Page 21 of An Innocent Bride for the Duke

“Oh, that one is foxglove and should never go in a normal tea. It is only for medicine and the apothecaries give it to patients with bad hearts to strengthen the beat. You must not play with it, Fanny.”

“But I can pick chamomile?”

“Yes, you may pick as much chamomile as you wish, Fanny, and we shall gather some lavender later too. It is good for headaches and tension and I like to make lavender pillows for Aunt Beatrice.”

“I do appreciate those when my eyes ache from reading,” put in Lady Esher with a laugh, “and your willow bark tea too, when my rheumatism comes on. “With you in the house, I almost never need to call in the apothecary.”

Benedict listened, despite all his efforts to shut out Louisa’s cheerful musical voice.

Why are you so hard to ignore, Lady Louisa Ascot?

Ezra’s small fingers tugged in Benedict’s hair again, having been disentangled repeatedly but always finding their way back. He supposed he would look like a wild man by the time they arrived in the village but doubted it would matter. Rosemere was not London and there would be no one watching and gossiping.

This reflection crystallized understanding for Benedict on a related point. Lady Louisa was likely fascinating to him largely because she was so different to London ladies. She talked with genuine enthusiasm for her subjects rather than to attract attention and admiration, and her sincerity of feeling shone through in all that she said and did.

The simplicity and innocence of the explanation was a relief and Benedict relaxed and smiled to himself. His peculiar feelings for Lady Louisa were just another reflection of his weariness with London, and he ought to regard her as he did Rosemere – a refreshing break from the metropolis, to be appreciated, but only temporarily, and with appropriate personal distance.

“Are you interested in herbal medicine at all, Your Grace?” asked Lady Esher politely, perhaps detecting the duke’s long silence.

“I know little of it, Lady Esher,” Benedict admitted, “but I do like to learn and would be glad to hear more of it. Do not let me disrupt the conversation.”

“Look, there’s some yarrow on the roadside, Fanny,” Lady Louisa remarked. “That one is good for healing bruises and wounds. I use it sometimes with arnica.”

Benedict chuckled softly to himself. He had been feeling rather bruised and wounded when he left London and hoped that this holiday in Rosemere would heal him as well as yarrow and arnica.

Chapter Nine

“Lemonade for the children, please, Geraldine, and tea for His Grace and the ladies,” Mrs. Shaw ordered one of her younger assistants, smiling benevolently as Fanny dashed about the shop, exclaiming over bolts of bright silks, ribbons and shiny buttons, Ezra in her wake and Louisa chasing after him to prevent any actual damage.

To Benedict’s eye, the scene was chaotic and yet everyone seemed perfectly happy. He could not imagine any of this happening in a London modiste, knowing several of them well enough through purchasing gowns, nightwear and underwear for ladies of his acquaintance over the years.

“So, as well as measuring and agreeing on the children’s outfits, I hoped to finalize Lady Louisa’s new dress, choose material for my next winter coat, and buy some ribbons for Fanny’s dolls,” explained Lady Esher as they proceeded into a rear sitting room that the seamstress used for consultations.

“Yes, we can see to all that today, Lady Esher. I have no other appointments this morning and Geraldine can deal with any casual customers who might come by. Miss Vennels can see to the final fitting of Lady Louisa’s dress.”

“I knew I could rely on you, Mrs. Shaw. Now, we will want a good quality cotton for Fanny’s dress…”

The Duke of Northwick’s mind soon drifted as Lady Esher and Mrs. Shaw sank down on the sofa and fell into detailed conversations over materials, trims and patterns that held no interest for him.

He stood at the mantelpiece, sipping his tea as Fanny pored over a huge basket of ribbons that one of the assistants had brought in for her. Ezra, meanwhile, was rolling himself in a large and irregular remnant of soft velvet, rather like a puppy, a beatific grin on his chubby little face.

Benedict smiled at the sight but did not accede to Ezra’s entreaties that he should join him on the floor. He wondered what he had been like at the same age. While his parents lived, Benedict’s life had been too fraught with the demands of enduring and surviving each angry day with his father, to ever look back and reflect on his early childhood.

After his parents had died, there was no one to tell him anything. The servants had dispersed from the estate at Northwick Park, presumably most of them glad to leave the scene of such tragedy. Benedict had been sent away to school by a benevolent but distant godfather and taken that well-intended man’s advice to put it all behind him.

“How lucky you are, little Ezra,” he mused very softly, bending down to pat the little boy’s belly and hearing him giggle. “May you always be so lucky.”

Enough of that, Northwick…

Setting his face back into a neutral expression, the duke stepped away. Benedict was not a sentimental man and would not like to be thought so. Neither Lady Esher nor Mrs. Shaw were paying attention, however. When an assistant appeared with her measuring tape and began to measure Fanny for her dress, he put down his cup and strolled away to investigate the rest of the premises.

Benedict was not looking for anything in particular although it crossed his mind that he might choose some silk for a pocket square or necktie, as some little memento of Rosemere. He remembered seeing some suitable bolts of cloth on a shelf in the main shop and vaguely intended to head in that direction.

Did we come in through this room? Or have I taken a wrong turning?

After wandering through a warren of several storerooms and passing a workroom where two ladies were quietly sewing, Benedict hesitated in the doorway of what seemed to be a small sun-filled sitting room, with a screen in one corner. Another door on the opposite side might be the one leading back to the shop.

“I’m ready, Miss Vennels,” pronounced the light, bright voice of Lady Louisa Ascot, just as Benedict entered the room and stopped dead on hearing her.