Chapter 15

15

"Your garden has so much potential," Patience chirped as the carriage rattled. "Did you have a good gardener before?"

Dorian, looking incredibly dashing in his black tailored coat and his crimson waistcoat bearing the lions of Rath, turned his gaze from the small village passing by on their way to London to look at her. A tempest began brewing in the depths of his eyes, his stark face illuminated by the sunset from the window, the white patch of his hair ablaze with fiery sunlight.

He was breathtaking.

For the past three blissful days, she had been doing her botanical work! She'd found an excellent spot, removed the old, dried-up rosebushes, and transplanted her own roses into those locations. In the two weeks they'd stood like orphans in the mews of Rath Hall, next to the laundry building, she'd gone to check on them and at least water them.

They were suffering from the shock of being uprooted, transported, and transplanted into a new environment.

Just like her .

And the only one who had given her back her sleep and a feeling of home was him. The man with secrets. The man who had spanked her and then given her the most incredible experience of her life.

The man she ached to know, truly, soul to soul.

Her husband.

Dorian frowned fiercely. "The previous Duke of Rath had a good gardener. Yes."

"Do you mean your papa?"

A furious blink of his long eyelashes and his gaze grew darker. "I do."

"Right. I'm sure if the gardener had been allowed to keep working, the garden would be in its prime. Most of the plants seem to be fine, just wild and overgrown. I do understand why your roses died. It's not the neglect they had for what…a decade I would guess?"

"Twelve years," managed Dorian.

Twelve years? She frowned. That was how long ago John had died. A coincidence? Or was it yet another sign of the connection between her husband and her brother?

She'd asked Mrs. Knight two days ago if, to her knowledge, Mr. John Rose had been a friend or an acquaintance of the duke. Mrs. Knight had replied very sternly it was not her place to talk of her employer's social connections. The best person to ask was her husband or his friends and family.

To which Patience had blushed, embarrassed she had not thought of it herself. She might ask Lady Buchanan or one of Dorian's friends tonight if they were present.

"Well, the reason most of your garden is dried and those plants are dead is because of disease. I could see the signs of mildew, blight, and rust. Damask roses are very susceptible to those. So I suppose without a gardener who could fight the disease or perhaps uproot the unhealthy plants, these were left to fight for their lives or die. Some, I guess, couldn't survive without care."

Dorian rubbed his gloved hand, and when her gaze dropped to it, he hid it behind his back.

"The old gardener died soon after my papa," he explained. "And I never bothered to hire another one."

"Why not?"

He glared at her. Was he going to dismiss her again, or bark something about not asking questions?

But he surprised her when he said sadly, "I never liked that garden anyway."

She felt a smile tug at her lips. "Indeed, you shall find it far more to your liking once I have finished with it."

"No," he said. "Allow me to be clear. You may only plant your roses. You may not touch anything else."

She frowned. "Oh. What a shame. It could be so beautiful. And that glasshouse," she added dreamily.

A burst of warmth shot through her as she imagined the glory that glasshouse could be. A place where she could collect tropical plants, study their patterns, learn how to help them thrive, and make them stronger, and how she would draw them, paint them, document them. Perhaps she'd be able to make them flower and develop seeds. She could even find plants that would be useful for medicinal purposes.

Dorian's scowl deepened. "I don't want you to touch it. That is the rule. I did allow you to put in your roses, but it's only because you seemed so unhappy."

"Right."

He studied her, then his gaze softened. "Making you unhappy was never my intention," he added.

"Oh," she said, all words stolen.

She beamed at him then, and to her surprise, there was something like the shadow of a smile on his own lips. But it was gone so quickly, she thought it was surely her imagination.

"Well, I'm much less unhappy since I came to your room three nights ago," she said.

He nodded. "Good."

He cleared his throat and uncrossed his long legs, which looked especially firm and muscular in a pair of beige breeches, then crossed them again. "What could make you even happier?"

She studied him, blinking. "Are you trying to?—"

"I do have my rules. But I'd like to know how to ease your discomfort in my…er…your new home."

And suddenly she knew…she was still lonely. She slept well in his arms and therefore felt better, but she spent her days alone. Her family had left after the wedding, so abruptly…

"If only I could see my family one more time…" she whispered. "To see that they are doing better. That our marriage…this sacrifice… has produced fruit, and they're well."

Dorian nodded without hesitation. "I'll write to your papa, inviting them to come and stay for a week. Would that be agreeable to you?"

Her chest felt light, her lips curving upward of their own accord. "Agreeable? Oh, that would be absolutely marvelous!"

At the same time, the carriage slowed, signaling their arrival. The Mayfair mansion was beautiful and grand. As if on wings, Patience put her arm through her husband's and ascended the stairs to the front entry. Then they walked into the ballroom accompanied by a very stern butler.

Patience was so blinded by glittering crystal chandeliers and the diamonds on the necks and clothes of the beautiful ladies and gentlemen, she had to squint. The new scratches and cuts under her silk gloves itched, and she ached to remove them .

This was her first ball in the London ton, and she couldn't feel any stranger as she walked into the grand room where dozens of mirrors lined the dove-blue paneled walls and hundreds of candles burned in ornate candelabras. Lady Buchanan's soirée a few days ago seemed cozy and familiar compared to the great ballroom and the sheer number of fashionably dressed and coifed guests.

If she didn't hold on to her husband's elbow, she might fall. Her tightly tied corset wasn't helping. Mademoiselle Antoinette had been ecstatic and outdone herself by dressing Patience into a gown of pale blue, finely embroidered, and with a layer of delicate tulle. The maid had also created a masterpiece with her hair, adding fabric roses of various shades of blue, from icy pale to the intense sky-blue color of her husband's eyes.

And her efforts had paid off. Looking into the mirror before walking out of her bedroom, Patience wouldn't have recognized herself. Dorian's intense gaze, feeling like he was going to scorch her skin, confirmed it.

His arm was solid under her hand, his fierce presence strangely reassuring in front of all these glittering strangers.

"Did I please you that first night?" she asked.

The muscles of his forearm tensed beneath her palm. "Excuse me, what?"

"Did I please you?" she repeated. "When you spanked me?"

"Why would you ask this now? There are dozens of people around."

"I want to know. It's a simple question. Yes or no?"

He grunted and walked forward, tugging her after him. Her heart beat strongly in her chest. Many pairs of eyes followed them, but instead of shrinking, Patience squared her shoulders .

Poor Dorian looked miserable. Despite his exterior of a grump, there was a haunted pain in his eyes.

"I've only been unhappy in Rath Hall for the past eighteen days," she said. "That is how long we've been married. But you look like you've been unhappy there your whole life. Please tell me if I pleased you?"

He inhaled sharply, and his arm grew as hard as granite.

"Very well," she said. "If you do not wish to reply, I will. You pleased me that night," she said quietly, watching that no one overheard them. "Did I please you…then and last night?"

When she craned her neck to look up at him, he appeared to be choking.

"You did," he coughed out.

She felt her lips stretch in a wide smile and it was not forced at all. Joy filled her heart.

"Good," she said. "I'd like to please you more. I'd like to bring you pleasure like you bring me."

He shook his head and lowered his mouth to her ear. "No, you wouldn't, dear girl." His warm breath tickled the edge of her ear. "No matter how much I want you to."

Before she could ask more about that, his aunt practically flew towards them. Lady Buchanan wore a striking red dress with a thin waist and a full skirt. She had a high white wig on, with a stunning arrangement of feathers and jewels.

"Ah, there you two are!" Her face brightened. "Goodness, Patience, you're even more beautiful today, if that is possible."

Patience smiled back. "How are you, Aunt? You look beautiful, too!"

"Would you serve us punch, Dorian, dearest?" asked Lady Buchanan.

"Of course, Aunt," said Dorian. They had reached a side table that held a huge crystal bowl of punch and glasses. He poured punch into a glass and handed it to her. It smelled like apples and oranges, and Patience realized she was quite thirsty. "How's Chastity? She's not here, is she?"

"No, of course not," said Lady Buchanan as she let go of Patience's hand and turned around to survey the guests. "You know her. Reading a new fascinating issue of the medical review magazine that was just delivered. She'll return to Rath Hall soon, after giving you two newlyweds your time to get acquainted."

"Of course," chuckled Dorian as he poured another glass and handed it to Patience. As she took the glass, their eyes locked, and their fingers brushed against each other, and even through her gloves she could feel a jolt of pleasure. "Chastity doesn't go to balls, soirées, dinners, or anything social."

Patience chuckled. "Right now, as delightful as this evening is, I am quite envious of that privilege."

Dorian sighed. "So am I."

Patience met his gaze in surprise. So powerful, so rich, so confident… She didn't take him for someone who tried to avoid society.

"Ah, stop, you two," said Dorian's aunt, who had taken a sip of punch and put her glass back on the table. "My dear new niece must be introduced into the larger society of London. Neither of you have the privilege of hiding from your social obligations. Soon, darling Patience, you will have to throw balls, soirées, dinners for peers, charity events—everything to uphold your husband's and the Perrin family's power and connections. Attending soirées and balls is just the first step, and I'm going to help you as much as you need me.

"Ah, Marquess of Huntingham," Lady Buchanan called.

The man came and bowed to her, and, recognizing Dorian, bowed to him, too. "Rath," he said with a cold face.

He was a man in his late twenties, Patience estimated, tall and pleasant looking, with high cheekbones and big brown eyes, a square jaw, and a mane of dark brown hair. But there was a barely hidden demeanor of arrogance under his polite expression.

Dorian greeted him with a cold grimace.

"And this is my new niece, the Duchess of Rath," said Lady Buchanan proudly.

The marquess nodded to her, and his dark, appraising eyes looked over her.

"So pleased to meet you, Marquess," Patience said.

As the marquess's gaze stopping briefly at her chest, she felt an onslaught of nerves. She wanted only one man to look at her like that…the one who stood by her side.

Like the Duke of Luhst, this man offered his hand for her to place into his. "The pleasure is mine."

Patience hesitated. She really didn't want to do this, but the alternative was embarrassing Dorian or Lady Buchanan with her bad manners. Reluctantly, she put her hand into his, and he placed a kiss on her knuckles.

He held her hand longer than she thought was necessary, and she had to almost tear it away.

"What occupies your time of late, Huntingham?" asked Dorian in a tone of clear annoyance.

"I heard you were looking for a wife?" asked Lady Buchanan.

The marquess nodded. "I still am. Though this season is quite dull. Until I met the new duchess, of course. Admittedly, if I could find a wife as pretty as yours, Duke, I would be the happiest man alive."

"Well, you will not," growled Dorian with a stronger tone than was socially acceptable—even Patience knew that as several heads turned into their direction. "She's already taken."

The marquess stepped back as his gaze fell on Dorian's clenched fists. "Clearly, Rath. I was just being friendly. Welcome to London, Your Grace," he said as he turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

"Dorian!" hissed Lady Buchanan. "Where are your manners?"

Patience blinked, caught off guard by the edge in Dorian's voice. Did he truly fear the marquess's charm, or that she might find herself swayed by another?

The notion that Dorian might be concerned over such things sent a surprising warmth spreading through her.

Every gesture, every look, exuded a quiet authority that made her feel safe, cherished. In his presence, she felt a shield against the world's cruelties, his fierce protectiveness wrapping around her like an unspoken vow. She couldn't help but admire how he stood up for her, his strength reassuring her that she was never truly alone.

She longed to tell him, to show him that no one else could possibly catch her eye.

For better or worse, he was hers and she was his.

Lady Buchanan introduced her to more people. Lady Whitemouth, who was quite eager to learn about Patience's family and background and was rather scandalized to hear her father was only a small landowner in the north.

More ladies and gentlemen were introduced, and Patience found herself dancing from person to person. All she had to do was smile and ask them about their thoughts, opinions, and experiences. They all loved to talk about themselves, and she soon felt as if she had made many new friends.

Dorian kept barking at men who said anything pleasant to her. That did scare away several of the gentlemen, who preferred to retreat than deal with his temper.

Patience wondered if the men were afraid of the power and money that Dorian possessed? Or of losing a valuable connection with the Perrin family ?

Or just of him?

Soon, Lady Buchanan was called to another corner of the room while some couples gathered in the center of the hall and began dancing.

A stunning woman in her late twenties, with lustrous dark brown hair, gracefully approached Dorian. Patience watched in awe, wondering how she could ever emulate such elegance. She moved with the poise of a true duchess—her back straight, her head high.

Her features were striking—brown eyes set above the high cheekbones of a perfectly sculpted face. Her skin was smooth and radiant, giving her complexion the appearance of pure silk. Yet, it was her intense, secretive gaze directed at Dorian that truly captivated, hinting at a private world shared between only them.

Like those they share in bedrooms , came a razor-sharp thought.

"Lady Hargrave," Dorian greeted her.

"Duke," she greeted him back, with a lazy, private smile, and a velvety voice.

She wore an elegant dress that didn't need to be revealing to show she had the most beautiful figure, with a thin waist and lush breasts and gorgeous feminine hips. She was taller than Patience, but most women were, and a much better fit for Dorian altogether.

"How wonderful to see you," said the woman.

She stood close to Dorian, so much closer than Patience would have liked.

"We are not often graced with your presence at social events in London anymore," she said. "Your absence has been noted."

Patience was going to explode. For the first time, she understood Dorian's barking and unnecessary explosions because that was how she felt, too. Hot and prickly inside, like she was a lidded cauldron about to burst and pour boiling anger all over Lady Hargrave.

But no. That wasn't her. Her parents had taught her she needed to give people grace. And perhaps this woman was not Dorian's lover at all. Perhaps it was just her manner.

She may be the kindest and most gentle woman and an excellent friend.

What did Patience know about Dorian's past, London's ton, and all the politics and relationships people had to have to succeed and progress with their interests?

"Allow me to introduce my wife," said Dorian, "The Duchess of Rath."

The woman's eyes landed on Patience, no surprise registering in them. She had likely read the papers. Perhaps she had followed them religiously to find out anything about Dorian.

"Oh, how wonderful to make your acquaintance, Your Grace," said Lady Hargrave. She did not appear to believe that it was wonderful at all. On the contrary, she looked quite displeased.

"And yours," said Patience with her usual bright smile, the smile that was her armor and not her weakness. "I see that you know my husband well?"

The woman gave her a fox-like smile. "We're old acquaintances."

Patience nodded politely. "And is your husband his acquaintance, as well?"

Lady Hargrave looked down at her like a parent speaking to a naive child. "He is. They're great friends."

Patience felt like a stone dropped in her gut. How could her own simple charms compare with Lady Hargrave's sophistication?

No. She wouldn't dwell on it. She needed to stay calm and not to embarrass herself and Dorian. "Well then we must have you both at Rath Hall for dinner."

"Of course," said Lady Hargrave with forced enthusiasm.

The conversation continued, stilted, and Patience didn't bother to try and draw this woman out as she had the others. Nothing she could say would win Lady Hargrave over or make her give up her pursuit of Dorian.

Patience couldn't keep something that didn't belong to her anyway, she thought sadly. If Dorian wanted to find satisfaction elsewhere, he would.

As she looked to her right, she noticed the Duke of Pryde talking to someone a few steps away. She thought he might have just arrived and hadn't yet had an opportunity to say hello.

And she had wanted to talk to him.

Dorian had refused to tell her about the incident in Oxford with her brother. But she could ask Pryde directly and perhaps he'd tell her.

She excused herself from Dorian and Lady Hargrave, as much as it pained her to leave them alone. She knew she had to trust him, or this marriage was doomed.

He watched her with a puzzled gaze as she walked off but didn't follow her. He wanted to talk to Lady Hargrave privately, as well.

As Patience made her way through heavily perfumed ladies and gentlemen, Pryde saw her approaching, and gave her a nod and a polite smile. He introduced her to the gentleman to whom he was speaking. They chatted for a few minutes, and then, luckily, the gentleman was distracted by someone else.

"Sir, may I have a word?" she asked, quickly glancing around to see if anyone could hear them. "In private."

"I doubt Dorian will like that," said Pryde without looking at her .

He was right, of course.

"Please, this won't take long. It is about Dorian."

Pryde nodded. "Very well." He quickly led her towards a quiet corner where there were not many people gathered.

"How can I help?" he asked.

"I know you must be very disapproving of our marriage," said Patience, "and you're right. I am undeserving of the name of Rath. I wasn't born into an aristocratic family. I lack education, preparation, manners. But I fully intend to be a deserving wife to him. I know there's more to him than just those outbursts of rage."

Pryde was struck dumb for a few moments, staring at her. Finally, he said, "I must admit, I didn't expect you to say that."

"Oh. I suppose I have surprised Dorian quite a few times, as well." She smiled and found Pryde's gaze warming up.

"It's not you in particular I disapprove of," said Pryde finally, with a softer voice.

"What then?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."

"Is it something to do with my brother?" she asked, and knew she was right by the way he stood speechless again, defenselessness making his brown eyes soft and open. "That incident in Oxford you, Dorian, and Luhst discussed?"

His expression became shuttered, and he looked away. "Your brother was distressed."

"Distressed?" she asked, frowning. "I never saw him distressed in my life. What distressed him?"

"I don't know, Duchess. Look, it's hard to accept someone took his own life, but the sooner you come to terms with it, the better."

"So the Oxford incident is related to his suicide?" she said, undeterred. "How is my husband connected to it?"

Pryde sighed. "It's not me you should be asking, it's Dorian. And because I do actually like you as a person, I feel obliged to inform you, I will tell him of your questions. I gave your husband my word, and it's nothing personal against you."

Patience straightened her shoulders. "Very well. You should do what you need to do. I thank you for your time, Duke."

With that, she left him, working her way back through the crowd. She was worried about Rath's reaction to her inquiries. Would he want to punish her again? Would he do something worse this time, something she truly wouldn't like?

Oh God, he wouldn't take away her roses, would he?

Still, she mustn't stop until she learned the truth.

If Pryde and Dorian didn't want to tell her anything, there was still one more person she could ask—even if that would make her husband more furious.