He stalked down the corridor, using all his strength not to turn around until finally he reached the breakfast room.
“Good morning, Mrs. Henkings,” he greeted the housekeeper with a wide grin.
Despite the tiredness in her eyes, she curtsied gracefully. “Good morning, Your Grace. Your breakfast has been served.”
She gestured toward the breakfast table, set with the usual modest spread. Blaise sat and quickly sorted through the morning post. Most were business matters, but one letter bore the familiar handwriting of his nephew. He broke the seal and read through it quickly.
Dear Uncle,
I have received your correspondence and the directives to travel to London.
While I appreciate your concern for my future, I would prefer to prolong my stay at Oxford for another year. My academic progress is satisfactory, and I currently have no inclination to become involved in the intricacies of London society or to pursue any titles.
Please refrain from making arrangements on my behalf. I am satisfied with my current situation.
Marcus
Blaise’s hand clenched the paper until it crumpled. He looked at the crushed letter for a long moment, then pushed it aside and ate his breakfast with grim efficiency, drinking tea and eating eggs as if they had personally insulted him. The boy was digging in his heels, just like his father.
Stubborn to the core.
Blaise would deal with it later. For now, the renovations and a troublesome widow demanded his focus. He rose and made his way back toward the study, his mood darker than when he had left. As he reached the doorway, he stopped short.
“What the devil?” Blaise muttered under his breath.
The room had been transformed into a floral nightmare. Bouquets of flowers covered every available surface. Vases overflowing with fresh roses and daisies, clearly picked from the garden, sat on the desk, the side tables, and the mantelpiece. The air was thick with the sweet, overwhelming scent of flowers. Petals littered the floor like colorful confetti. It looked as if a damned conservatory had exploded inside his workspace.
Blaise stepped inside slowly, his boots crunching on a stray petal.
“Mrs. Henkings!” he called, and his voice carried through the corridor. When no immediate response came, he raised his voice louder. “Someone explain this floral invasion!”
A young maid appeared moments later, eyes wide with innocence. She carried a dusting cloth and curtsied neatly.
“Is something the matter, Your Grace?”
Blaise gestured broadly at the explosion of blooms surrounding him. “Where did these flowers come from? I specifically instructed Kennedy to remove them before I returned.”
The maid blinked in confusion. “Oh, but we were instructed that you might enjoy them, Your Grace. Her ladyship mentioned how much you admired the gardens, and she wanted the study to feel more welcoming for you.”
Blaise’s jaw tightened. He plucked a rose from the nearest bouquet and twirled it between his fingers, the thorns pricking lightly at his skin.
“I see. And this was Lady Hentley’s idea, was it?”
The maid hesitated for the briefest second, then smiled sweetly. “Yes, Your Grace. She simply wished to brighten the space. She said you had been working so hard on the renovations, and she thought fresh flowers would lift the mood.”
Blaise stepped closer, towering over the small woman. His voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “How thoughtful of her. Find out from her loyal servants if she often encourages such… creative interpretations of my instructions.”
The maid kept her gaze lowered respectfully. “Yes, Your Grace. But if the flowers displease you, I shall remove them at once.”
Blaise let out a short, humorless laugh. “Remove all of them. And inform the rest of the staff that the next time I give anorder, I expect it to be followed without these charming little rebellions.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the maid replied, curtsying again before she began gathering the nearest vases.
He watched her clear several bouquets, the sweet scent now cloying in his nostrils. Despite the irritation simmering in his chest, a reluctant spark of humor flared. Iris was waging a war of small resistances, and her troops were loyal to the last. Including the newcomers was smart of her.
A dark smile curved his lips.
Let her play her games.
