Page 90 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“What did you call me!?” Philip spluttered.

“A coward.” Aaron sat straight, his figure every bit the stiff soldier as he arched his eyebrows in challenge. “Don’t miss out on a chance to be happy with your wife just because you have too much pride to accept you were wrong.”

* * *

Grace trailed her fingers through the lavender flowers she had asked to be planted. With their tiny purple heads, they were a shot of color in a garden that was starting to turn chilly.

“Shall we not go inside?” Diana called from behind her. “This wind is picking up.” As she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, perching on a bench, Grace barely noticed that wind.

She felt an itch, a longing to have that little botanical book back which she had left in the main house. She wished to draw the lavender flower within those pages, to write about its rich scent, and the comfort it could bring.

“You go inside. I’ll follow shortly,” Grace promised.

At least there is one good thing about this place. I am truly free to do as I like now.

She heard Diana’s steps on the gravel path, but there weren’t many of them.

“Oh,” Diana gasped a second later. “Violet is here.”

“Violet?” Grace jerked her head up from the lavender plant, craning her neck to see what Diana was seeing.

It was true; across the garden, they could see up to the gravel drive in front of the Dowager’s House where a carriage had pulled hastily up.

Violet didn’t even wait for the footman to open the door for her but burst free from it. She had ink stains on the palms of her hands as she waved eagerly at them, running toward them.

“She’s covered in ink again,” Diana said with a giggle.

“Someday, she’ll turn up head to toe covered in the stuff.” Grace’s jest made Diana laugh, but Grace could not summon a smile.

Violet was a writer though for some time she had been published under a pseudonym.

“Grace, Grace!” Violet was shouting, waving some papers in her hand. “You will not believe what I have discovered. Grace, you have to hear this.”

Grace stood from the lavender bushes, not even bothering to wipe down the soil from the skirt of her gown, for what was the point?

“You look as if you have been caught in a whirlwind, Vi,” Diana said in interest as she caught up to them in the garden.

“I feel like I have.” Violet stopped running, red in the face as she leaned forward to catch her breath, still clutching papers. “You will not believe what I have heard this morning. I had to come and see you, Grace. Oh, it changes everything.”

“What on earth is going on?” Grace asked. “Come, sit down. You look ready to burst.” She and Diana steered Violet back to the bench behind them. She sat but barely managed to perch on the very edge for she looked so excited.

“I was at the print house this morning.” She waved the papers in front of her. “I was talking to my publisher about my latest book when a whole cohort of ladies walked in. As you can imagine, I hardly wanted to be seen by them in there. Lord knows what they’d whisper about me, so I quickly made an excuse to the publisher and hid in his office.”

“Did they see you?” Diana asked with concern.

“No, thank goodness.” Violet shook her head. “But they started talking to the publisher, and from my position, I could listen in. Mrs. Robertson was amongst them. It turns out, they write for one of the scandal sheets. They had come to collect all their stories together for their next print runt.”

The name, Mrs. Robertson, made Grace stiffen. It made sense to her now why the incident with the carriage in Covent Garden had appeared so quickly in the scandal sheets, for Mrs. Robertson was there to witness it even though she had twisted the truth in her retelling of it.

“Mrs. Robertson,” she whispered. “Has she been behind all of the stories about me?”

“No.” Violet turned to face her completely on the bench. “That is just it, Grace. One of the other ladies was asking Mrs. Robertson where she got all this information on you from, for you and your husband are the talk of the town because of it. Mrs. Robertson started talking about a good source, how she had someone inside your father’s house who was very ready indeed to tell her all she needed to know.”

“My father’s house?” Grace’s mind worked fast. That day when she and her father had talked of the late Duke of Berkley’s gambling, had there been a maid with their ear pressed against the door, listening into their conversation? Had there been a gardener who had seen her climb in through the window then stepped closer to hear all that was said. “Who?”

“Surely no one in that house would betray your family so much,” Diana muttered, fear lacing her voice. “The mere thought…” She shuddered. “It’s unthinkable.”

“There is someone.” Violet nodded firmly. “Grace, I am so sorry to be the one to tell you this.” She reached for Grace’s hand and gripped it tightly. “For it is no staff member, no visitor; it is someone much closer to home.”

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