Free A Rose in Splendor by Laura Parker

of wit and spirit. Oh , Lord! I’m beginning to think like Lady Elva!
    When they entered the salon, they found Lord Fitzgerald comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair, his injured leg raised on a stool. His sons flanked him, Conall pouring wine into a glass while Darragh unfolded a map drawn from his pocket.
    “What is the news? Has Adair been promoted?” Lord Fitzgerald prompted when he had taken the wine.
    “You’ll not be believing the half of it, sir,” Darragh answered. “We sketched out the campaign as we remember it. Let’s begin with that.”
    “This is no place for us,” Lady Elva suggested, aware that war would be the talk of the afternoon.
    “I would rather they carried the latest sketches from Parisian seamstresses,” Deirdre agreed in feigned sympathy for her stepmother’s feelings. In reality, she was eager to hear each and every tidbit of news from her brothers. During the past six months since her return from convent school, she had been driven nearly mad by the tedium of Lady Elva’s secluded life. The only thing that had kept her cheerful was the knowledge that her brothers would soon return. Now they were here and she was to be dragged away like a child.
    “Lady Elva is right,” Conall concurred, deliberately ignoring the silent plea in Deirdre’s eyes. “We’ve much to discuss that would not be proper for young ears.”
    “But, the presents—you promised!” Deirdre protested.
    “Is that the wail of greed I hear?” Darragh said, chuckling. “Patience, lass, we’re back for more than a day.”
    “More’s the pity,” Deirdre exclaimed lightly. Ah well, she told herself as she turned away from the salon, there would be other times to listen to Darragh and Conall. “Come, lady, we’ll not be drawn into their merry war talk.”
    “The excitement of the morning has quite exhausted me,” Lady Elva confided when they had stepped back into the hallway. “I’m positively light-headed. I believe I would rather lie down than study sketches just now. Do you not find the air a trifle stuffy?”
    Deirdre glanced sharply at her stepmother’s flushed face. Often of late Lady Elva had complained suddenly of light-headedness and overheating. There might be many causes but she hoped it was the one that would bring back her father’s triumphant smile. Siring another child would do that.
    Deirdre flashed her brilliant smile. “Lady, would you mind if I returned to the garden for a little while? The day is so beautiful that the thought of remaining inside distresses me.”
    “Shouldn’t you—Wait, lass,” Lady Elva called as her stepdaughter sped away. “You’ve forgotten your hat!”
    Not looking back, Deirdre called, “I won’t be long, I promise!”
    She pushed open the front door before the surprised doorman could aid her and swept past him and down the front steps. Once the warmth of midsummer struck her face she drew a deep sigh of relief and smiled. She was free for the moment. After a quick glance back at the house, she started toward the garden path.
    Under the warmth of the midsummer sun, every blade of grass was intensely green. In the trees, birds bickered and warbled. Beneath budding shrubbery, insects sang and chirped while bees droned softly, darting in and out of the lushly petaled blossoms.
    Without consciously choosing it, Deirdre followed the path through the rose arbor. Her skirts scattered the pink rose petals that had drifted down from the tangled vines of ancient roses. Here in the shade, cool air had collected, bringing with it from the garden the heady perfume of pungent jasmine and spicy pinks. Lady Elva often used the example of the gardens to illustrate what a lady should be: serene, beautiful, and with just a whiff of wit to tantalize the senses.
    Deirdre chuckled. Now that she was extolling the virtues of marriage, perhaps Lady Elva would choose the cabbage patch as an illustration. The married state is like a cabbage garden: one’s life is neatly