Page 50 of Lavender’s Lost Duke

Lavender hesitated. “No. Yes. No.” She threw her hands up. “That is two different questions. I know that I need to marry soon, and that he is my most likely option. My mother’s letters are beginning to get desperate.” It had crossed Lavender’s mind that a quick marriage would bring her mother far more peace than her dying father. “But that could just be her way of moving me along. And if I did marry Lord Chilcott, my parents would be happy. It’s only that . . . I won’t.”

Samuel’s shoulders sagged with obvious relief. “Then let’s be done with the man. I find him to be a pain in my side on his best days.”

Miriam stood and flung her arms out wide. “I told you your marriage needed to be based on love. This changes everything.” Miriam narrowed her eyes. “Why did you not tell me earlier? Now my matchmaking heart can find you someone worthy of loving you.” She settled back into her seat with an exaggerated sigh.

Lavender shrugged, used to the duchess’s theatrics by now. “I said nothing about love. It isn’t like I have any other prospects. Besides, I think that the only way to discover the truth about these rumors is to discover what Lord Chilcott intends to do about them. I feel certain he is behind the entire scheme.”

“Of course he is,” the duke agreed. “That won’t shock anyone. But he is behind more than just that. He has staked his claim upon your attention. That is the precise reason you do not have any other suitors.”

Lavender nodded, recalling the moment in the park when he’d claimed their courtship. “But why has he chosen to show his attentions to me? I knew nothing of him before coming to town.”

Samuel tapped his knuckles on his desk. “It is something we must discover. And quickly if we can help it.”

Miriam put a hand atop her husband's mindless knocking. “He is a man that people do not like to cross. Chilcott has a way with words that draws in a following. The Duke of Fenleigh is one of the only people I know who has never tried to avoid confrontation with him. In fact, he rather sought after it.”

“Forgive me, am I to understand that you believe Lord Chilcott to be manipulating me?” Lavender asked. She really ought to have seen it coming. She’d seen manipulation, lived in it her entire life. She didn’t believe that her mother would have labeled her words as manipulation, but that didn’t take the truth of the matter from the equation.

Lavender had always been given a purpose: to bring peace, to help others, to stay out of the way, to hide her injuries. She had fought tooth and nail to take on the personality her mother wanted, despite it not being in her nature. She was too outspoken, too forward thinking for her mother. But heaven knew she tried her best to keep the peace. And when she couldn’t curb her tongue, she’d turned to the library.

Perhaps that was why Lord Chilcott’s manipulations hadn’t felt as concerning as they truly were: they were an extension of what Lavender grew up with. And if that was the case, she had some experience dealing with it. “I think I might be able to allow that to work to my advantage.”

The duke and duchess exchanged confused looks. “What on earth do you mean?” Miriam asked.

“If he believes me to be manipulated, it is more likely he will let down his guard. How could we convince him to host us for dinner in his home sometime?”

“That would be nothing,” the duke smiled. “I know how to get Chilcott to dance to my music. All it takes is a well-placed backhanded compliment.”

Lavender looked at him with satisfaction. She had no doubts he could accomplish the feat. “Would you word your request to include your mother in the party?”

“She won’t be much help. She is hard of hearing.”

Lavender raised her brow. “I’m counting on Lord Chilcott believing that, though I myself am not fooled.”

“Wait,” Miriam said with a hand in the air. “You both know I am a proponent of true love, but why are you so anxious to prove Lord Chilcott wrong? What is the Duke of Fenleigh to you, Lavender?”

Lavender lifted her chin. “I want the Duke of Fenleigh to come back to London. A friend of mine believes we would make a good match.”

The duke started to laugh, but he tried to cover it up with a cough. “Whoever your friend is, I like them already.”

So do I. Lavender felt a sting in her heart. If only he wasn’t utterly out of reach.

Chapter 24

Thomas went back to gardening with a level of enthusiasm he knew was odd. But he’d missed the work. He missed it enough over the past week that he’d been considering doing the gardening at his own home when he had the chance. It would be frowned upon. But he was a duke. If he wanted to pull weeds, who was going to stop him?

His gardener probably.

He kicked the trunk of the tree and wrestled with the idea that no matter what life he wanted, he would always be wondering if he would be happier somewhere else. He’d struggled with the idea ever since his father died. He’d learned the hard way that although his father was a powerful man, he wasn’t liked. He didn’t have friends. He had everything and yet, nothing that mattered. When Thomas realized he was following in those precise footsteps, that was when he’d turned to gambling, and when that didn’t provide him the thrill he expected from his life, he’d turned to drink. But all that had done for him was give him years’ worth of headaches. It was liberating to think clearly and be proud of what he’d done. Even if what he’d done was simply weed a garden. Would that sense of accomplishment dim when he rejoined society?

He was determined that he would fill his time with more meaningful pursuits: earning Lady Lavender’s love if she wasn’t already claimed and fighting for the proper schooling of the lower classes being his first items of business. He knew that changing the minds of those who were in power was an uphill battle, but he wanted to be a part of it. He went back to his weeding, pulling out weed after weed and tossing them into his growing pile.

Finding his own sense of purpose and joy would probably feel similar to weeding. Constantly finding the things in his life that sucked energy from him and others and then replacing it with something that built up instead. He’d done that amongst his staff years ago, and now he felt he’d already weeded out his most hurtful habit—that of drinking—the effort was worth the payoff.

Jack sauntered up to him. “Well if it isn’t my servant come back from the dead.”

“Ha ha,” Thomas said as he dug his shovel into the dirt again. “How are your hands? You didn’t overwork while I was sick, did you?”

Jack held up his hands. There were still patches of pink skin, but there was no more puss or blood leaking from his joints. “I’m good as a new baby frog.”