Chapter 33 The Garden
The Garden
As the last of the dinner guests retired for the evening, Edgar made his way to his mother’s private sitting room. His mind was awhirl with questions and suspicions, all centered upon Elisha and the evening’s peculiar events. He rapped upon the ornate door, entering at his mother’s soft, “Come in.”
The duchess was seated in her favored chair, a tome resting in her lap. She looked up as Edgar entered, a knowing smile playing upon her lips. “I had anticipated your visit, my dear.”
Edgar dispensed with pleasantries. “Mother, what machination are you orchestrating with Miss Linde?”
The duchess closed her book, setting it aside. “Whatever can you mean?”
“Pray, do not affect ignorance,” he said, pacing the chamber. “This sudden revelation of her aristocratic lineage, her placement at dinner… It is all rather excessive, is it not? Surely, a diligent reporter could easily uncover the truth of her birth with a few well-aimed inquiries.”
His mother’s smile did not waver. “While that may be true, I am relying upon the ton’s inclination to believe what they wish to believe.”
Edgar ceased his pacing, turning to face her. “Is the fabrication of a false heritage truly necessary? We are deceiving our guests.”
“We are affording her an opportunity that was denied her due to misfortune. Who is to say that she is not of noble birth? She comports herself with remarkable grace. You care for her, Edgar. I perceive it in your eyes and know the truth of it from your words. This is not the moment to suddenly embrace righteousness. We both know you harbored no scruples about deception where your pleasure was concerned.”
Edgar ran a hand over his jaw, suppressing his frustration. “The consequences of my deceptions were trifling. What shall transpire if the truth about her is discovered? She would be crucified, tenfold worse than had we been forthright.”
The duchess rose, approaching her son. “It need not come to light, Edgar. Who would dare to accuse a duke and his duchess? And if they do, we deny it with enough fortitude to create doubt in their minds. With time, people shall accept her as one of their own.”
“Elisha is a woman of principle. Does she concur with your scheme?”
“At times, my dear, we must compromise our ideals for the sake of love.” The duchess’ voice was soft, tinged with an ancient melancholy. “And Miss von Linde, while principled, is not without wisdom. She comprehends which aspects of our Society she may hope to alter and which she must accept.”
“I pray you are correct, Mother. I fear only for her well-being. I dread losing her to the cruelty of the ton.”
“You shall be at her side to shield her from some of the pain. Love is not always sufficient, Edgar, but Elisha possesses the resilience to thrive regardless of circumstance. It was this quality I sought to ascertain before bestowing my blessing, and she has not disappointed. She possesses all the requisite skills to navigate the treacherous waters of high Society. She demonstrated as much to me this day.”
Edgar sank into a nearby chair, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon him. “And should she wish to discontinue this charade?”
The duchess’ expression softened. “Then she will have proven herself worthy of you in a manner no title could ever hope to match. But the choice must be hers and yours, Edgar. I can but provide the opportunity while I still draw breath.”
“I am most profoundly grateful, Mother.”
The duchess nodded. “Then go to her, my dear. And remember that oftentimes the kindest truths are those which open doors rather than close them.”
As Edgar rose to take his leave, the duchess reached for a small, ornate box resting upon the nearby escritoire. With delicate fingers, she opened it, revealing a ring of exquisite craftsmanship nestled within.
“Edgar, my dear,” she said, her voice imbued with emotion, “this ring has been in our family for generations. Your father presented it to me upon our betrothal, and now I entrust it to you.”
She removed the ring from its velvet cushion, holding it up to the soft candlelight. The large emerald at its center sparkled brilliantly, surrounded by a halo of diamonds set in intricate gold filigree.
“When you are prepared to announce your engagement to Miss von Linde, I should be most gratified to see this adorning her finger,” the duchess continued, placing the ring in Edgar’s palm.
Edgar gazed at the precious heirloom, his eyes widening with profound gratitude. The weight of tradition and family legacy in his hand filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy and purpose.
“Mother,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, “I… I am utterly overcome. This gesture means more to me than words can express.”
In a display of unbridled enthusiasm, Edgar enveloped his mother in a warm embrace, then lifted her. The duchess, momentarily startled, yelped and laughed.
“My boy,” she murmured, her voice suffused with laughter. “Go and claim the happiness that has eluded you for so long.”
*
Edgar, with all haste and purpose, made his way to Eva’s bedchamber, his footsteps echoing through the quiet corridors.
Upon reaching her door, he rapped firmly, his urgency palpable in the late evening hour.
The door creaked open, revealing Eva’s startled lady’s maid, who bade His Grace wait in the hall.
Edgar acquiesced, though his demeanor betrayed the restlessness of a man with momentous news to share.
Moments later, his sister emerged, swathed in a frilled dressing gown, her hair neatly tucked beneath a lace-trimmed nightcap. Her countenance bore the unmistakable mark of sisterly vexation.
“What urgent matter compels you to disturb me at this unseemly hour?” she asked, her tone sharp with irritation.
Edgar, undeterred, pressed forward. “I must know which guest chamber houses Miss Linde. It is a matter of utmost importance.”
Eva’s visage transformed from annoyance to astonishment, her eyebrows arching in a manner that might have amused Edgar had the situation been less momentous.
“And for what purpose do you seek this knowledge? I’ll not be party to any impropriety that might besmirch a lady’s reputation,” she declared, her voice tinged with righteous indignation.
“Eva! You wound me with such base assumptions,” Edgar protested. “I assure you, my intentions are nothing short of honorable.”
His sister’s arms crossed, her expression hardening into one of skepticism that made Edgar feel as though he were once again a callow youth under her scrutiny.
“If your purpose is merely conversation, surely it can wait until a more appropriate hour.”
“You must understand, I have Mother’s blessing in this endeavor,” Edgar countered, his patience wearing thin.
Eva’s face contorted in distaste. “Good heavens, Edgar! Do you seek maternal approval for all your intimate pursuits? How utterly unseemly!”
Edgar heaved a weary sigh, his eyes rolling skyward in exasperation. “Nay, sister. Mother has given her blessing for me to court Miss Linde properly. I have made her wait long enough. I can tarry no longer in expressing my intentions.”
As he spoke, Eva’s countenance underwent a remarkable transformation. The angelic features that belied her oftentimes devilish nature emerged, delight evident in her eyes.
Eva clasped her hands together, her eyes alight with excitement. “Oh, Edgar! Are we to anticipate nuptial festivities in the near future? Heavens, a sister-in-law at last!”
“I implore you, lower your voice,” Edgar admonished, casting a wary glance toward the lady’s maid’s quarters. He drew Eva closer and whispered, “Which chamber?”
“The Hydrangea Room,” she replied, a knowing smile on her lips.
“You have my deepest gratitude,” Edgar said, though something in Eva’s expression gave him pause.
Eva’s smile turned distinctly smug. “I must say,” she whispered conspiratorially, “Mr. Steele and Miss Lovelace’s feud bears a striking resemblance to your and Miss Linde’s arguments during our game night.”
Edgar started, his hand flying instinctively toward her mouth before catching himself. “You are entirely mistaken. I am a duke with weighty responsibilities to the estate. I hardly possess the leisure time to engage in literary dalliances.”
“Oh, Edgar,” Eva’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Your solicitor, I’m afraid, harbors a particular weakness where I’m concerned. Poor Mr. Beckett stood no chance against my considerable charms.”
Edgar erupted. “Your charms? How dare he trifle with a woman so many years his junior! I’ll kill him!”
She bristled with indignation. “He’s done nothing improper, to my chagrin. Besides, I am twenty years of age! He is merely a decade my senior. And might I add, far more interesting than the simpering boys Mother parades before me at every social gathering.”
“I shall have stern words with Beckett on the morrow,” Edgar growled, his protective instincts flaring.
“Oh, do show mercy,” Eva pleaded, her hand resting upon his arm. “The poor man was quite overwhelmed by my persistent inquiries. Besides, who else should know of your secret identity if not your devoted sister?”
Edgar’s expression grew grave as the implications settled upon him. “Tell me truly, does anyone else share in this knowledge?”
“Certainly not. I would not relinquish such a delectable secret without due compensation. I intend to leverage it to my considerable advantage in due course.”
“Eva, I implore you,” Edgar said urgently, “breathe not a word of this to any living soul, regardless of whatever temptation might be offered.”
“But surely the Mayfair Mavericks are privy to this information,” she said with a pout. “It seems most unjust that your own flesh and blood should be kept in ignorance while your gambling companions know all.”
“I beseech you, Eva. Not a whisper to anyone—especially not to Miss Linde herself,” he pleaded, understanding the precarious nature of his position.