Page 19 of King of Rogues
One down, two to go.
Arriving home, he arranged to send a note to Kitty informing her of the evening’s progress, or rather lack thereof. Naomi had been right in her judgement of the Harforde family. For a brief moment, he pondered whether she might have been the better choice to put the list of potential brides together, but then thought the better of it.
Why Naomi’s name wasn’t on the list still had him stumped.
Is she really that angry with me?
Inside the front door of Monsale House, he was greeted by Adan. His steward’s face reflected his own disappointment. If things had gone well with Constance, he wouldn’t be home so early.
“Can I take it that the first lady was not suitable?” asked Adan.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get to meet her. But the three minutes I spent with her pompous father was more than enough.”
His thoughts of this evening’s failure were suddenly pushed aside as the unmistakable hint of perfume reached his nose. Monsale sniffed and Adan’s scowl transformed into a bright smile.
“Yes, your grace, they have arrived.”
Monsale hurried to the entrance of the ballroom and flung open the doors. He was greeted with a sight which had him grinning from ear to ear.
Four large wooden crates had been stacked in the middle of the floor. One had been opened and several large pots with pink flowers were visible inside. It was from these blooms that the heady scent emanated. Monsale rushed across the floor, giddy as a child on Christmas morning, dropping to his knees in front of the first pot.
“Oh, damask roses. Aren’t they beautiful? So delicate and yet, their scent fills the room.”
Adan came to stand next to the box. “They are rather lovely. We have only had time to check this first crate, but they all seem to have arrived in good condition.”
His long-serving steward was but one of a select number of people who understood what the roses meant to Monsale.
Memories of his late mother were few and vague. The clearest of them, was an image frozen in time, of her standing next to a rose bush in the garden of their house in Bermuda. He could still recall her words as she bent and held her face close to a perfectly formed damask bloom, smiling as she inhaled its wonderful perfume.
“Andrew, roses always bring me joy,” she said.
On the morning that Sarah McNeal died, James had gone into the yard and ripped out the rose bushes with his bare hands, laying waste to what had once been a perfect garden. The young Andrew dumbstruck with grief, watched helplessly as his father destroyed every last bloom.
The only thing which remained of the roses were some dry, pressed petals in a diary left to Monsale by his mother.
By having these rose bushes shipped from Morocco he was able to relive those precious memories once more. Of a time when he still had a family. Before it all went to hell.
Getting to his feet, he carefully lifted the pot. Tonight, he would be sleeping with it on the table next to his bed. Tomorrow the Monsale House servants would begin planting the mature bushes in the garden, the younger plants finding a place in the glass hothouse.
“Well at least this evening wasn’t a complete waste of time,” he said.
Adan cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt your joy, but may I ask about your grace’s plans for the next young lady on the list? Time is not something we have to spare.”
Monsale continued to stare at the pretty pink blooms. Nothing, not even this evening’s unpleasant encounter with the Harforde’s, could diminish his delight at the safe arrival of the newest members of his floral collection.
Adan, of course, was right, the roses were wonderful, but he had to address the issue of finding a bride. By August twenty-fourth Monsale had to have a wife by his side as he knelt in front of the Prince Regent.
“We need to continue with the search. So, tomorrow I shall endeavor to meet with the second prospective bride on the list. But rather than try to meet the young lady and her parents at a formal gathering, I want to invite them here for supper. Let them see the house and what marrying a duke will bring to their fortunes.”
“Very good your grace. You could even show them your roses.”
A soft smile sat on Monsale’s lips. Everyone loved flowers. A wife who shared his appreciation of roses would be a plus.
“I shall, thank you, Adan. Tell the staff to wait until after tomorrow evening to plant the bushes. In the meantime, I want the roses all carefully removed from the crates and set about the ballroom.”
He marched upstairs, pot in hand and headed for his bedroom. By inviting the next potential bride to his home, he might get a chance to speak to her. To learn more about the young woman.
His married friends had always pressed the need for a couple to have shared interests. Something with which to build a relationship upon, and also to provide common ground on which husband and wife could meet when times were tough.
