Page 158 of House of Roots and Ruin
The duke’s private room was surprisingly rustic, and yet perfectly suited for Gerard’s tastes, making me wonder how often he visited, whiling away his hours while we all assumed him in the greenhouse.
The room was made of exposed timber beams and stucco walls. Detailed botanic illustrations hung on either side of a small fireplace. A stack of books rested on the mantel, along with glass cloches protecting dried flowers and strange rocks. Two chairs in dark leather resided at the planked table, giving the room a decidedly intimate air.
Dauphine took in the surroundings with wide eyes, drinking in all of the details. “I’ve never actually been here before. Gerard says he enjoys his privacy while he works….” Her gaze fell to the second chair I now resided in, lingering uneasily upon it.
I studied the renderings on the wall. One showed a diagram of a pomegranate, split in two and revealing its fleshy, seeded innards. Another was an orchid blossom, petals spread open wide. They reminded me uncomfortably of the illustrations I’d seen in his secret dossiers and I squirmed at the oddly explicit feelings they evoked.
Before we could order, a barmaid brought in a bottle of wine, held upright in a woven basket, and two goblets. Her skin was heavily freckled, her hair dishwater blond.
“Oh no,” Dauphine said. “Just tea.”
The serving girl stopped short. “But the duke always wants this wine when he arrives. Especially when entertaining such fine ladies.” She smiled, revealing a mouthful of missing teeth.
“He won’t be coming today.” Dauphine’s voice clipped sharp as her worries were not only confirmed but also said aloud, in such a casual manner. “It will only be the two of us.”
The maid blinked, her confusion evident. “But I’ve opened the wine….”
“Use it for someone else,” I intervened, eager for her to go away. The sooner I could uncover Dauphine’s secrets, the sooner we could leave this disagreeable room. “It looks quite busy in the dining room. I’m sure it won’t go to waste.”
“But this is the duke’s wine.” She hugged the tray to her chest, eyes as wide as the black wraith flowers protecting Gerard’s gardens.
Dauphine sighed. “Then we’ll take it.” She poured my glass, then hers, then paused. “Where’s the third glass?”
“Ma’am?”
“If you thought the duke was coming, where’s his glass?”
The girl squirmed uncomfortably, cowering beneath Dauphine’s all-seeing gaze, before fleeing the room without answer.
Dauphine rubbed at the center of her forehead as if warding off a headache. “He chooses the oddest places for his patronage.” She shook herself from her reverie, glancing back to me. “No matter. What shall we toast to?”
I frowned, considering my options. I needed something that would steer our conversation in the right direction. I raised my glass, suddenly inspired. “To the Laurent men.”
She let out a surprised burst of laughter but touched her goblet to mine. “To the Laurent men. May yours only ever vex you in all the best ways.” She took a long swallow, then made a face.
The wine was bitingly tart and acidic.
“This can’t have come from our cellar,” she mused, holding the glass up to the window’s light.
The door swung open again as the barmaid returned, carrying a basket of bread and a dish of olive oil, garlic, and cracked black pepper.
“Are you certain this wine was just opened?” Dauphine asked, freezing the girl with her green stare.
“Yes, milady. I did it myself.”
She took another sip of it, pursing her lips.
The serving girl seemed poised to take flight, frozen on the tips of her toes, ready for any other demands the duchess might make. “Is there anything else I can get you, milady?”
“Nothing for now.”
She hurried off.
I took a small sip, swishing it in my mouth as I mulled over what tactic to take. The bright flavor coated my teeth and I picked at the bread, hoping it would offset the bite. “Does he really vex you? Gerard?”
Dauphine tore a bread slice in half, dipping an unladylike portion of it straight into the oil. She chewed for a moment before answering. “It’s hard to imagine now, but you’ll findthat all men—even the good ones—will come to vex you more days than not as the years go by.” She sipped the wine again and followed it with another bite of bread. “It’s our lot as women to bear…But this is dreary talk for a bride-to-be just days before her wedding! We’ve years and years to commiserate over this.”
I nodded, trying to be as agreeable as I could. “Even still, I’m sorry. He spends so much of his days tinkering—”
