The Lord Who Sneered and Other Tales by Heidi Ashworth

Author:Heidi Ashworth [Ashworth, Heidi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dunhaven Place Publishing
Published: 2014-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

A Rose for Christmas

England, September 1812

Part One

Baldwin, gardener of the Dunsmere estate, deposited the last of the day’s accumulation of autumn leaves onto the cerise and titian mound and set it on fire. Although he was more than fond of the vibrant display, it would never do for the oak and Chinese tupelo leaves to obscure the meticulously manicured, emerald green lawn of the Dowager Duchess of Marcross. No, indeed.

Through a haze of smoke, he surveyed the roses that filled the area between the front lawn and the park and saw that all was well. The beautiful rose garden with its dozens of heirloom varieties had originally been planted nearly a century prior and was the pride and joy of the Dowager Duchess of Marcross. If the wind were to pick up and carry the fire in the wrong direction, it was as much as his life was worth. He doubted not that Her Grace would go gladly to the gallows over the loss of her roses; she had very little else she cared to live for save her favorite grandson, Sir Anthony, a man who filled his days with the pursuit of pleasure and precious little else.

However, the arrival of the newly orphaned Ginny six months prior was proving to put a permanent sparkle in the old lady’s eyes. The fact that Miss Ginerva Delacourt’s first London Season had been just shy of a full-out disaster did not keep the Dowager sunk in poor spirits for long. Indeed, the presence of the young maid, granddaughter of the old lady’s beloved brother, had softened many of her ways since Ginny had come to live at Dunsmere.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approach of his mistress until she appeared at his side, her face a mask of disapproval.

“Baldwin, I pray you know what you are about, burning these leaves in such proximity to the roses!”

“Yes’m, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he said with a tug at his cap as he cursed his thoughtlessness. Though he had burned the leaves on the very same patch of ground every autumn since he had been taken on at Dunsmere, he knew the Dowager was particularly fretful this year. She was to enter a new variety of rose at the annual flower show and once she had won, as she was persuaded she must, people would flock from near and far to visit her spectacular rose garden. “I have taken care to cart out a barrel of water in the case it is needed.”

The Dowager grunted her approval, and he thought she looked not quite so grim.

“Tomorrow I shall rake the leaves to the verge of the east lawn, if’n it please you, Your Grace.”

“As long as it is not too close to the potting shed, mind. Were everything on the property to burn to the ground save the roses and that potting shed I should not care one fig!”

As the potting shed housed the specimen of the Christmas rose they had been developing

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