Page 65 of Duke of Rath

She shouldn’t be touching anything here, roared the beast inside him. No one should touch anything of his mother’s.

But this was the only room on the ground floor with a good view of her precious roses. He’d foolishly blurted out this morning that perhaps she’d like to visit it.

“Your mama?” she asked and turned to him, her eyes big with understanding.

Good God, what was this woman doing to him? Rage licked the inside of his rib cage like a lion. How dare she enter this room, touch anything here?

How dare she make changes in his house…and in him?

“Yes,” he said, marveling at the ease with which the word left his mouth.

One after another, he’d lowered his defenses and broken his rules just for the pleasure of seeing her brilliant smile, her sparkling eyes.

“And you haven’t been here since…”

“Since the day I asked Mrs. Knight to close this room. It was the day of my papa’s funeral. I had just got back from Oxford. Twelve years ago.”

Twelve years ago… There was that number again. It was also twelve years ago that John had died, and he saw the significance of the date flicker in her eyes.

The room, once filled with light and the laughter his papa had disapproved of, had become a dungeon to Dorian’s pain and anger.

On the day he returned home twelve years ago, all he knew was that he would never see the garden, never come to this room again. And so, the furniture had been covered, the curtains drawn together, and the doors locked.

Until today.

Patience shifted the curtain a little and peeked into the sunlight, her face immediately alight with enthusiasm—and he knew the view of her rosebushes was spectacular from here.

She turned to him, her eyes seeking his permission. “Are you certain you won’t be distressed by allowing me to use the room?”

Dorian found himself nodding, almost imperceptibly. There was something about her, a quiet strength and a gentle understanding, that made him want to trust her, to let her into the parts of himself he had long kept hidden.

With a deep breath, Patience pulled the curtains all the way open, and the room was instantly bathed in sunlight. She gasped in awe as she looked at the garden and around the room, and something shifted in Dorian, as though the very floor had careened.

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams. Dorian blinked, adjusting to the brightness. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, the darkness that had shrouded him for so long suddenly dissipating in the face of Patience’s radiance.

“This room is so pretty!”

As she walked about the room with its paneled walls painted in gentle pastel lavender, her fingers trailing over the furniture and the bookshelves, Dorian realized he would never have entered this room without her. She was like a breath of fresh air, a burst of sunshine in the gloom of his existence.

Patience pulled the drapes of the next window open and looked at the garden. “I love this room, Duke,” she whispered. He ached to tell her to call him Dorian once again but said nothing. “Thank you for showing this to me. You’re right, the view of my roses from here is superb. I have been working on them since I was just a girl.”

Dorian moved to stand beside her. “Tell me about them,” he said, his voice gentle.

She looked at him and chuckled softy. She was so pretty he couldn’t breathe. “Are you certain you want to hear about cuttings, soil, artificial fertilization, and such?”

“There’s nothing I’d like to hear more.”

And so, bathed in the sunlight of the newly opened room, Patience told him of the long hours spent experimenting and tending to her roses, of the joy she felt as she watched them grow and thrive.

Like a fool, he had forbidden her to use the garden. Had he known on their wedding day that she’d brought plants with her and how important they were, he’d have said yes right away. He remembered the look of awe as she stood in the garden for the first time, and the look of complete devastation as he’d told her she couldn’t even step inside it.

The longing gaze she cast at the glasshouse every time she saw it.

When she finished, Patience looked up at him, her eyes shining with hope, and her cheeks reddened a little. “I’ve been working on a paper to publish my findings,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s a secret. Anne and Chastity knew about the research. No one knows about my paper…except for the botanists I’ve been corresponding with.”

His chest tightened. “It’s safe with me.”

“I suppose it is. You’re an excellent keeper of secrets.”