A Bluestocking for a Baron : Book 3: Rose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  All through that, Rose had stayed close to Hyacinth, and had quietly assisted where she could – mostly by ensuring that the food was presented correctly, at the right time, and that the staff knew what was needed, without Hyacinth having to worry about it. Frustratingly, Lord Wrenton had not come back to Chester Park with the others, so there had been no opportunity to speak to him.

  Rose felt that lack quite acutely, without truly understanding why that might be so. And she wondered, even as she directed maids and footmen, if the reason that Lord Wrenton was not there was because his own grief was too strong for him to adequately bear up amongst others’ grief.

  By the end of the day, she fell into bed, deeply exhausted, and was asleep almost instantly. It was a deep sleep, filled with dreams – dreams in which she held Lord Wrenton, and his grief became something else entirely.

  <<<>>>

  Evan stared at the painting on his study wall, not really seeing it. On the desk before him lay a letter – one he had read three times over now. It was from one Mr Francis Farquhar – a man who owned a substantial number of ice houses, in the towns quite some way north from Wrenton Hall.

  A man whose business Evan had studied carefully when he first started his own investment in ice houses. Farquhar wanted to buy him out. And the sum he offered was large. Evan wondered exactly what had prompted the offer, now – had his success truly reached a stage where this man saw the business as worth acquiring? Or was it motivated by something simpler – the wish to eliminate the competition? Or more complex – had the man heard rumour of Evan’s experiments with new methods of refrigeration? Was he hoping to buy a commercial advantage?

  Evan had no way of knowing, for the letter gave no indication of such things. It was disconcerting in the extreme.

  But he knew, already, what his answer would be. He would not sell his business. He was committed to it – no matter that many of the aristocracy treated him with disdain as a result of him going beyond just investing, and into actually being involved in the operation of the business. In addition, the one time that he had met Farquhar, he had taken an instant dislike to the man.

  He drew out a sheet of paper, and a pen, carefully uncapped his inkpot, and set about crafting a polite yet emphatic reply. An hour, and three crumpled sheets of paper later, he was done.

  He sealed it, and rang for a footman.

  “Please see that this is sent today.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  The man left, and Evan stood, stretching, easing the tension out of his shoulders. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that Farquhar was hoping to obtain new methods of refrigeration. Methods like the experimental refrigeration ‘house’ which Evan was building attached to his home.

  Just thinking about the opportunities and challenges that the new research was bringing excited him. It also brought to mind his conversations with Lady Rose. How was it that she knew as much as she seemed to, about current refrigeration research? Beyond the fact that a woman even knowing that the concept existed was unusual, having developed an interest, how had she obtained information? Might she have contacts that he did not?

  It was an enticing thought. Almost as enticing as the lady herself. That moment at Lord Chester’s funeral came back to him – the moment when she had seemed, somehow, to understand his grief.

  He wanted to see her again.

  To see her, for herself, not just for her conversation, no matter how wonderful it was. He was, of course, being a fool to think that way about a Duke’s daughter but, nonetheless, he could not stop the thoughts. Could he call at Chester Park, a bare week after the funeral? Would that be beyond the pale?

  But, if he waited longer, would she be gone back to London?

  He could not bear the thought of allowing that to happen without seeing her at least one more time.

  He looked at the pile of correspondence on his desk – all items which he had expected, and which would be easy to deal with, unlike Farquhar’s letter. He should sit down again and answer them. But he found himself, instead, leaving the room, and calling for his phaeton to be brought around.

  Fifteen minutes later, wearing a perfectly tied fresh cravat, and his most elegant afternoon wear coat, he drove away towards Chester Park. By the time he got there, he was sure that he would manage, somehow, to come up with an excuse for the call.

  <<<>>>

  It had been, Rose thought, the strangest week of her life.

  On one hand, she was surrounded by sadness, as everyone came to terms with Lord Chester’s death, and on the other, she had spent much of the week with the Chester Park cook, discussing food, and the methods used, because as her part of helping Hyacinth, she had taken on the menu planning, and the coordination of making sure that adequate supplies were always available for everyone present, and anyone who might call.

  Cook was grateful, especially when she discovered just how much Rose knew, for she was flustered by the fact that the current population of the house was five or six times more people than usual. For Rose, spending the time dealing with food was a restful relief from the unremitting sadness which pervaded the house.

  She was also surprised at how many people had come to call – in London, once the funeral was done, families in mourning virtually disappeared from society’s view, and no one called upon them, outside their immediate relatives. Here in the country, it seemed to be very different. People called to express their condolences, and to ask if there was anything needed. She rather thought that she liked this country approach better than the cold isolation of London.

  Emerging from the cellars, she handed Cook the list that she had made of what supplies still remained below, and her notes on what she believed needed to be ordered. Fortunately, it being the end of summer, most things were easily obtained. Glancing down, Rose noticed just how much dust had attached itself to her skirts – a consequence of poking into the deepest shelves, and kneeling to see what was on the very lowest shelf, she supposed.

  She went towards the front hall, brushing ineffectually at the dust as she went, with the intention of slipping upstairs to change. Millie would make ‘tutting’ noises at the state of the gown, no doubt. She reached the foot of the stairs in the foyer, just as Ward opened the door in response to a knock. As she placed her foot on the first step, she glanced back, curious, and came to a sudden stop.

  There, on the doorstep, was Lord Wrenton, looking more impossibly handsome than ever, in a perfectly tailored coat of dark green superfine. Their eyes met, and Rose ceased to be aware of anything else. Her heart beat faster, and her mouth felt dry. He stepped in, and Ward closed the door. The click as it closed brought her out of her daze, and she turned off the steps to greet Lord Wrenton.

  “Good afternoon, my Lord.”

  He came to her, took her hand, and bowed. The heat of his touch on her bare dusty hand seared through her, as if she had touched the stove.

  “Lady Rose. I trust that all is as well as it can be, here? I came in the hope of a quiet conversation, as well as to see if there was anything I could offer to help. I would, you see, be most interested in hearing your opinion on some matters pertaining to refrigeration techniques.”

  Her head positively spun. He had come specifically to speak to her… to get her opinion!... on matters pertaining to what was the core of his business. She glanced down at her dusty skirts, suddenly embarrassed.

  “My Lord… it is a pleasure to see you again. I would be happy to converse… but… please forgive my disarray – if you would be seated in the parlour, I will be with you shortly – once I am attired more respectably.”

  He smiled, and her breath caught.

  “Of course, my Lady.”

  He released her hand, which she had only just realised he still held, and stepped back. She turned to Ward.

  “If you would show Lord Wrenton through, and send for some tea and cakes?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  She curtseyed to Lord Wrenton, turned, and we
nt up the stairs, trying her hardest not to run. When she reached her rooms, Millie looked as horrified at the state of her skirts as she had expected.

  “My Lady!”

  “Before you ask - the kitchen cellars. But quickly, I need to change, and then I need you to come downstairs with me, to sit in the parlour whilst I talk with Lord Wrenton, who has come to call.”

  Millie immediately rushed into the dressing room, and came back out with a clean gown in a dark plum colour – suitable for mourning, when the deceased was not her direct relative. It was not a colour which truly flattered her, but it was far better than dark greys and black. Rose thought that it was, perhaps, the fastest that she had ever dressed in her life. Somehow, in the span of five minutes, Millie got her changed, and even managed to put her hair to rights, so that she looked as if she had never seen the inside of a cellar, but had spent a quiet morning in the library.

  Then, with Millie following behind, she went back downstairs.

  Chapter Four

  Ward opened the door, and Evan was greeted by the sight of Lady Rose, just about to go up the stairs. She turned, and met his eyes, and he found himself lost for words. After a moment, he had the presence of mind to step into the house, and Ward closed the door behind him. She came towards him, and spoke, and somehow, he managed to gather his thoughts enough to greet her properly, and state the reason for his call.

  Now that he spoke the words, it seemed a rather flimsy excuse, but Lady Rose accepted it, to his relief. He released her hand reluctantly and blinked when she mentioned her ‘disarray’ – for he had not noticed her attire at all, so focussed had he been on her beautiful face. Her gown was besmirched by dust and dirt, it was true, but it did not make her one whit less beautiful. Still, he accepted her request, and obediently went to seat himself in the parlour and await her.

  Excitement ran in his veins at the thought of the coming conversation – although he did not know quite how to begin, he was intent on learning more of what she knew.

  Whilst he followed, as closely as he could, the newest developments in refrigeration research, he always had the sense that the scientists were displeased with him, for the simple fact that he was in business, rather than interested purely out of scientific curiosity. If Lady Rose had somehow managed to get past that reticence, even though she was a woman…

  Of course, a large part of the challenge of the conversation would be keeping his thoughts on refrigeration. No matter how intense his interest in the topic was, he had to admit that Lady Rose was quite the most wonderful distraction he had ever met. Such thoughts were inappropriate, as he had told himself countless times before – she had shown no sign of any interest in him, beyond the chance to discuss a topic that they both cared about. Which made her no less distracting.

  A maid brought the promised tea and cakes, and he turned his thoughts to appreciation of the food – for the cakes were exceptional. They had a light, almost fluffy texture, and a flavour compounded of butter, vanilla, and some kind of berry. Truly remarkable. He closed his eyes a moment, as the flavours dissolved on his tongue. When he opened them, he met Lady Rose’s amused gaze.

  “They are wonderful, aren’t they? The recipe was created by our cook at Elbury House, and I shared it with Cook here. They are one of the few things that could make me forget myself and be gluttonous.”

  She came into the room, and seated herself on the couch beside him, reaching for a cake. A maid followed her in, and went to sit quietly at the other side of the room. It seemed that they would have a chance to speak almost privately.

  “They are delightful – I have never tasted anything quite like that – and the texture….”

  She laughed softly, and nodded.

  “Now, Lord Wrenton, what was it that you wished my opinion on?”

  Evan swallowed – he still wasn’t quite sure how best to ask her, but all he could do was try.

  “Lady Rose, might I ask that what I am about to tell you, you hold in strictest confidence?”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  “Thank you. I… I have gathered, from our previous conversations, that you are very well versed in the state of current refrigeration research. Perhaps better so than I.” He would not ask her how that came to be – for he hoped that she might choose to tell him, without him needing to ask. “I am considering establishing an… experimental… installation at Wrenton Hall, to see if one of the new methods might be turned to commercial purpose far sooner than others expect. If such could be done, then there would be substantial business advantage for me. But I am undecided as to which of the methods being researched now might best suit my purposes.”

  She blinked, looking quite startled at his words, and thought a moment before replying.

  “I… I am honoured that you would trust my opinion on such a significant matter, my Lord. I have obtained quite a bit of knowledge, that is true… but I hesitate to advise on the commercial, practical value, for I have never seen an operating ice house…”

  It was not something he had considered, for he had been so involved in the business for years now, that the operation of the ice houses was second nature to him.

  “I see. That would, I suppose, make it difficult to assess how new methods might meet the same ends. But perhaps… if you wish… I can amend that lack? I could provide you with a tour of one of my larger ice houses, which is located not an hour’s drive from here.”

  His heart beat harder – what he suggested was almost outside the bounds of propriety, even given that they would have to be accompanied by a chaperone. Yet he very much wanted her to say yes – not just because of the knowledge she might bring to his business, but because of the opportunity that such an excursion might provide, for him to spend time with her. She sipped her tea, staring off into the distance, and he wondered what her thoughts were in that moment. Finally, she set the tea cup down, and met his eyes.

  “I believe that would be an excellent idea, Lord Wrenton. If I ask, I expect that Lady Wareham would be willing to accompany us, as she is interested in these matters too.”

  “Would tomorrow be too soon?”

  He cursed his own eagerness, but her small smile spoke to amusement, rather than any form of offense.

  “I shall ask Lady Wareham, but I believe that tomorrow would suit.”

  Relief rushed through him. They quickly settled on a time, then turned the conversation to the specific methods he was considering.

  <<<>>>

  In the end, Maria was more than happy to accompany them – and to help Rose camouflage the outing from her sisters and brother, for Rose could not bear the idea of them teasing her. Therefore, the excursion was spoken of as Lord Wrenton having offered to show Maria the ice house, after their previous conversation on the matter, and of Rose going with them so that she might arrange further supplies for Cook from the nearby town.

  Rose wondered, actually, if anyone had heard what was said, for they were all so involved in helping Hyacinth and Kevin deal with the process of taking on the responsibilities of the title. They nodded, and then went back to what they were doing, barely noticing when she and Maria left the house. Maria confided in her that the excursion would be a relief – her grief for her father was close to the surface, and being in the house at Chester Park brought him to her mind every moment of the day. To step away from that, even for a short time, would be good for her.

  Now, as they rolled along the road in Lord Wrenton’s barouche, the top down so that the late summer sun could warm them pleasantly, Rose could see Maria visibly relaxing. It was a feeling she could relate to, for the beautiful day did much to lift her spirits. As did the presence of Lord Wrenton, opposite her on the backward facing seat. The light enhanced his profile, as he looked at the passing countryside, and Rose felt the oddest urge to reach out and touch his cheek, almost to see if such a perfectly sculpted shape could be real. She repressed that urge firmly.

  They spoke little on the journey, but when Lord Wrenton turned his
eyes back to Rose, she found herself lost in that gaze. Improper as it was, she did not cast her eyes down, but allowed herself the indulgence of simply looking, drowning in the deep brown pools of those eyes. He did not look away either, and somehow, it felt as if something passed between them, something far more complicated than words could have easily encompassed.

  After what felt like hours, but may well have only been minutes, they both looked away, as if the connection of that gaze had become too intimate to bear for longer. Rose spent the rest of the journey simply staring at the passing scenery, almost in a daze. Eventually, they passed through the town, and followed the road along the river for some miles.

  The river widened into a small lake and, not long after they passed the pretty scene, they turned off the main road and came to a halt before a large brick façade, which was built into the hillside. Rose was studying it, wondering at its location, when Lord Wrenton spoke.

  “The bulk of the ice house is set back into the hill. Long ago, there was a small cave here, and over many years it was enlarged, and the inner walls reinforced and lined with brick. This entryway was built on about fifty years ago, when the previous owner first thought to make commercial use of it. This location is ideal for three reasons – the cave was already here, and had been enlarged, the lake is close, and usually freezes for at least part of winter, and the proximity to the stream here, which runs into the lake, made it easy to arrange drainage for the melt water, throughout the year.”

  As he spoke, he stepped down from the carriage.

  Rose followed, taking his offered hand as she stepped down. That short contact sent a jolt of heat through her – heat which remained, even after he released her, and turned to assist Maria. They went to the imposing doors, and Lord Wrenton rapped on the small door which was inset into the large ones. Moments later it was opened from within.

  “My Lord.”

  The man looked like a clerk of some sort. He bowed, and stepped back, so that they might enter.

  “Lady Rose, Lady Wareham, might I make known to you Mr Parkins, my manager at this ice house.”