Romancing Lady Rose (The Dowager’s Garden #1)

1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

T he inn at Weybridge looked as though it might fall in on itself at any moment, the roof sagging ever-so-slightly. Alice Montrose stood at the edge of the cobblestone street, her travel coat buttoned tightly. She smoothed her gloves, adjusted her bonnet, and straightened herself—small, practiced movements that most people would not notice.

Her mother, however, would.

With graceful steps, Alice made her way toward her mother, who had collapsed dramatically on a nearby bench. Alice’s face remained serene, her expression revealing nothing of the anxiety that coursed through her veins as she recalled her mother’s lessons.

Back straight. Hands folded. Smile calm, but not too calm—one mustn’t seem slovenly.

For weeks, they had rehearsed every aspect of this journey—from proper carriage etiquette to the precise angle at which Alice should hold her spine. Her calves no longer ached from hours spent practicing deep curtsies, but the muscles remembered. Everything had to be perfect. This opportunity was her only chance to secure a suitable match.

The coachman struggled with their luggage as their maid, Miss Eastridge, offered vapors for her mother’s nerves. Mrs. Montrose was not someone who enjoyed travel, especially of the public kind. She sat crumpled, her eyes surveying every detail with obvious displeasure. Silver had already started dusting her once-golden hair, and the deepening frown lines between her eyebrows had become more pronounced during their journey. The coach had been packed arm to arm, one woman with a wailing infant on her lap, and such proximity to people of lower status had clearly frayed Mrs. Montrose’s nerves beyond repair.

“Oh, has it really come to this?” her mother groaned. The light briefly illuminated the facial features that Alice had supposedly inherited, though she hoped she hadn’t also inherited her mother’s perpetual look of dissatisfaction.

Having stacked the luggage before them, the coachman paused, staring at Alice. Her mind whirled, wondering what he might want. Her mother had taught her countless rules of etiquette, but had never covered the intricacies of coach travel, and Miss Eastridge was too busy trying to assuage her mother to offer any assistance. Familiar whispers crept into her thoughts, unbidden.

Stupid.

Useless .

For a moment, she was lost, until she observed the other occupants pick up their bags and offer the man a small tip for his troubles.

Ah.

With the example of how to act now laid out for her, she dug into her reticule for what little pocket change she had, offering it to the man. He eyed her hysterical mother before snatching the coin with a snort, then turned to see to his horses.

While it was uncomfortable for her to be subject to such a judgmental look, she did not deny that her family presented a strange sight. She stood still for one moment, her mind spinning while she processed all that she might have done to make that interaction more amiable, only to be brought back to the present by the wailing of her mother.

Feeling as though she had abandoned her poor mama in her time of need, she bit her lip and turned. Dealing with her mother’s moods was more comfortable, something she knew how to do with exacting grace. At present, Miss Eastridge seemed put-out, exasperatingly fanning her mother, who seemed to take offense at the woman’s attempts to comfort her. If Alice did not know any better, she would have thought they were about to get into a physical scuffle.

Alice leapt into action, approaching the bench and offering to take the fan from their lady’s maid, who pushed it into Alice’s hands with obvious relief.

“Miss Eastridge, please inquire inside about our carriage to Fairfax Hall.”

“Yes, Miss Montrose.”

Before anyone could ask the maid anything more, the woman fled, and Alice watched her go as her poor mother flung an arm over her face. If they were not careful, her mother was likely to cause a scene.

“Oh, dear Alice. What did I do to deserve such a base lifestyle?”

“It is through no fault of your own,” she said, fanning Mrs. Montrose in just the way she liked. “Such a perilous journey would fray anyone’s nerves.”

“This is what I get for marrying a man of only ￡800 a year! To not afford a carriage of our own, it is unjust!”

“An unfortunate twist of fate.”

Mrs. Montrose suddenly stilled, and so did Alice, fan stopped in mid-air. Something had changed in her mother’s countenance. Mrs. Montrose whirled around, taking hold of both of Alice’s shoulders and shaking her. There was a desperate plea in her eye as her fingers dug into the wool of Alice’s travel coat.

“You must listen to me carefully,” Mrs. Montrose said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This celebration at Fairfax Hall is the most important event of our lives.”

“I understand that, Mama,” Alice said, trying to soothe her. “We’ve practiced everything thoroughly.”

“No, you cannot even begin to understand. The Dowager Countess of Fairfax has invited everyone of consequence to her birthday celebration. A duke will be in attendance.”

Alice nodded, but that did not seem to be enough for her mother.

“You must promise me,” Mrs. Montrose continued, her fingers digging into Alice’s arms through her travel coat. “Promise me that you will follow my every instruction. It must all be perfect. This is our only chance.”

This version of her mother frightened her. She had gone completely off script from her usual hysterics. It appeared the further away they strayed from home, the more unhinged her mother’s behavior became.

“I-I promise, Mama,” Alice replied, startled by this display. “I will remember all our practice sessions.”

“Good.” Mrs. Montrose’s grip loosened slightly, though the wild look in her eyes remained. “This visit must secure our family’s future. If it does not, I am not sure I could survive the disappointment.”

So this was it. Alice’s only opportunity, unless she wished to marry the vicar down the lane from their country cottage, who often spat whilst he talked. And she was certain the vicar did not make more than ￡400 a year. Not enough to sate her mother’s expensive tastes.

Alice’s hands slowly rose to grasp her mother’s, the woman’s vice-like grip hurting her. She did not wish to have bruises in her ballgown for the party. She pried Mrs. Montrose’s hands off of her, then grasped them in her lap.

“I will do everything within my power,” Alice said with a soft smile. “You have taught me well. Without you, I would have never received such an opportunity, and I will make sure that it is not in vain. And once I have married a man of fortune?—”

“The Duke of Gainsbury,” her mother corrected.

“Of course.” Alice paused momentarily. “Once I have secured a match, I will ensure that you always have a carriage at your beck and call. An entire fleet of them.”

“And perhaps better staff …” Mrs. Montrose said, eyeing the door where Miss Eastridge had disappeared.

“All our nerves are on edge after that horrid journey, Mama,” said Alice. “I would consider giving Miss Eastridge some grace.”

Her mother’s look turned sour, and Alice knew she had said the wrong thing. She had veered too far from her mother’s expectations, and now she would pay the price of a tongue lashing. If that was the cost of defending Miss Eastridge, then so be it.

But when her mother opened her mouth to speak, a figure hobbled before them, making her mother’s jaw snap shut.

“Pardon me, madam, you would not happen to be Mrs. Montrose?”

The man was nothing more than a wisp that could be carried away on the next wind, with shockingly white hair and a pair of rather smudged looking spectacles at the end of his long nose. It appeared he had to ask the question, not out of politeness, but because he could not make out anyone’s identity otherwise.

It took a moment for her mother to adjust to the intrusion, then she nodded.

“I am she,” Mrs. Montrose said, putting on the much more proper voice she always used with strangers.

“ What? ” the man asked rather loudly, cupping a hand over his ear. Her mother looked as though she might hit the man upside the head for a moment before clearing her throat and pulling out her letter of introduction.

“ Yes! I am Mrs. Montrose! ”

The man flashed a toothless grin, not even glancing at the paper. He raised a shaking finger across the cobblestone street where a horse and carriage sat.

“It is your lucky day, madam. Your carriage stands ready.”

They hit a bump and Alice went flying toward the ceiling of the cabin. She had to dig her fingers into the fabric of the seat in order to keep from hitting her head. Miss Eastridge let out a high-pitched yelp. Mrs. Montrose had one arm on the wall and another on the backrest as they all tried to steady themselves through the jarring ride.

The road they traveled on was not made for such speeds. It was a dirt path that wound through a forest, pocked with potholes and sometimes fallen branches that the driver would not see until the very last moment before yanking aside the horses, which seemed almost stronger than oxen and thrice as fast.

The dowager, who had sent the carriage to collect them, had obviously spared no expense in procuring her horses and carriage—the upholstery and craftsmanship were some of the best Alice had ever seen. However, she had skimped on the most important part—the person driving it.

“Oh goodness,” said Alice, one hand clutching her mother. “I do believe I am about to be sick.”

Her mother’s eyes widened in panic.

“Alice!” Her mother’s voice cut sharp as a knife. “Do not dare soil the Dowager Countess’s upholstery. I forbid it.”

Mrs. Montrose quickly turned toward the door.

“Be careful, Mama, the force?—”

But it was too late. The door to the carriage snapped open, letting in a gust of wind as the already stormy day intensified. The carriage wobbled a bit but did not even deign to pause as Mrs. Montrose forced Alice to lean her head out of the new opening. Alice breathed heavily.

As she leaned there, her body half-suspended over the rushing ground below, she gripped the edge of the door frame as she swayed with each bump and jolt. The unbidden thoughts that had plagued her for years crept in, even amid the chaos.

Weak. Useless.

For a brief moment, she wondered what would happen if she simply let go. It would take so little—just a slight shift of her weight. The thought seemed to settle in her stomach like a stone.

Then she shook her head, banishing the dark thoughts as quickly as they had come, and refocused on steadying herself against the carriage’s violent jarring.

The trees rushed past in a blur of green and brown, the ground beneath a dizzying streak of motion.

Then, there was a flash of red in her periphery as the carriage approached a rider on the road.

The carriage barreled toward the gentleman—a soldier with red hair sitting astride a horse and traveling at an agreeable pace. He swerved at the last moment, expertly pulling on his horse’s reins as he was forced to ride off the road entirely and into the brambles. The carriage completely overtook him, and he had already disappeared from Alice’s view when she heard the man let out a frustrated yell, followed by a string of curses.

“Watch where you are going, you blasted fool!”

The driver did not stop—indeed; he seemed to speed up after the incident.

Alice’s mind pulled back from the precipice of her dark thoughts. She blinked, suddenly aware of the cold air rushing past her face and the precarious position of her body. She gripped the door frame more tightly, steadying herself against the carriage’s wild movements.

As she leaned over, gulping in air, Alice gathered some of her strength to attempt to hail the driver.

“Sir? Sir, do you not think we should stop and assist the gentleman?”

There was no answer.

“Sir?”

All the attempts were for naught, and she carefully pulled herself back into the cabin. She had mostly overcome her bout of nausea, having not fallen ill, but was still pale and light-headed. When she caught her mother staring, Mrs. Montrose let out a huff.

“What do you think you are doing, sitting there with all this air flitting about?” she yelled over the wind and the crunch of wagon wheels, as if she had not been the one to insist on opening the door. “Close the door so we may have some peace!”

“Yes, Mother.”

It took a few attempts, Alice almost falling bodily from the carriage and narrowly being saved by Miss Eastridge, but after a few yanks, they could finally snatch the door shut. Everyone now looked completely ridiculous, and Alice could feel clumps of her hair which had escaped her bonnet.

She suppressed a groan, thinking about all the faux pas they had already committed on just this carriage ride.

Alice watched the outside world, wondering whatever happened to that poor man on the road—if he had hurt himself or his horse. If she contemplated it too much, however, it made her stomach churn, and she knew her mother would become apoplectic if she became sick in this cabin.

All she had to do was count her breaths and wait until they arrived at Fairfax Hall.

If they arrived in one piece.