Page 38 of Lavender’s Lost Duke

Lady Lavender opened her mouth, closed it again, and shook her head. “I feel so stupid. I have you, and Miriam, and Samuel, and Jack, and Henry. I have my family and my nieces. I don’t deserve the army of people I have been blessed with. But no one here needs me. Miriam and Samuel are fine without me, as is everyone at this estate. I feel so useless. I’m not helping my father because I am not succeeding in my search for a match. I’m not helping ease Ash’s burden of taking on an earldom by remaining unwed. If I’m not helping someone, what is my purpose?”

Thomas extended his hands to Lady Lavender, and she took them. He pulled her to her feet and led her to their bench. Kneeling in front of her, he brought her gloved hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. It was just like the first time he’d seen her. There she was, the most angelic vision he’d ever seen, and his pulse was thrumming wildly. “You help me, Lady Lavender. More than you know.”

She smiled at him and patted the bench. “I only give you more work to do every day. If I wasn’t here, you’d be better rested.”

“That isn’t precisely true. If you weren’t here, I’d still be searching tirelessly for a reason to believe in myself. Your trust in me has made me feel . . .” He clamped his mouth shut. He couldn’t declare himself to her. He was just Tom Smith right now. A servant. A nobody. And she deserved more.

“I wish things were different.”

He chuckled. “That makes two of us.”

A rush of pink tinged Lady Lavender’s cheeks, and she leaned toward him. “I know you were born a gentleman: is there hope of you regaining that status one day?”

“What if there was?” Did he dare believe he knew her heart? She’d told him she didn’t want love. And yet, he was certain that anything less than earning her heart would break him into a thousand tiny fragments.

“If there was hope for that, I’d have to ask you to stop attending me in the garden. I’ve resolved not to fall in love, and you would make that difficult.”

“Lady Lavender, I—”

“No, don’t say anything, please. It will only make it harder for me.” She clenched her hands together in her lap. “If you care for me, that would be dangerous for both of us. If you don’t, I can’t feel the sting of rejection again so soon. I might not ever recover,” she whispered. Then she stood and brushed her ball gown.

If he cared for her? Of course he did. And if it weren’t for his nasty cousin’s continued claim of treason, Thomas would be able to keep all of Lady Lavender’s concerns at bay at once. But he would bow to her wishes for now and keep his feelings close to his own heart. Only, he couldn’t let her leave without saying something.

“Fenleigh has an incredible library,” Thomas blurted out. He hardly knew what he was saying, but he had to put in a good word for himself while she was thinking about her prospects.

“What?”

“The lost duke—his library is incredible. And he’s kind. I just . . . if he’s found . . . I think you should give him a chance.”

He saw the confusion and hurt on her face, but he didn’t understand it fully.

Her smile was full of disappointment. “Goodnight, Tom.”

He watched her walk back to the house, knowing full well that he’d butchered the evening. If she was falling in love with Tom, he had to leave. He had to give her a reason to fall in love with the Duke of Fenleigh. And he couldn’t do it soon enough.

Samuel and Miriam were already embroiled in trying to discover information to clear Thomas’s name, but who else could he enlist to aid him? How much could he trust Jack? Would the boy help him, or would he tell Lord Chilcott for a small fortune? Even if he did share it, the worst that could happen was that Thomas would be found and forced to rejoin society in his proper place. It seemed worth the risk.

Chapter 19

Lavender hadn’t slept a wink. After hours of restlessness, she’d come to the conclusion that if she wasn’t even enough for a servant, then why should she turn down the advances of Lord Chilcott? Handsome gardeners could only be an option in her increasingly detailed dreams. Tom had made his stance about their friendship last night quite clear—he either did not have romantic feelings for her, or refused to admit that he did. He’d even nudged her toward seeking the attentions of the missing Duke of Fenleigh. If he was pushing her toward other men, his feelings for her did not match what she had for him.

Right now, Lord Chilcott was her only option. And although he made her feel uneasy, that could be the way she felt about every man she didn’t have feelings for. Today, she’d give the man a real chance to make things better between them.

The Berkley Square Gardens were in full bloom, and full of bees. Lavender reminded herself that she had her rosewater and her maid with her should she be stung. She steadied her breathing as Lord Chilcott held out his arm and helped her down from the carriage. “There is a bench across the lawn. Would you like to sit to eat our ices there?”

“That sounds lovely.” She tried not to hear all the sounds around her. There were horses passing by and people talking, but above it all, she heard the buzzing. It could be flies, but she knew there were bees, too. It was precisely the type of situation she always tried to protect herself from. She grasped her fan so tightly she feared she might snap it in two—but then what would she have to ward off the troublesome insects?

Ought she warn Lord Chilcott about her situation with bees? No, she didn’t want to look frail and drive him away so soon. Not if he was her only current option for marriage. She felt no attraction to the baron, and that was as it should be. Her heart was protected if it wasn’t vulnerable.

A darling young girl brought over their ices. “Thank you,” Lavender said.

Lord Chilcott ignored the girl completely. “So, Lady Lavender, how do you like to spend your time?”

Lavender chuckled. “You might not recall, but I quite enjoy reading.”

“Brilliant. So do I,” Lord Chilcott said. “What book do you gravitate toward?”

Odd, he’d been bored about the subject the first time he’d asked her the exact same question . . . even going so far as to accuse her of being a bluestocking. “More often than not, I find myself drawn to architecture or poetry. And you?”