Duke of Rath (Seven Dukes of Sin #1)

Chapter 2

2

“Who are they?” came the whisper of one of the congregation. The woman covertly looked over her shoulder as the vicar droned the Sunday sermon.

A shiver ran through Miss Patience Rose, despite the morning sunlight spilling through the small windows of Harringer’s church hall. The whole congregation sat in front of her, with two empty pews left between them and her family.

“The notorious Roses,” came the loud whisper of another woman. “Their son took his own life.”

Mama must have heard it, too, based on her sudden pallor. Patience squeezed her mama’s hand. Her five sisters sat on the same pew, squeezed together like pickles in a jar, trying to occupy as little space in the church as they could.

Their habitual spot for twelve years now.

“Ohhh,” the first woman whispered back and stole a curious and worried glance at the Roses. “How awful. What a scandal!”

“Oh yes,” said the second woman. “Bad business. He was their last hope to improve their fortune. Now Mr. Rose is at the verge of complete ruin, in London trying to sell their estate. Not worth much anyway.”

Mama fidgeted, her eyes reddened with tears, her mouth in a straight line. Patience laid her head on Mama’s shoulder and stroked her hand.

Thankfully, the mass was over in a few minutes, and the Roses were the first to shoot to their feet and leave. As Patience walked after her sisters and mama, the voices, the rustling of clothes and shuffling of feet against polished stone of the church echoed loudly. Mama seemed more agitated than usual, covering one gloved hand with the other to hide a patch and a large seam Patience’s sister Anne had repaired so well. She was the embroiderer and the seamstress in the family.

When they stepped out of the church and into the fresh March air, Patience sighed with relief, and was just about to start down the packed dirt path back home to Rose Cottage when, to her surprise, Mama called, “Let us stay awhile.”

This was so unlike her, the fidgeting, the strained smile that didn’t reach her big, worried eyes.

“Are you certain, Mama?” asked Patience.

“Everyone’s going to come out now, Mama,” said Anne, glancing at the rough stone church surrounded by well-kept bushes and a cut lawn.

Mama’s eyes darted towards the doors, where the voices of the congregation could be heard growing closer and closer. “Indeed,” said Mama, and they stepped to the side of the gravel path. “I have an idea that might help Papa. Positive thoughts, right, girls? While he’s in London, I’m going to try and do my own bidding here. It won’t hurt, right?”

“That depends,” said Patience’s oldest sister, Emily, who was twenty-eight.

“You will see,” Mama said and put on a smile that was so false it set Patience’s teeth on edge. Just like Mama, all of the sisters put on a smile, as well.

One after another, the congregation exited the church. The more affluent parishioners, draped in their Sunday finest of silks and velvets, walked out with a leisurely grace, and the village’s simpler folk followed them. The tenants and local farmers wore sturdy clothes, their fabrics coarse yet clean. The village bakers, tailors, and craftsmen in slightly better, practical garments, mingled among them.

As they passed by the Rose family, their conversations faltered momentarily; their steps hesitated. With subtle shifts in their paths and quick, evasive glances, each deliberately widened the gap, ensuring a clear distance of at least five steps between them and the Roses, as if the air around them was tainted with the shadow of scandal.

Finally, Lady Justina Fitzroy, the Marchioness of Virtoux, came out with her son.

Patience fiddled with the edges of her dress. The marchioness was a beautiful woman, tall and quite broad-shouldered; she had the air of a queen, unapproachable and proud. She was dressed in a modern, high-waisted gown with an imperial silhouette, which was quite unusual for women her age, who generally preferred the styles they had worn when they were younger, with fitted waists and full skirts. Lady Virtoux was the patroness of the Harringer parish and owned one of the estates nearby where she sometimes spent the winter before heading to London for the season, which would start soon.

Her son carried the honorable title of Viscount of Mique, inherited from his father. He was a man in his forties, well-built and with handsome, sharp features, a strong nose, and a square jaw. He had narrowly set green eyes and a generous mane of wavy dark hair .

Lady Virtoux threw a puzzled and disgusted look at Mama, Patience, and her sisters. Then she averted her eyes, walking in the other direction and whispering something to the viscount. Patience bit her lip and wished they would have left as they had every Sunday for years now, hurrying out before their presence would offend everyone else, none of whom had exposed family secrets or scandals surrounding their name.

Mama’s hands trembled as she clasped them together. She drew in a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something, and walked straight towards the marchioness.

“Mama!” Patience hissed, and Anne threw her hand out as though to stop her.

It was like watching an accident about to occur and having no power to stop it.

“Lady Virtoux,” Mama said as she approached the lady and curtsied. “Lord Mique.” She curtsied to the gentleman.

Both stared at Mama with expressions of utter horror and stepped back.

“I beg your pardon,” said Lady Virtoux as she turned her back to Mama, about to walk away.

“Please!” exclaimed Mama. “I wouldn’t have approached you were I not so desperate. Just a moment of your time.”

Patience and her sisters exchanged glances. Anne’s eyes were tearing up, her cheeks ablaze.

“What is she doing?” whispered Emily. “Clearly, her presence is not desired.”

“Keep your tears away, Anne,” whispered Beatrice, the second oldest. “Pull yourself together. We do not need another humiliation. Smile, everyone. Like always.”

Patience watched in horror as they stretched their lips, but they looked like a child’s drawings, with sad eyes, their thin mouths wide and crooked.

At that moment, the parish vicar, Mr. Menon, came out. A short man in his fifties with a round, egg-like head and a large stomach, he had a big smile on his face…but as his eyes fell on Mama and Lady Virtoux, it vanished.

He frowned, and Lady Virtoux sighed heavily. “I suppose one must be virtuous and charitable, especially after Sunday mass. What can I do for you, Mrs. Rose?”

Mama licked her dry, pale lips, her hands shaking. “Thank you. You’re very kind, Lady Virtoux.”

The Viscount of Mique stood with his nose high and clutched at a handkerchief, as though ready to use it to stop a bad smell, which none of them had.

“It’s my husband’s estate. Our home. Rose Cottage and the five farms that belong to it. I wouldn’t have asked, but the situation is very dire indeed. My husband is in London now, trying to sell everything to pay off our debts. Most of them to your family, of course. You’re a lady of great mercy. Please ask your husband to recall his writ of ca. sa. against mine.”

A writ of ca. sa., or capias ad satisfaciendum, was a complaint made by a creditor against the debtor in a court of law.

Lady Virtoux’s upper lip rose in an expression of appalled displeasure. “The court has given Mr. Rose time to sort out the payment, and it’s more than fair.”

“Indeed. However, if he fails to find a buyer or fails to gather enough money to pay off the whole debt, he will be put in the debtor’s prison. Please, Lady Virtoux, we are about to lose our home. Please do not take our children’s father from them… We already lost our son…”

To the utter horror of everyone present, standing around the lawn before the church, Mama gave out a small sob. She didn’t have a handkerchief, and clearly Lord Mique wasn’t going to offer his, and so Mama wiped her tears with her gloved fingers.

The mention of John’s suicide made everyone present stand rigid, frozen in place. Then whispers rippled through the crowd, their hushed voices carrying a mix of pity and contempt. Eyes darted between Mama and the grand lady, eager to witness the unfolding drama. Some turned away, their disapproval evident in the set of their shoulders and the tight press of their lips.

Anne grasped Patience’s hand and held it tightly.

The grand lady’s expression turned into a full sneer as she looked down her nose at Mama. “You dare to approach me with such an impertinent request? Your family’s financial disgrace is well-known, and you have the audacity to seek my assistance?” Her voice dripped with disdain.

Mama’s face paled. “Please, Lady Virtoux, I am begging… Mr. Rose might die in debtor’s prison, and my girls and I, we might be pleading for alms on the streets in just two weeks’ time.”

“You should have thought of that before borrowing money left and right,” Lady Virtoux proclaimed. “Besides, as a woman you ought to know your place, and it is not to intervene with the business of men. Do not dare to come to me again, I do not wish to be associated with such disgrace.”

Patience stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her mother’s arm. She met the grand lady’s icy gaze without flinching. She would not let this woman’s cruelty crush her family’s spirit. They would find a way; that was what Mama and Papa had taught them.

“Please forgive Mama, Lady Virtoux,” she said as she pulled poor, sobbing Mama away. “We will not bother you again. And rest assured, we will manage.”

Under heavy gazes and whispers, they walked away, down the dirt-packed road towards Rose Cottage. It would take them at least one hour to reach home on foot, but the exercise would be welcome to distract Mama from the horrible scene that had unfolded, to absorb sunshine, and to think positive thoughts.

Besides, Patience couldn’t wait to get back to her roses.

Indeed, during the walk, Mama calmed down and even managed to put on her usual smile.

“Mama,” Patience said as she was struck with a sudden idea about halfway home, “what if we used the lavender and rose petals from my garden to make sachets? We could sell them at the market and earn a little extra coin to tide us over until Papa returns.”

“Marvelous idea, darling!” said Mama. “At last your roses might come in handy. Do you still have some dried flowers left over from last year?”

“I’m sure I do.”

“I know where they are, sister,” said Anne. “I’ll look.”

Anne was Patience’s best friend, and not just because she was closest in age. They both harbored a secret liking of science. Anne was a mathematician, while Patience was a botanist, though they could not share their passions and achievements with anyone but each other.

“But Patience,” said Emily, “who would buy anything from us?”

The question hung over the seven women in silence. Who, indeed, especially after the scene at the church?

“Someone might,” said Patience, although with little conviction. “It’s worth a try.”

And half an hour later, while Anne went to look for the rose petals and lavender, Patience went to the garden to prune her hybrid roses. She knelt beside a bush, inhaling the air that carried the promise of spring.

She wore a light green gown that had seen better days, its hem dirtied by soil, and a yellow apron with at least five patches. She used the side of her wrist to push away strands of blond hair that fell from under her battered straw bonnet. She preferred to work with bare hands, despite the toll it took on her skin—she had calluses, scratches, and dirt under her fingernails she could not remove no matter how long she scrubbed.

With no servants, her and each of her five sisters was responsible for their own domain in the household, and hers was the vegetable garden that stretched behind her. Though it was too early in the season to grow much besides peas and radishes. They still had a few wizened root vegetables and potatoes in the cellar from the previous year, but they wouldn’t last much longer.

Indulging in botanical projects such as hybridizing roses was not practical. So she had to be quick before Mama or one of the sisters other than Anne discovered her.

With her fingers, Patience inspected the bush, seeking out deadwood and diseased stems after winter. It was mostly bare, still in its dormant phase. However, small reddish leaf buds were starting to swell, showing the first signs of new growth. The hybrid’s form was upright and vigorous, with fewer thorns than the typical gallica, making it easier to handle. Though the plant had no flowers yet, Patience could already imagine the blooms to come.

The rest of the garden flourished. Truly, she loved taking care of plants—seeing carrots and cabbage and parsnips grow, fighting pests with natural means, improving fertilizer, coming up with ways to increase crop production. Plants thrived under her touch, and she could feel them respond to her.

Her vegetable garden and the apple and pear orchard behind it were in perfect order, ready for the main crops to be planted, fertilized, tended, and harvested.

Twenty or so feet away from her stood tiny Rose Cottage. Unlike the orchard and the vegetable garden, it was not at all perfect, nor was it a place where she felt happy. For years, it had stood sad and crumbling. The white paint on the window frames and the shutters had peeled to the point where most of it was gone, and the shutters hung askew. Bricks crumbled. The roof had caved in on one corner and leaked terribly so that mold grew on the walls and ceiling. Some windowpanes had been long broken and replaced with pieces of wood.

If only John had been alive. He would have finished his education in Oxford, would have been a lawyer in London, and would help Papa—with his connections, with money. Perhaps he would have even been able to help some of her sisters marry well…

“Patience, there you are!” Anne exclaimed as she approached. Her golden locks, so typical of the Rose family, bounced as she hurried towards her. “Papa is back from London! He’s crying his throat out looking for you.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell them I was here, did you?” Patience winced. “I don’t want him to know I’m with the roses.”

“Always the diligent gardener,” Anne teased, sitting on the ground beside her. “I do not think it’s about roses.”

“He came back early,” said Patience, brushing the soil from her hands. “Did he say if he managed to sell the estate?” The question made her chest ache. It would be hard to leave here, the only home she’d known in her eighteen years of life. Her roses. Her vegetables. Her orchard.

“No,” said Anne as she helped Patience stand. “He’s just crying for you like someone’s chasing him.”

Patience raised her eyebrows. “What could he want with me?” She was grateful to be the youngest, with no prospects or expectations. She could garden, do her studies, and research. “Do you think he might have found a way to improve our situation and avoid debtor’s prison? ”

Anne chuckled softly. “You’re an eternal optimist, dear sister.”

Patience smiled. “Aren’t all of us Roses?”

The sudden sound of many quick, heavy steps crunching on the gravel pathway shattered the peaceful atmosphere in the garden. Patience looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized her papa’s and mama’s voices.

“Patience! Patience!” cried Mama as she ran behind Papa, holding her skirts up, frantically looking around. “Where are you, you dreamy girl?”

“I have returned with news that will change our lives forever!” Papa cried, his voice carrying across the grounds.

Patience exchanged a startled glance with Anne before they both scrambled to their feet, curiosity and apprehension battling within Patience. As she and Anne hurried towards the house, Patience could see her four other sisters following her parents.

Papa, a short man with shoulder-length wavy gray hair, breathed hard. He had a round face with big blue eyes and was dressed in a worn, dirty beige coat and breeches.

“There you are!” Her mama pointed at Patience. She was breathing hard, her corset under her dress’s fitted waist probably tightening her chest way too much. “There she is, Mr. Rose!” she said.

“Ah, Patience, come here!” Papa cried as he, breathing hard as well, stopped, clutching at his round stomach, his face flushed with excitement. “Girls, gather around.”

The sisters exchanged uneasy glances, their mother’s excited expression wavering as the weight of their circumstances pressed down upon them all.

“I’ve told you,” their father continued, raising his hands for emphasis, “always keep your hopes up. Even in the darkest hour, like we went through. ”

“ Went through, Papa?” asked Emily. “Did you find a buyer?”

“No, better!”

His pale blue eyes landed on Patience, and he grinned a little madly. Patience didn’t like that at all.

“Patience, my dear,” Papa proclaimed, “you are to marry a duke!”

A stunned silence fell over the assembled family, and Patience felt as if the air had been punched from her lungs. Her sisters stared at her in disbelief, their expressions varying from shock to envy.

“Me? A duke?” Patience managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Indeed,” Papa confirmed, his eyes shining with pride. “The Duke of Rath has offered for your hand, and I have accepted on your behalf. This union will save our family from destitution.”

Patience’s dirty hand clutched at the apron on her stomach. The world careened from under her feet. She could hear the words, but they didn’t really register. How could a duke want her? She’d never been out; no one in high society even knew she existed.

“Why me?” Patience asked. “I have five older and more accomplished sisters!”

She glanced at Anne, who offered her a supportive smile.

“The duke asked for the youngest,” Papa explained, “because he felt it would be less likely that you would be involved in any romantic entanglements or have suitors vying for your attention. The duke seemed quite taken with what he’s heard of your pleasant and amiable nature.”

Her father’s words hung in the air, the garden spinning slightly around her. She blinked rapidly, her hand reaching out to grip something for support and finding Anne’ s arm, which felt solid and reassuring. Her voice faltered as she attempted to speak, and only a whisper came out. “A…a duke?”

“How is that fair?” exclaimed Beatrice, who was now twenty-seven. “Emily and I were both out! The oldest sisters should marry before the youngest!”

“I quite agree,” said Patience. “Perhaps the duke would like to see Emily paint…or hear Beatrice sing. He’d change his mind!”

Clarice, the third oldest, scoffed. “Is it not enough that we have suffered the loss of our brother?”

Patience flinched at the mention of her late brother, her heart aching with the familiar pain of his absence.

Frances, the fourth oldest, added, “And now we must endure the indignity of being passed over for marriage?”

“Dearest ones,” said Mama, “do not succumb to your dark emotions. Envy…this is not how we raised you. Remember the basket. Lock it all in.”

“Well said, darling,” said Papa. “Indeed, the duke was quite adamant. I was as surprised as you are. He did want the youngest… He’ll pay my debts right after the wedding so that I won’t go to debtor’s prison, we won’t have to sell our house, and we will not need to leave. But he also had conditions.”

Patience swallowed hard. She could see her roses drying here, the peas and the radishes wilting without her care. Her paper never being written. Her hybrid rose she still hadn’t named forever dead.

Like her dreams.

“Once you are married to the duke for a year, he will grant us an estate that will provide us with a steady income,” said Papa. “However, you must remain with him, or the arrangement will be nullified.”

A wave of despair washed over Patience as she realized the full extent of the sacrifice she was being asked to make. Her dreams of continuing her botanical research and completing her paper slipped through her fingers.

She didn’t want this. She never wanted to marry anyone, let alone a duke. What if he was old, lustful, and cruel, just looking for young flesh?

Her mama laid her hand on Patience’s shoulder and looked pleadingly at her with her big brown eyes. “This is what a woman does, darling,” she said. “This is why you were born a girl. To secure an advantageous match for your own sake and for the sake of your family. With John gone, there are very, very few things that can help us. This is it. Our only chance, darling.”

As the weight of her family’s expectations bore down on her, Patience knew she could not succumb to the sadness and darkness within her. She had always been an optimist, and now more than ever, she needed to hold on to that part of herself.

“Very well,” she said, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I will marry the Duke of Rath.”

With a heavy heart, Patience succumbed to Mama’s squeals and Papa’s happy exclamations. Her sisters resumed a squabble, and Anne looked at her with concern.

Her life, as she knew it, had come to an end—and there was no turning back.