“Though I cannot imagine staying in this room, not even for the most thrilling novel.”
This caught her sister’s attention. “Whyever do you say so? It’s beautiful?—”
“Of course.”
“—and large.”
“Yes, Sister, but don’t you think it’s a bit… cluttered, as if no matter how well you clean it, it will appear dusty? And even though the rooms are big, they are filled with mismatcheddecorations, likely passed down from a whole hoard of dukes before James.”
Violet didn’t understand how her husband lived this way, with paintings seemingly stacked on top of one another on the walls. They made the rooms feel small and claustrophobic.
“I barely feel like I have the space to breathe,” Violet muttered to herself.
“It’s not that different from Carfield House,” Rosalie pointed out before flipping open her book once again.
“I suppose not,” Violet sighed. She knew her sister was happiest when lost in a book, and she didn’t want to disturb her. “I think I’ll take that walk now.”
“Have fun!” Rosalie responded without lifting her head from her book.
The moment the fresh air hit her face, Violet felt as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders.
A place that was warm, comfortable, where children would love growing up…
Her heart clenched. She had momentarily forgotten that she and James would not have any. And while she was trying to make peace with it, even see the upside, there was still a part of herthat felt as if something very important had been taken away from her.
Just then, her skirts caught in some thorns, and a loud ripping sound rang out in the air. She looked down and was horrified to see that her beautiful yellow morning dress, one of the few she genuinely loved, was torn right across the hem.
“Blast!” she swore, even though it was unladylike for a duchess to swear. “Even the gardens here are cluttered! Can nothing in this house be orderly?”
She reached down and grabbed at the stems of several dead roses, but the thorns were sharp, and they sank through her thin gloves to prick her skin. Letting out a yell of pain, she released them at once. She would have to be more careful if she wanted to clean up these bushes.
And that’s when an idea struck her.
Bending down, she took off the scarf around her shoulders and wrapped it around her hands. Then, she grabbed the rose stems once more. This time, they didn’t prick her. Smiling to herself, she yanked, and the extraneous stems came loose from the ground.
“Can I help you, Mrs. O’Riley?”
Violet rose and saw an elderly gardener approaching. At first, she wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, as he had called herby the housekeeper’s name. She peered at him more closely. His face was weathered and lined from years out in the sun, a few of his teeth were missing, but his eyes looked cloudy.
“It’s the Duchess,” she said as he drew nearer.
“Oh, my word!” The gardener reddened with embarrassment. “Of course it is. Forgive me, Your Grace. My sight isn’t what it once was…”
“Don’t worry at all.” Violet glanced again at his cloudy eyes. “I was… er, I was wondering when was the last time these roses were tended to?”
“Not long ago,” the gardener responded, smiling benignly. “Why, I tended to them myself just last week.”
Violet looked down at the overgrown bushes, then back up at the gardener. This was clearly not the case. And was it just her imagination, or was he not quite looking at her, but instead glancing over her right shoulder? She checked to see what was there, but there was nothing.
A suspicion began to grow in her mind.
“I see,” she said slowly. “Well, I should like very much to help cut them down. You see, they made it difficult for me to continue my walk today.”
“Please don’t bother yourself, Your Grace,” the gardener insisted. “It is beneath you.”
“Never mind that,” she said, waving an irritated hand. Was no one in this house going to let her have a purpose? “Fetch me a spade and some rawhide gloves. I’m going to do this myself.”
“Your Grace!” The gardener looked thunderstruck. “You cannot!”
