Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

A fter washing her hands, Gemma changed into a clean gown; she did not think a dress covered in grass stains would be appropriate attire during dinner.

She silently sent the Dowager Duchess her thanks as she looked over the embroidered, pale lilac dress. The lady had ordered two dresses for her. They were soft and silky and fitted her perfectly. Gemma hadn’t worn anything so fine in her entire life.

She paused to examine her hands, smiling at the memory of the Duke’s dog. The last time she had touched one was eighteen years ago when her father, the late Earl of Carrington, had bought her a dog for companionship.

Gemma had named the puppy Tilly. She had been a ball of fur with big brown eyes that Gemma had loved like a sibling until her mother had given her away to a neighbor. That very same day she had packed up Gemma and driven her to St. Catherine’s.

She rested her hands against the rim of the washbasin and gazed blindly at the water in the bowl.

Now I know why Mother did not respond to my letters begging her to take me out of the convent.

She’d heard whispers that her mother had remarried, but it was only after she had seen an article years ago announcing that her mother had taken the name Treston, that Gemma realized she’d never come for her. Her mother had started another family and forgotten her.

Shaking her head as if to dislodge her dour thoughts, Gemma walked to the breakfast room, where the Duke was waiting for her with his dog, which sat quietly by his side.

Taking a seat across from him, she reached out to pet the dog. “What did you say his name was?”

“Remus,” he replied. “If you believe the myths, Remus, along with his twin brother Romulus, was one of the men who founded the city of Rome.”

Gemma briefly considered his choice of name.

“Why did you not name him Romulus?”

Frederick grinned and chuckled. “Romulus eventually killed his twin brother, so my sympathies lay with Remus and not him.”

She laughed at his unexpected reasoning and shook her head as she smiled to herself.

They both looked up in anticipation as steaming, aromatic plates of pheasant pie were placed in front of them and their glasses were filled with ruby red wine.

The storm rattled the manor’s windows and made the chandelier tremble, but did not affect the light and warmth that emanated from both of them.

“If you wish to keep gardening and caring for the roses, you are free to do so,” he said cutting into his pie. “It might give you better memories of planting than the ones the convent provided.”

After spearing a good-sized chunk of meat, he held it out to Remus and rubbed his ears after he gobbled it up. “Miss Bradford, you were quite young when your mother sent you to the convent. I must ask, what became of your parents?”

I cannot tell him.

“It was so long ago that I hardly remember my father,” she said quietly.

“Why were you sent there?” he asked. “I find it hard to believe that a seven-year-old child could do anything serious enough to cause them to be interned there.”

“My father… He was not particularly good with financial matters,” she replied looking down at the plate. “After he passed, there was no one to take care of me. I suppose it was to make sure I stayed alive.”

A large rumble made him turn his head to the window before he turned back to her. “Do you remember where you lived before the nunnery?”

“No,” she shook her head, her voice small. “Can we please not speak of it any longer? I…I would rather we did not continue this line of conversation, Your Grace.”

Acceding to her request, Frederick set the remainder of his questions aside for the time being. He could not shake the feeling that he was only getting half-truths from her, but the girl had gone through hell for years; he could allow her to keep some of her secrets.

“I apologize for pushing you,” he said.

She gave him a slight smile, then ate her meal as the storm raged on.

Gemma put down her fork. “Tell me more about your work. How do you go about making investments?”

His brows lifted at the unexpected question. “It starts with determining whether or not they are offering something that has value to the general public. Let me see if I can put it into simpler terms. What if someone offered up one hundred boats so that farmers could ship their produce down a river to a neighboring town. Would you think that is an innovative idea?”

“I would,” she replied. “It would be easier than using animals.”

“It would be, indeed,” he replied, setting his utensils down and moving his empty plate away from him.. “One hundred boats are good, but what if another provider says he can offer a ship which can carry more produce than one hundred boats combined and arrive sooner? Would you see that as a better choice?”

Gemma nodded, “Yes.”

“Then you think of the other factors, such as how easily a fleet of one hundred boats can become damaged, and the cost of repairs versus how much it would cost to repair a single ship. You also have to consider labor, upkeep cost, the constant flow of business from the farms, and other factors.”

She considered his words. “Farmers have seasons. In the off season, could that ship not be used to transport other goods… perhaps products from stone masons or iron workers and the mines?”

He felt oddly pleased at her deductions. “Exactly. That way you are still earning money from your investment in the ship.”

Sitting back, he rubbed Remus’s ears. “You have not touched your wine.”

“I am not used to it,” she admitted reaching for the glass and taking a sip. “It is very strong.”

“I will admit, it is an acquired taste,” Frederick agreed. “You do not have to drink it all now.”

She took another mouthful and then set the glass back on the table. Her gaze turned to the windows. “It does not appear as though the storm will stop tonight, does it?”

“I do not believe that it will,” Frederick turned to the window.

“I think I would like to retire early this evening,” Gemma said.

With a soft nudge, Frederick urged Remus to go over to Gemma. He padded over to her and nosed her hand, his tail wagging in anticipation of being petted. She giggled and rubbed his face before he placed his paws on her knees and nosed at her chin.

“You are a loving boy, are you not?” She rubbed him under his chin and spoke softly to Remus. “They say that pets take their mannerisms from their masters. You know, your master may have a stoic disposition—” her eyes flickered to the Duke “—but you are nothing like that, are you, Remus?”

Cocking an elbow on the back of his chair, Frederick sipped his wine and smirked. “I do not know whether I should be amused or insulted.”

“Somewhere in the middle, perhaps?” Gemma proposed, and noticed the hint of a smile dancing on the Duke’s lips.

She stood and gave Remus one last rub of his ears, then curtsied. “I shall see you in the morrow, Your Grace.”

“Goodnight, Miss Bradford,” he replied.

The first storm had set the tone of things to come.

Gemma entered the breakfast room cautiously, hoping to enjoy a quiet meal with Vivian, only to find Frederick already seated at the table, his gaze fixed on the sheets of rain as they hammered upon the windows. He barely glanced at her when she walked in.

“Good morning,” Gemma said softly, sliding into her seat. She took notice of the unusual tension in the air, although the storm seemed sufficient reason for it.

Frederick gave her a curt nod. “Morning.”

Just as she began to help herself to the pastries, Vivian swept in, her face alight with enthusiasm.

“Oh, I see you have both started without me! How rude,” she teased. “Frederick, dear, it is lovely to have you join us for breakfast. You have hardly left that study of yours all week.”

Frederick’s eyes flickered toward his grandmother. “I prefer the solitude,” he replied dryly.

“Nonsense,” Vivian waved her hand dismissively. “It is far more enjoyable with the right company.”

Gemma smiled awkwardly, aware of the undercurrent of tension that flowed between the two.

“Gemma, you must make good use of the library today,” Vivian said brightly. “There are so many wonderful books in there. Why, Frederick spent most of his childhood in that library, did you not, dear?”

Frederick’s brow furrowed. “I suppose.”

“You know, Gemma,” Vivian continued, ignoring her grandson’s lackluster response, “Frederick is quite the expert on estate management. You should ask him for advice if you find anything interesting. Perhaps he could help you locate some old records or historical documents.”

Gemma shot Vivian a suspicious glance, her instincts telling her that the suggestion was merely the tip of the iceberg of a larger scheme. “I will keep that in mind.”

Frederick’s eyes darkened at the mention of reviewing old records, and Gemma instantly realized that Vivian was once again trying to find ways to push them together.

Later that day, Gemma wandered into the library. It was a stunning room, lined with shelves of well-worn books that smelled of old parchment and ink. She ran her fingers along the spines, trying to lose herself in the quiet comfort of the place.

A creak of the door interrupted her thoughts.

She turned to see Frederick standing in the doorway, his expression hardened by irritation and something else that she could not quite place.

“Miss Bradford. I did not expect to see you here,” he said in a clipped voice.

“Nor did I expect you, Your Grace,” Gemma shot back, her heartbeat quickening as she met his gaze. “Her Grace suggested I explore the library.”

“She would,” he muttered under his breath, stepping further into the room. “What are you looking for?”

Gemma shrugged, her fingers brushing across an old volume on the shelf. “Nothing in particular. Just…passing the time.”

He regarded her for a moment before moving to the opposite side of the room, pretending to inspect a set of ledgers. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and Gemma could feel the tension building in the room.

“You do not seem like the type to waste time,” Frederick remarked, his tone sharp.

“Neither do you,” Gemma replied, turning to face him fully. “Yet here we both are.”

For a moment their eyes met and Gemma felt her pulse quicken. The atmosphere between them was as electric as the storm raging outside. They were close, too close, and Gemma knew if she didn’t say something to break the moment, she might do something she couldn’t take back.

Frederick stepped back before she could speak, his mask of cold detachment fixed firmly in place.

“I shall leave you to it,” he said abruptly as he turned on his heel and departed the library without uttering another word.