A Trace of Roses

by Connolly, Lynne

  He blinked. “I know you are interested in horticulture, but…do you not want other things? A widow’s portion, generous pin money?”

  “A widow’s portion?” she echoed as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her lovely eyes widened. “Sir, we’re not yet married. Why should I wish for your death?”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’ll want me dead in a year or so. Unfortunately, I can’t oblige you, but it is usual to make provisions for widowhood, you know.”

  “And my death, too?” Her voice quietened.

  “Indeed, though personally I’m expecting neither clause to come into force for some time.”

  “Good.” She stared down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. A curl, dislodged from its neat, modest style, fell forward. Grant had to concentrate on not touching it, winding it around his finger and enjoying its soft silkiness. He would give everything for that.

  He forced himself to look away, to pay attention to Carbrooke, who was talking about God knew what. “So Thursday at ten?” the earl concluded. “I’ll give you the direction of my man of business.”

  Grant nodded. “That would be perfect.” The sooner the better.

  Belatedly, he recalled another appointment. “My pardon, it will have to be a shade later than I would like. I have to go to the Pool to check my ship. I told the pilot I would be there at nine.” The Pool of London lay close to the Tower, rife with ships offloading and reloading. He could get a cab after he was done.

  “Oh!” Pink mantled Dorcas’ cheeks. She held up a hand to stop them. Her brother paused, too, and they both waited for her to explain herself. The pink flush was positively red now. “Is there a way I can go with you, sir? I’m expecting an important shipment, too. I received word that it arrived two days ago, but I have not yet received delivery. I really must go before it dies.”

  She was almost trembling with excitement. What could have roused that in her? Her eyes sparkled, and she sat forward, head high.

  He’d love to be the cause of that trembling, excited response. “Masters unload the cargo methodically, then the customs officers must check the lists. The whole process can take some time. Can you not wait until it is delivered?”

  She shook her head vigorously, dislodging a curl from its pins. “It’s very precious. I need to see to it myself.”

  Grant thought of the smells, the shouts, the rough dockers who loaded and unloaded the goods, the chaos that was part of the length of the Thames devoted to the business of the sea.

  The atmosphere was always combustible there. Female passengers disembarking immediately took a ferry to somewhere more salubrious, or they were met by coaches. The only women who actually frequented the riverside were the lowest of whores; the kind who would take a man wherever was convenient, even if it was the middle of the pier against a hoist or anchor.

  Lady Dorcas couldn’t possibly know that, or she would never have asked to go.

  “I’m sure your brother will agree with me when I say that ladies do not linger at the quayside at the Pool of London.”

  Whatever “it” was. She still hadn’t given him a clue, and it wouldn’t be polite to ask. But from her eagerness, it wouldn’t be exotic perfumes or delicate fabrics. Something to do with her garden, most likely. Seeds, or fertilizer perhaps, since there was a trade in both. They would be safe.

  “I want to ensure it for myself.”

  “No,” said Carbrooke firmly. “It’s out of the question.”

  “Why not?”

  Carbrooke sighed and exchanged an exasperated this-is-what-I-have-to-put-up-with look with Grant.

  “Because the Pool of London is no place for a lady. And before you remind me that we used to live near Smithfield, I’d remind you that our house was large for the area. Even there, we had an army of servants to keep us safe.”

  “I could take an army of servants with me,” she said with a winsome smile.

  This woman had twisted her brother around her little finger. As a child, she must have been irresistible.

  “No,” her brother repeated. “Your packages will arrive at the house in good time. How can you even think of going?”

  Dorcas didn’t pout, but she sighed and breathed heavily down her nose. “We have more servants than we know what to do with. And I’m the specialist, I should be able to keep my plants safe. They need delicate handling, and the sooner those hands are mine, the better.”

  He was right. The cargo was plants.

  Dorcas primmed her lips and stuck her chin in the air. “I will say no more. Not here, not now, but I am disappointed in you, Gerald. I had thought you better than that. Why, you let Damaris go all the way to Greenwich with Glenbreck!”

  Grant remembered it well. Sitting by her sickbed, conversing quietly, changing the cool cloths on her forehead had served to bring the two closer.

  “Greenwich is far more respectable than the Pool,” her brother explained patiently, “and we had Matilda with us then, to chaperone you all.”

  Dorcas didn’t give up. “And Delphi has gone to Rome! All I want is a small trip that can’t be more than ten miles from Mayfair. Less from Bunhill Row.”

  She sucked in another deep breath, her bosom swelling. Most invitingly.

  Grant pulled himself around to the matter at hand. “I agree with Carbrooke. The Pool is no place for a lady. But if you have a commission for me, I’ll gladly fulfill it for you.”

  She regarded him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. He could almost see the cogs whirring in her brain. She was planning to persuade him to take her, he was sure of it.

  Her mouth tightening, she shook her head. “No, but thank you for your concern.” She smiled brightly. “My items will arrive in due course, won’t they?”

  She was all smiles, thanking him cordially but assuring him she was perfectly able to wait.

  An interesting change in attitude. He’d seen temper in her, and a determination to get her way. Now, she was changing her mind? If Dorcas was passionate about anything, it was her garden and cultivating rare specimens.

  Delivering a few bags of seed and a plant or two to the house would have given him the excuse he needed to see her in a less formal atmosphere. “I’ll undertake the commission for you. Which ship is carrying your cargo?”

  “The Voyager.”

  Marvelous! “That’s my ship. I’ll ensure your packages are safe.”

  She looked at him, her eyes shielded, her mouth firmed, but she thanked him gracefully. “Would you bring them to the solicitor’s? I can take charge of them then.”

  “I cannot promise it. However, I will do my best.” And he would. But if her packages were stowed in the last section to be unloaded, he could do little to expedite it. Wisely, he didn’t tell her that.

  On the whole, he approved of her interest. A gardener in the family could prove useful.

  Her acceptance when told she could not go to the river also spoke well of her upbringing. Although he wished for a partner in a wife, he didn’t want to argue for every small thing. He would try to unearth her cargo, and perhaps exchange the packages for a kiss or two. They would both enjoy that.

  He’d make sure of it.

  Dorcas had barely allowed the front door to close behind her betrothed before she returned to the drawing room and let rip. “Do you think I’m totally incapable, one of those women who needs her man to do everything for her? How could you, Gerald?”

  “How could I what?”

  Out of the corners of her eyes, Dorcas caught Annie’s eye roll. She went on anyway. “Forbid me to go to the ship! What gives you the right to do that?”

  “Until you marry, I’m your legal guardian.” He leaned back, crossed his legs.

  He must have known that was a bad riposte. It had never worked before. Perhaps he needed time to think of a reasonable response. Dorcas was too angry to let him.

  “Legal guardian? Dear brother, I’m over the age of consent. I’m pa
st the age when you can control my income, what I do or how I think.” She paused, infinitesimally, but enough to hint at a second thought. “In fact, you have never controlled how I think.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted up. “I never tried to and you know it. But I am concerned for your safety.”

  She came straight back. “If I want to go to the Pool, I’ll damned well go.”

  That brought Annie into the conversation. “It’s not a safe place, Dorcas. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I don’t plan to go on my own. Or to dress in my finery.” She flicked her fingers against her skirt as a demonstration. “If I don’t take a crested coach or liveried footmen, nobody will know who I am.”

  “Someone will recognize you,” Gerald said ominously.

  “Why would they? I’m not with my sisters. I have enough plain clothes, even though my maid constantly tries to throw them away.”

  Annie sighed. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me that. How can I go to my smelting yard wearing silks and velvets?” She was trying to change the subject. Dorcas let her, but she wouldn’t heed Gerald’s orders. Any minute, he would be digging his heels in and growling, “No.” After that, he’d take steps to stop her. Best he didn’t get to that point.

  Annie usually kept well away when the siblings fired into each other. But this time, Dorcas was grateful for her intervention. “Do you like him, Dorcas?”

  She could answer that honestly. “Yes, I like him well enough. Better than any other gentleman I’ve met this season, at any rate. At least he’s honest.”

  “I told you about the fortune-hunters,” Gerald said in a more reasonable tone. Obviously, he was trying as hard as she was not to turn their disagreement into a full-scale row.

  “They were the only men who paid us any attention at first, but it wasn’t hard to see them coming. We soon learned the signs.”

  “What do you think of the Duke of Blackridge?” Angry though she was with her brother, she still wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “He’s honest, straightforward, and unusually rough for a duke.”

  She jumped on his word. “Rough?”

  Gerald glanced out of the window, then back at her. He was claiming a little time. “Yes. I mean that he doesn’t always dress perfectly, or say what he’s expected to. And there’s that Scottish burr that comes out when he’s agitated.”

  She’d noticed that. The slight trace of an accent melted her when the Duke of Blackridge turned it on her. He might not realize what a potent weapon it was. He’d have had her skirts up in another five minutes.

  And since the law was not on her side, she had better retain her common-sense, and work out how to use the other weapons available to her. Blackridge was a strong man with a determined attitude. He would take some taming.

  “Like us you mean? Nobody is completely perfect.”

  Gerald growled low. “That’s not what I meant. Dorcas, you’re not always well.”

  She jumped on that. “The headaches, you mean?”

  Gerald sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I would have been happier if you’d settled for a gentler suitor.”

  Dorcas hated that he had even thought of them. Her headaches encompassed her whole body. They were more like everything-aches. The doctor called them megrims. “That doesn’t make me delicate, Gerald. Everyone treats me like I’m made of glass. I’m not. Plenty of people get megrims.”

  “Plenty of people aren’t my sister. If he’s rough or careless with you at that time, it could be disastrous.”

  “He wasn’t. Remember that I was taken ill in Greenwich that time? He had to carry me to the carriage to take me to his house. He was very considerate.” She wouldn’t say more, about him creeping into her room later and talking with her.

  Annie shuddered. “How you got away with that visit I’ll never know. Staying in a bachelor’s house was bad enough, but he carried you?”

  “I couldn’t walk without being sick,” she said simply. She’d felt the approach of the megrims, but sometimes they didn’t arrive in full for days. This one had arrived in full force about an hour after she’d felt the first symptoms. “He was very kind. I think he will ensure I’m cared for if it happens again.” When it happened again, more like.

  Dorcas wished people wouldn’t treat her so carefully. Perhaps Blackridge was the person to help her take that final step. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him tame. She must be losing her mind.

  But she would manage her worries tomorrow. Anyone would think she had no common sense at all. Of course she would go to the Pool tomorrow. Gerald knew how much that cargo meant to her, and he would be on his guard. He knew his sisters far too well for Dorcas’ liking.

  She made her plans.

  Chapter Four

  Walking into the breakfast parlor at half-past seven the next morning, Grant found his mother and brother. The duchess was partaking of her delicate meal of bread and butter and tea. David looked up with a smile. Grant nodded back.

  He no longer resented that David had always been their mother’s favorite. She had always made her preference clear, but it had meant more when Grant and his brother were children. Now he accepted it. David was her baby; he would always be so. Grant was the person who provided the wealth they spent so ably.

  He halted. “Good morning, Mama. What has made you rise this early?” The duchess rarely rose before ten when she was in London. Fashionable late nights dictated it. She would often not appear at the breakfast table at noon, when a more substantial meal was served.

  His mother, dressed in a pale pink loose gown smiled, but her expression was tight. “We wished to speak to you.”

  David gave a shrug and a half-smile, as if to say this ambush was not of his making. Grant raised a brow.

  Ah. But a man had to eat, so Grant prepared himself for his lecture. The coffee pot sat before his usual place at the circular table. A plate stood over a single spirit burner on the sideboard, covered with a heated silver dome.

  He would have a full meal when he returned, but an hour or two at the quayside tended to make a man sharp-set. He was glad to find a plate of eggs and lamb chops under the metal lid of the spirit burner on the sideboard. David had taken his share, he noted, but there was enough left for him.

  He took his place at the table, spread the napkin over his lap and found his silverware. Handling the heavy silver knife, he wondered if Lady Carbrooke had anything to do with its production. That was her line of business, after all. He found amusement in the thought, though he was fully aware that his mother would not.

  “Do you have a commission for me?” he asked, blandly opening the proceedings. “I’m going to the Pool of London this morning, so I’ll be passing the Royal Exchange.” And pausing there to sniff out the best investments.

  Her mother wrinkled her delicate nose. “I wish you would not engage with the lower sort,” she commented, her cut-glass tones slicing the atmosphere. “You have no need anymore.”

  They had trodden this ground many times before, but if he gave way, she would take advantage.

  “Being a duke means much more than sitting in a parlor exchanging fashionable comments, Mama. I have investments to deal with. If Father had not left us so burdened by debt, I wouldn’t have had to work so hard.”

  And no doubt he’d be bored to tears, he had to admit. Building his fortune back up after his father’s disastrous tenure had proved a challenge he was more than ready to meet.

  “No.” His mother put her tea dish back in its saucer with barely a clink. Grant poured himself a cup of coffee and waved the pot in the direction of his brother, who shook his head, refusing the offer. Grant was going to need the beverage, judging by the expression on his mother’s face. Her lips were pursed, fine lines deepening. She usually took care to moderate her expression so they didn’t show. “I heard.”

  “Heard?” He gave her his best innocent look.

  “That you are betrothed to Lady Dorcas Dersingham.”

/>   “Ah, that.” He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  “Yes, that.”

  “Congratulations,” David said in a muted tone.

  “Thank you.” He finished his mouthful. “I told you I meant to offer for her. She accepted.”

  His mother sniffed. “The news was all over the opera house last night. Nobody paid any attention to the music.”

  He touched his napkin to his lips and reached for his coffee. “Nobody ever does.”

  “How could you even consider it? Lady Elizabeth held up well, but anyone could see how distressed she was.”

  Oh, damn, he’d have to visit her later. It was time someone told her the truth, and if it had to be him, so be it. He and Lady Elizabeth Askew were old friends, but no more than that. He’d warned her early on not to look to him to achieve her ambitions. Recently she’d crossed the line a time or two, so it was high time he had a word with her.

  “She should know better. Her family indulges her too much.” Elizabeth always played up to the gossip, but she was in danger of making a complete cake of herself.

  “How can you, Grant?” Her mouth turned down. “Since the tragic death of her betrothed, she has been looking to you. Of course she had to mourn the poor man, and then she bravely offered to help the new Lord Carbrooke.”

  The duchess picked up her fan from the seat next to her and snapped it open, wafting it gently before her face. “But she was always fond of you. The way you have been with her recently, I assumed you meant to offer for her. Everybody did.”

  “Only because you told them, Mama. I never had the least intention of offering for her. What’s more, she knows it.”

  “You told me you liked her.”

  “I do.” Only Elizabeth had never roused the least bit of desire in him. He wouldn’t marry a woman he couldn’t imagine being in bed with. On the other hand, Dorcas… Hastily, he turned his mind from the delectable mental image that thought conjured up.

  The duchess put down her fan and determinedly faced him. “Grant, you were always a willful boy. Your brother—but never mind that now.” She gave David an apologetic smile. “All I will say is that we must not cause gossip. Marrying Lady Elizabeth would be perfect for all of us.”