Free The Lord Who Sneered and Other Tales by Heidi Ashworth Page B

wait but a moment, Your Grace, I shall have the fire out, and we might see how fares the new rose.” He didn’t wait for the assent that would surely come but took up the bucket at his feet and dipped it into the barrel on the nearby cart. He put out the fire under her anxious eye, and they walked, side by side, along the circular path from the front of the house to where the potting shed stood at the end of an avenue of ancient limes.
    He hadn’t even a moment to wonder if the Dowager hadn’t yet expelled her store of scoldings before she started in again. “As I am sure you are aware, that foolhardy Squire Barrington cannot be trusted! There are no lengths to which he would not go to foil me. I have born bravely his victories these past few years, knowing I had the beginnings of an absolute triumph propagating in the greenhouse, but what should I find this morning?” she asked in a voice that promised to brook no argument. “The door to the shed was unlocked!”
    “Yes, ma’am, it is as you say. I heard the rattle at the door, but as you did not enter, I carried on with my work. I would never leave the Christmas rose unprotected, Your Grace.”
    The Dowager did not apologize for her misapprehension but only uttered a deep “harrumph”, her most common concession to his pride. Nevertheless, her doubt produced an anxiety in him that grew as they drew closer to their objective. He knew he had locked the shed right and tight when he had last closed its door behind him, but he could not help but fret as he fingered the key in his pocket.
    As they rounded the curve at the end of the avenue and the potting shed came into view, he saw that all appeared to be in order. It was clear that the door was pulled to and that the padlock hung at the expected angle. When he took it in his hand and gave it a hard tug, it was locked in place, just as expected. Once he had twisted the key in the lock and pushed open the door, however, his soaring spirits plummeted and his knees turned to jelly; the floor of the greenhouse side of the shed was marred with a quantity of broken glass and what remained of the Dowager Duchess’ Christmas rose.
    Quickly, Baldwin began to calculate the odds that he might be successful in slamming shut the door before the Dowager had a chance to enter, but she pushed past him in a trice. As he watched her face in the pale light of the afternoon, he wanted nothing more than to run, even as he knew it only could serve to delay his punishment. By the time the Dowager’s face had turned a deep plum he thought of nothing but the condition of her heart and whether or not he would be needed to catch her before she fell to the glass-and-thorn-littered floor.
    Her ensuing screams brought the young mistress running from the house and before long she came through the door of the shed. He could see that she comprehended all with one glance of her lovely gray-green eyes, but she seemed as much at a loss as how to proceed as did he.
    “Grandaunt Regina!” the girl called, but the Dowager seemed not to hear. Ginny then turned to Baldwin. “The maids are washing the windows on this side of the house and have heard all. The housekeeper has asked if she should not send for an officer of the law!”
    Frantic, he cast about for a chair and managed, with Ginny’s help, to get the Dowager seated. As the screams mellowed to low moans, his eyes met those of the girl’s over the quivering feather that adorned the Dowager’s turban. It was clear that Ginny was terribly shook up and that she depended on him to set matters to rights. If only he knew what was to be done. It was impossible to determine whether the glass was broken by a human or animal, by accident or design. A deer might have torn the rose bush to shreds and dragged its potted roots into the park, yet, it might have been done by a person, as well, someone who had every reason to envy the Dowager her prize rose.
    “Baldwin, what can be done? If you haven’t a