Page 7 of Ravishing Among the Roses
George snorted with laughter. “I am a Lord too. I have a courtesy title and one day I’ll be a Duke. Where’s my choice?”
“I don’t understand.” Gabby’s downfall had always been curiosity, and he wanted to know what power this dreadful Duke held over everyone. “Why don’t you have a choice? Can’t you walk away?”
“I did. And look at me now.” George’s posture stiffened and his youthful face was a blend of righteousness and anger and hurt. “My own father is attempting to get the law changed so he can disinherit me. And all because I dared to say no to him. I stood up to him and walked away, and he’s going to use all his considerable powers to ensure that we can never reconcile.”
“No.” Lord Thwaitepiddle stood, rather abruptly. “No. You need to understand something. His Grace has threatened to get the law changed to disinherit you. He would never do that in practice. The law around inheritance is an unbreakable force. Your parents were married, my brother was present during the time of your conception. The truth of your conception is irrevocable. He can’t get you disinherited for being a bastard, not after sixteen years of treating you as the heir. All the peers with uncertain parentage who benefit from having married parents would never countenance such a change. And my brother knows enough that he wouldn’t take on an unwinnable fight – his power is that he wants you to think he has that power. But you and I both know that the only power my brother has is in the moment. He can banish you from his lands, he can tarnish your name, he can sell everything that isn’t entailed, but one day, the Dukedom will all come to you. He’s not foolish. To take on the peerage and all it stands for would make him seem like the villain and we all know he’s painting you as the villain and himself as the victim.”
The impassioned speech appeared to deplete the Lord of all his nervous energy and he slumped in his chair again. Gabby’s palm twitched with wanting to touch him and reassure him,while also still being annoyed that he knew all this, and still he was helpless to do anything for George.
“Kelmscott said as much. He said I should build my own network of allies in society and among my age group because one day his talk wouldn’t matter anymore.”
“I’m glad you have Kelmscott and a safe place to go now,” Mama reminded them all that this wasn’t theoretical, that George had needs now and all this posturing and planning for the future when his father was dead wasn’t useful. The concept of it made Gabby’s mind ache; he might work at The King’s Book Club where some of the peerage indulged themselves, but he knew he didn’t belong in this world where power brokers ruled. He was hardly naïve, having seen how people held the meagre snippets of powers over each other in any sector of society. He just wished the world could be filled with more kindness.
“And what of you?” Gabby pointed at the Lord, although he couldn’t likely didn’t see since he had buried his head in his arms on the table. “You know you are being used to bolster the Duke’s position and yet you enable him?” Gabby’s fault, according to Mama, was that he didn’t know when to stop. He wanted to put his hands on his hips and his nose in the air and tell everyone that this was an important question.
“I don’t have a choice.” The mumbled answer was deeply unsatisfying.
“Bollocks.”
“Gabby.” Mama’s tone sanctioned his blurted swearword.
“Fine. That’s fiddlesticks. Everyone has a choice.” Sometimes, they weren’t great ones, as he well knew, but Gabby was on a roll now, and his curiosity had combined with his righteousness was pushing him. He wanted to know why this Lord allowed himself to be used as a tool to hurt his nephew. It made no sense, given the way he’d shown such delight in seeing George.
“Oh no.” George rushed over to Lord Thwaitepiddle, as if he saw something no one else in the room did. He dragged a chair next to him and leaned in close to whisper something. The Lord nodded slowly.
“He can’t do that,” George said. When Lord Thwaitepiddle lifted his head, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“He can and he will. He’d gain great satisfaction from destroying my work. And I’m sure he finds it deeply thrilling that he can get me to do his bidding merely from the threat of it.” The man shrugged. “I’ve always known this, but what can I do?”
“Walk away. Take your work with you.” Gabby didn’t understand the problem.
“If I do that, he will have me tried for theft. My work belongs to him. He’s the Duke. He owns everything.”
“But you are a Lord too? Doesn’t that give you some power?”
He shook his head. “I am a younger brother with a courtesy title. I live by his good graces on his land using his money. I have nothing of my own.”
Gabby couldn’t wrap his head around this and he opened his mouth to argue when Mama shook her head. How could someone live like this in riches and purport to have nothing?
“I could walk away. I could leave behind my entire life’s work and I could go into a trade. I could begin again, maybe working as another peer’s gardener. You can’t know how often I’ve worked through different scenarios.”
“And yet you stay?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Gabby stop being nosy. If young Lord Edmund wants to stay, it’s his choice.” Mama’s censure halted his righteousness and he swallowed to prevent the next thoughtless comment sitting on the tip of his tongue.
“Because—” George stood taller, crossing his arms over his chest with all the bravado of youth. “My uncle is the world’s greatest rose breeder and the gardens at Galforth House are visited by everyone. You can’t ask my uncle to walk away from that just because the Duke is, well, what he is.”
Roses. Gabby’s stomach did odd things at the notion of this earthy solid Lord caring so deeply about something beautiful. From his build and his reaction at work last night, Gabby would’ve guessed that his work was in something more brutal, something practical, like inventing farm machinery. But roses. This man, who could easily be mistaken for a farmer with his broad shoulders and calloused hands—Gabby remembered the texture of his palms roughly clinging to his hair last night—this man spent his days encouraging beauty to flourish. Perhaps they weren’t so different?
“His Grace is a temporary problem. The gardens belong to the Dukedom and I am a caretaker. My father ensured their status meant that any threats to their existence are merely threats.”
“And yet, you still acquiesce to him and suffer under the threat.”
“Yes, because I don’t think my father’s idea that making the gardens famous to protect them is enough. If someone can banish his own child, then he’s also capable to killing my roses. It is not worth the risk to be seen to disobey him.”
