Page 131 of Immortal Rose

Damn him, he had a point. But that hatred, that resentment for the man who had cast my mother out, had long since calcified. I refused to yield to the man’s wishes, even in this. I wanted nothing more from him—nothing. He couldn’t give me my mother back, and he couldn’t take away those years of hardship and squalor.

“It would give you and the others an excuse to rummage around for clues about who might have the nectar,” Hugh had pointed out, ever logical.

Or I might be torn to shreds by an angry city mob before I reach the door.

I’d known to fear ostracization from the Patricians, but it had never occurred to me to fear actual bodily harm. No “small personal bequest” was worth that.

Today would be spent on Immortal Rose, on finishing the enfleurage process on the jasmine. There could be no other distractions.

I gave myself over to the soothing work, removing the jasmine from the chassis. But as the minutes passed, the scent of the flower clinging to the tallow grew fainter. My heart sank. I knew the tallow might need weeks to fully absorb the jasmine’s scent, but I’d hoped . . .

That was why hope was so dangerous. It could blind you to the obvious. In this case, that there wouldn’t be enough time to distill the jasmine grandiflorum oil myself.

Fleming appeared in the doorway, interrupting the frustrated drift of my thoughts. “Miss—that is,” the butler corrected himself, “my lady.”

I tried not to cringe.

“A man in palace livery has come to pay you a call,” Fleming said. “He says his name is Vernon.”

I wiped my hands on a towel, alarmed. Surely he’d only risk coming if something terrible had happened to Eleanor . . . or to Hugh.

“Is he in the sitting room?” I asked.

Fleming cleared his throat. “I fear he is insisting on remaining in the entry.”

The butler looked extremely put out by the departure from the usual polite customs. My brow furrowed, I followed him out of the still room and the kitchen.

If it hadn’t been for his lavender uniform, I might not have noticed the small elderly man at all; he had tucked himself into the corner of the entry hall and had his gaze fixed on the door, as if debating whether to leave. In his hand was a small bundle of white roses.

“Vernon?” I began. “Has something happened?”

At the sound of his name, the man straightened, his eyes widening like a child caught sneaking sweets.

“Oh, goodness, no—at least, not beyond what’s already happened,” he said, offering the roses to me. “I came to ask after you.”

He studied my face, lingering on the healing scratches I’d given myself. I took the roses, letting their familiar scent steady me. My heart gave a little tremble. “Thank you. I’m . . . well.”

“I saw the vicious lies about you in The Linden Times and was appalled,” he said. “I wrote to the editor at once proclaiming your innocence. Lord Foxcourt arrived at the palace to see Her Royal Highness just as I was departing, and he told me of the marriage and that you were safe. But something in the way Glenmoor was acting yesterday, preening about—I feared something else had happened.”

I was touched by his fury on my behalf.

“It’s not right that you should be caught up in Glenmoor’s conspiracies,” he continued. “You are innocent of this.”

“I’m glad you, at least, believe so,” I told him. “It would be helpful if others knew the truth about his character.”

Vernon shook his head. “It is . . . it is frightening, isn’t it? That a monster can wear a smile and an orchid on his lapel and walk among us, celebrated.”

Well, I couldn’t disagree with him. “Would you like to come in and sit for a moment? Or walk through the back garden? It’s lovely.”

I needed to work, but he was so riled he was trembling. I wanted to find a way to steady his gentle spirit before sending him back out into the world.

Vernon bit his lip. “I’m sure it is, but I really must be going . . . Tell me, though, is there still the statue of the fish in the topper hat at the center of the pond?”

Before I could answer, Willie and Tommy came bounding down the stairs, carrying armloads of bedding to be laundered.

“. . . it’ll be quick work,” Tommy was saying. Seeing us, he and Willie stopped at the base of the stairs. “Good morning, my lady.”

I grimaced.