Page 49 of When He Was a Duke
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.
“How can you promise that when you won’t even tell me who you are?”
The unanswerable question.
Rose stood up, brushing grass from her skirts. “I should go. Prudence will be looking for me.”
Sebastian rose as well, fighting the urge to reach for her. “Lady Rose, wait a moment.”
“I need time to think.” She backed away, as if she were suddenly frightened of him. “About everything. About what I can trust and what I can’t. Of who I can trust and who I can’t.”
His vision blurred and he felt as if he might crumble right before her. He knew he deserved what she said.
“Please be careful,” he said. “Stay with your maid or the other women. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“I will.” She paused at the edge of the orchard. “Do be careful, Sebastian. These are dangerous men and you’ve made yourself a target.”
Sebastian watched her walk away, her shoulders straight despite everything she’d learned. She was stronger than she knew, braver than she gave herself credit for.
But she was also right not to trust him completely. Because the truth was, he was still lying to her about the most important thing of all.
Chapter Twelve
After she returnedto the manor, Rose suggested to the ladies that they take a walk through the meadows and down to the creek where a deep pool of water awaited. Rose knew the property well and had always found solace in the secluded spot. The ladies had been delighted at the prospect of an afternoon adventure away from the stifling atmosphere of the house. Fortunately, Honoria had gone with the men to observe the shooting party. Violet, on the other hand, had eagerly joined Rose and the others for an outing away from her cousin’s watchful eye.
The five of them set out in the mid-afternoon, with the sun hanging warm and golden over the rolling hills. They walked arm in arm out of the manicured gardens and onto the wilder paths of the estate, their skirts brushing against the tall grasses. Foxglove, buttercups, and heather dotted the hillsides in bursts of color. The wind carried the scent of fresh hay from a farm in the valley below, mingling with the distant bleating of sheep. Cicadas provided a drowsy summer chorus.
If only she could enjoy it all. Instead, her stomach remained knotted with worry, her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
“Such a glorious day,” Daphne said, sighing with pleasure as she knelt to pluck a buttercup. “Did you know that if you hold this under your chin, it will tell you if you fancy butter?”
“What a silly notion,” Arabella laughed. “Though I suppose it’s as reliable as any other test of affection.”
“Who among us doesn’t fancy butter?” Violet asked, adjusting her bonnet ribbon.
“You’re all terribly practical and no fun at all,” Daphne said, grinning.
Rose forced herself to smile, even though their gentle teasing couldn’t distract her from the morning’s revelations.
Lydia linked her arm with Rose’s. “Would you care to share what’s troubling you? We’ve proven ourselves trustworthy confidantes, have we not?”
“Did something happen?” Arabella asked.
Rose’s throat tightened with emotion. “You’ve all been such dear friends. Yes, something happened this morning. With Baron White.”
“Dear me,” Daphne said. “Do tell us everything.”
Rose proceeded to recount the entire incident in the rose garden, sparing no detail of White’s unwelcome advances or Sebastian’s dramatic intervention. She also told them about the use of the garden shears. “If Sebastian hadn’t appeared when he did, I don’t know what would have happened.” She shuddered at the thought.
“This Sebastian, he’s one of the gardeners?” Arabella asked.
“The tall, handsome one with the serious expression,” Violet said.
“Ah yes, I’ve noticed him.” Arabella’s eyes glinted with interest. “He’s quite delicious.”
“I agree. And he seems almost noble,” Lydia said. “The way he walks, the set of his shoulders.”
“He was educated as a youth,” Rose said. “He told me his mother had him out of wedlock and fell from grace, but she made sure he was educated.”
