recovers.’

  Andrew drew in a long, steadying breath, aware that he was struggling to take in what he was reading.

  ‘The Duke claims that Miss Blakely is his kin and, for whatever reason, is desperate to have her return with him and claim her place. If there is any more you need from me, please inform me as soon as you can and I shall continue my search at once. I am, as always, your humble servant.’

  His stomach tightened painfully, his breath being pulled from his body as he stared down at the letter, slowly coming to the realization that Miss Blakely might be, in fact, related to a duke. She might be higher in society than he, might be more than he could ever be – and yet here she was, governess to his niece.

  Swallowing the ache in his throat, Andrew tried to think clearly as the letter fluttered onto the table. He knew he would have to share this with Miss Blakely, but a sudden fear gripped him – a fear that she would, then, have to leave him. Leave his side and his house for good. He could not think of anything worse.

  Can you really pretend this letter does not exist?

  It was the same conundrum as before. To pretend that he had not received the letter would only prolong his happy situation for a short time, for the Duke would soon appear at his door. Miss Blakely had to be prepared, to know what it was that might be said, that might be revealed to her.

  And he would have to tell her the truth about what he felt.

  He could not pretend that there was nothing to hold her here, nothing that drove him to beg her to remain. He would have to tell her everything and not hold a single truth back. It was all still so fresh and so new to him that he could barely breathe, his lungs refusing to fill with air as he thought of speaking to her so plainly. And yet Andrew knew that it had to be done.

  The dinner gong rang and Andrew looked up, startled to see just how much time had passed. Had he really been sitting at his desk for hours, his mind going over and over what his heart had finally revealed to him?
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  “This evening,” he muttered to himself, folding up the letter and putting it in his pocket. “I shall have to talk to her this evening.”

  He didn’t think he’d ever been more nervous in his life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elsbeth laughed as the Dowager threw down her cards, clearly frustrated with her lack of luck this time around. They had been playing cards for over an hour and, whilst the Dowager was not having the best of luck, Lord Radford appeared to be so terribly distracted that he was barely aware of when it was his turn to play.

  The Dowager muttered something dark under her breath as it became Elsbeth’s turn, and so play continued. Elsbeth had come to enjoy these evenings over the last two weeks, finding herself eagerly anticipating the time she would have with Lord Radford and the Dowager, both of whom were wonderful conversationalists. She felt almost a part of the family, as ridiculous a notion as that was, but it was simply due to the fact that Lord Radford had chosen not to treat her as a governess ought to be treated. Instead, for the first time in her life she was being treated as an equal. The respect and the consideration he had shown her proved, time and again, that he was not the man she had first known back at the Smithfield House for Girls. There had been a genuine and long-lasting change to his character, and it was something that Elsbeth found herself appreciating over and over again.

  In fact, there was more than appreciation there. She knew that without a doubt but would not allow herself to consider what she felt, would not permit her mouth to give voice to her thoughts. That would be foolishness indeed, especially when Lord Radford had been nothing more than kind to her. He was still her employer and she was still only here until she reached the age of twenty-one, when she could finally be free.

  How strange it was to consider that the dream of freedom, of a life lived just as she pleased, no longer drove her with such determination any longer. It brought her pain to think of leaving Lord Radford’s home, of leaving Miss Amy and continuing on her own merry way, as her attachment to the place grew with every passing day. She did not want to leave Lord Radford, did not want to leave Miss Amy. Her freedom did not hold out the same joy and happiness that it once had.

  “I’m afraid, Miss Blakely, that I must retire,” the Dowager said, grandly, rising from her chair. “The cards are not in my favor this evening and it is growing rather late.”

  Elsbeth smiled and stood up as well. “But of course, Lady Radford. Thank you.”

  The lady smiled and then narrowed her eyes a little as she looked at Lord Radford. “And are you retiring too, Radford?”

  Aware that there would be some impropriety should the two of them remain alone, Elsbeth cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks burn. “I shall retire also, Lady Radford. Of course.”

  “No.”

  Startled, Elsbeth looked down to see Lord Radford sitting in his chair, his brows furrowed and eyes dark. She was astonished to see such a changed expression on his face, not quite certain why he now appeared to be so frustrated.

  “No, Radford?” his mother asked, gently, her voice holding a hint of warning. “After all, it is –”

  “Mother, I must speak to Miss Blakely alone. Some news has come from London and I must share it with her.”

  Elsbeth sank back down into her chair at his words, her eyes wide and her hands now fumbling to grasp the arms of the chair as a sudden weakness washed over her.

  “News from London?” the Dowager asked softly, all warning gone from her voice. “I see. Then, I shall bid you both goodnight. I do hope all is well, Miss Blakely.”

  Elsbeth tried to nod, tried to speak, but found that both her voice and her limbs refused to work. The Dowager pressed her shoulder for a moment and then was gone, the sound of the door closing behind her making Elsbeth jump.

  “Miss Blakely, are you quite all right?”

  Lord Radford’s voice was tender, his eyes gentle as he reached for her hand, untwining it gently from the other and holding it tightly. Her hand felt like a block of ice, his warm one slowly beginning to thaw it out.

  “You look terrified, but I assure you that it is not as bad as you might think,” Lord Radford continued softly. “The letter from my steward states that the Duke of Broadshore has come in search of you. He believes you to be his family.”

  A few ragged gasps escaped her as Elsbeth clung to Lord Radford’s hand, trying desperately to hold onto the only thing that would keep her steady.

  “My steward also believes him to be coming here,” Lord Radford continued, a little more quietly. “I think he intends to take you with him.”

  Elsbeth shook her head, her mouth working silently. The thought of leaving here to go with a man she had never met did not sit well with her. In fact, it downright terrified her.

  “I do not want you to be overwhelmed but there is more that I have to say,” Lord Radford said softly, sitting a little further forward in his chair so that he might look into her eyes. “Tell me what you are thinking, Miss Blakely. I can see that this is a great shock to you.”

  She could barely think, trying to take in the news that, supposedly, she was related to a duke. She could not imagine why he would want to come to her now, could not understand why the Duke of Broadshore would be so eager to come after her.

  “But why?” she managed to say, her eyes searching Lord Radford’s as though he might be able to give him an answer. “I don’t understand.”

  Lord Radford sighed and shook his head. “I cannot answer you, Miss Blakely. Even if you are his family, you cannot inherit.”

  That did not matter to her. “I have a fortune waiting for me,” she whispered, putting her other hand on top of their joined ones. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you. Once I am twenty-one, provided I remain unmarried, I shall have a fortune of my own. I will no longer need to rely on anyone.”

  She saw the light leave his expression, a hope in his eyes dimming and her own heart wrenched.

  “That was once all that I cared about,” she continued, not wanting him to think that she was desperate to leave his side. “But now I find that it no longer holds the same power it once had.”

  Lord Radford’s mouth opened and then closed again, the question he was about to ask remaining unspoken. Elsbeth found herself looking deeply into his eyes, feeling as though he was the steadying anchor she needed, the calm eye in the storm that surrounded her.

  “I do not want to be taken from this place,” she whispered, feeling the way his fingers began to intertwine with her own. “This Duke, whomever he may be, has no right to force me, does he?”

  The look in Lord Radford’s eyes did not bring her much hope.

  “I cannot say, Miss Blakely,” he said, softly. “I cannot be certain about what the Duke of Broadshore wants but what I will say is that a Duke’s wishes are not often easily ignored.”

  Fear raced up her spine, making her shiver all over. Closing her eyes, Elsbeth felt tears flood her eyes, the urge to throw herself into Lord Radford’s arms and beg him to keep her safe filling her.

  “But, Miss Blakely, I have to remind you that you have always wanted to know where you have come from,” Lord Radford continued, softly. “Perhaps this is the answer to your prayers and, mayhap, it should be welcomed.”

  That was true, she had to admit, but still, the cloying fear began to wrap itself around her throat. Shuddering violently, she shook her head, keeping her eyes shut.

  “No, Lord Radford, not if he is to demand that I do as he asks, just as so many people have done before.” She had not meant her words to sting but felt his hands tighten as he jerked just a little, clearly rebuked. He began to sit back, only for her to open her eyes and hold onto his hands tightly with both of her own, looking into his face with such desperation that she knew he could not help but respond.

  He did not sit back and drop her hands but remained as he was, still close to her. Elsbeth let out a small sigh of relief, feeling the warm tears trickling down her cheek and knowing that she could not sto
p them.

  “Miss Blakely, the Duke may very well reveal more to you about your family and your heritage that perhaps you have ever known,” he said quietly, his eyes searching hers. “But I will not pretend that I do not think it likely that he will take you away from this place. For whatever reason, he has been looking for you and only an illness has prevented him from following after you.”

  She swallowed hard, remembering the man who was watching her outside the window. “Do you think that the man watching me was from the Duke?”

  He shrugged. “Or Miss Skelton. Whoever it was, they want you reunited with the Duke.”

  That should please her, she knew, but it brought her nothing but fear. Fear that this Duke, for whatever reason, would take her away from the only place that had ever really begun to feel like home.

  “I do not want to be parted from you.”

  The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them, the truth ringing out between the two of them. She saw Lord Radford’s eyes widen, saw the astonishment in his eyes, and knew that she had taken him completely by surprise. She had not meant to be so honest, but it had come from a place deep within herself and now it could not be unsaid. Fearing that Lord Radford would turn away from her, she closed her eyes and tried to think of something to say, something to explain what she meant – only for something soft to brush her lips.

  Jumping back in surprise, Elsbeth opened her eyes to see Lord Radford’s face close to hers, his eyes looking into her own.

  It had been his lips. His lips on hers.

  She was devoid of breath, her chest bursting with such a swell of emotion that she thought she might fracture right there in front of him.

  “Miss Blakely,” he whispered, letting go of her hands and running his fingers down her cheek with the utmost gentleness. “I do not want to be parted from you either.”

  Not for a moment did she think that he meant to have his way with her, only to discard her when he grew tired of her. She knew he was not that man any longer, for she had seen the compassion and the love within his heart for others slowly begin to grow. That man who had grabbed at her, who had done all he could to try and bring her under his spell was no longer the same man in front of her - and from the look in his eyes, she could tell that he was somewhat fearful as to what her reaction might be.