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Cohen turned to Dorian, his gnarled fingers tightening around his cup. “We’re right grateful to have a caring duke now, Yer Grace. After yer father’s cruelty…’tis a blessed change, it is. And thank ye again for helping me repair the fence a few sennights ago. I couldna’ have done it on my own.”

Patience beamed at Dorian, her eyes alight with pride and affection. But Dorian could muster only a weak twitch of his lips in return, nausea roiling in his gut like a living thing. If they knew the man he truly was, the sins he’d committed…they would recoil in horror and revulsion.

He didn’t deserve their gratitude, their admiration. And he certainly didn’t deserve Patience’s nurturing and attention. Sooner or later, she would learn the truth…and he would lose her forever.

Outside the cottage, Patience chattered about the May Day festival with Cohen as they walked arm in arm down the sun-dappled path. “It was such joy! I was six, and my family was still welcome to participate in events like that. I remember the maypole, the dancing, the flowers… My sisters and I spun around that maypole. I think that must have been the happiest memory in my childhood. I can hardly wait to bring the same joy here!”

Dorian watched her animated face, the way her eyes sparkled with anticipation. Something twisted in his chest sharply. Her enthusiasm, her joy…it reminded him of all he had stolen from her when he’d killed her brother. The weight of his guilt pressed down on him.

He wanted to feel light and carefree, like her. He could feel the glimpses of that lightness in the surrounding landscape, in the flowers that peeked through fresh grass, in the blue sky. And he could feel it in the sparkle of her blue eyes every time she smiled at him.

An insane thought came. An impossible thought, and yet, so seductive.

What if he told her? What if she knew?

In that moment, Dorian allowed himself to believe. To hope, even if only for a heartbeat, that perhaps…perhaps there was still a chance for redemption. A chance to conquer the shadows that haunted him.

“…and I thought we could perhaps have a special tent set up for the children’s games,” Patience continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “What do you think?”

But deep in his heart, he knew the truth. She would never accept him if she knew the truth. And he was not courageous enough to risk losing her.

19

The next day, Patience knelt beside her roses, carefully examining their progress. She breathed in the earthy scent of the damp soil and the overgrown garden she had ached to put in order. Her spirits had been lifted since yesterday, one of the best days since her wedding.

She’d seen a side of Dorian she’d never expected. He was a kind man—a wounded man, but a kind one. She was worried about the cuts from the broken mirror, though they were now healing, and her heart was filled with the pain she’d seen in his eyes when he told her about his papa. And the connection that grew between the two of them was like an invisible but strong cord.

She looked at the tangle of weeds and grass, dotted with dandelions and brambles, that could become lawns with pretty flowering bushes. The garden was like him—abandoned, neglected, wild.

She longed to prune the ancient, gnarled trees with their branches like a canopy that swallowed the light, remove dried and diseased ones for firewood, and plant new trees. The paths that were now barely discernible amid the overgrowth could get fresh gravel and new, more pleasing shapes.

Dorian was everywhere, surrounding her, in the early April air—which held a chill despite the sun and the buzz of insects. Unseen creatures rustled in the undergrowth. Just like him, the garden was dark, and perhaps unwelcoming at first glance, but full of life if only one would care for it and allow it to thrive.

In the far corner was the glasshouse. She dreamed Dorian would allow her to use it one day. She could clean its glass panes, replace the broken ones, remove all the dead and rotting vegetation, and plant exotic species.

Oh, it could be such a joy to watch them grow, care for them, make observations and perhaps a new discovery.

Perhaps one day, she thought with a smile.

But there was one dark, ominous cloud in the clearing sky of their marriage.

The strange connection he had with her deceased brother. The “Oxford incident” he refused to acknowledge. His hand always hidden under the glove. These were secrets she ached to uncover.

He had opened up to her yesterday, and she now felt closer to him. She had more hope for her happiness with her husband than ever before. In time, he might feel comfortable enough with her that his walls would fall completely, and he’d tell her about John.

If not, she must do everything she could to learn the truth or there would always be a barrier between their hearts.

Amid all the untouched wilderness, the only place that showed signs of new life were the rosebushes she’d planted just two weeks ago. They seemed to be adapting well to their new environment. She could see tiny, bright green leaves and even more tiny red buds swelling.

She looked closely for any signs of disease—shriveling of the buds or wilting of the leaves. She also looked for thrips, aphids, and other pests but could see only a ladybug and a bee, which were both beneficial.

She reached for her notebook, her fingers brushing against the supple leather cover. Inside, the pages were filled with meticulous notes and detailed sketches, years of observation and work. At least she didn’t have to hide her notes and her roses here, nor report to anyone why she spent so much time staring at rosebushes instead of planting vegetables.

As she flipped to a blank page to happily record the progress of the roses and the lack of disease or pests, a shadow fell across the paper. Patience looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun, and found herself face-to-face with Chastity.

Dorian’s sister wore a dark gray silk dress, which was plain despite the expensive material. Her sky-blue eyes, bright and kind behind her spectacles, resembled her brother’s. Her hair was styled in a simple chignon with no curls, tendrils, or accessories to enhance her beauty. Patience, whom Mademoiselle Antoinette dressed with a fierce dedication to fashion, felt a pang of envy.

“Good morning, Duchess,” Chastity said, her voice cool and measured, despite the curiosity glowing in her eyes. “Did Dorian allow you to plant these?”