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“I was,” she said.
Dorian was breathing hard now. She could see color flush his cheeks. Oh goodness, was his wrath about to burst free? A bad premonition settled in her stomach like a heavy stone. Whatever was the matter, she needed to remove Dorian from Sir Bertram.
“Mr. Essop told me about your correspondence. It was I who gifted John the botanical illustrations book back in the day.”
“Did you?” Patience chuckled nervously. “In a way, it was you, then, who inspired me to study botany.”
He chuckled and reddened even more. “Perhaps. After what happened to John, I never expected the Duchess of Rath to be you, out of all women.”
What did that mean? His dark, drunken gaze full of contempt landed on Dorian, whose teeth were bared. Patience’s heart slammed. Something was very, very wrong. Chastity and Lady Buchanan both exchanged puzzled glances.
“Enough,” Dorian growled.
Sir Smith and Mr. Essop both looked at each other uncomfortably.
“It is time to talk about your paper, Duchess,” said Sir Smith as he gestured towards the fireplace, where there was an empty space.
Still puzzled, and her pulse racing, Patience followed him to stand in front of everyone for a scientific discussion. She clutched her shaking hands together.
Whatever Sir Bertram had referred to, she couldn’t think of it now. While Dorian retreated into the shadows at the back of the room, she locked her eyes with Chastity, who smiled and nodded at her reassuringly, which gave Patience strength. She looked at the men around her, who didn’t just tinker with roses in their gardens but did botanical and horticultural work for a living, working in universities and botanical gardens.
Just focus on your roses.
“Your discoveries will revolutionize the cultivation of species, Duchess,” remarked Dr. Bellamy, a renowned botanist. “Truly remarkable work for anyone, let alone a woman. You must be immensely proud.”
“You are too kind, sir,” Patience replied, dipping her head modestly even as a bright smile lit her face. “I am gratified my humble studies may advance our understanding in some small way. Botany is my greatest passion.”
As Patience basked in the praise and admiration of her colleagues, she forced her mind to turn away from the questions about John that kept running through her head.
A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a keen, appraising look stepped forward. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice rich with curiosity, “your work on artificial fertilization of roses to produce a new hybrid is very impressive. I suppose we had not yet thought that creatures other than bees could do that. Could you explain the inheritance of specific traits from each parent variety?”
She could do this. She knew her method like no one. “Of course. From my readings and observations, it appears that certain characteristics from parent plants are more likely to manifest in their progeny under specific conditions. I employed Lamarck’s theory of ‘the inheritance of acquired characteristics,’ but he talks mostly about animals. I applied the same theory to plants—in particular, to the gallica rose and the damask rose.”
Another botanist, a younger man, said, “Fascinating! How did you ensure that the artificial fertilization was successful?”
Patience nodded, her smile widening. “Meticulous manual approach. I realized they would pollinate themselves if their stamens were allowed to stay, so I had to remove the stamens before each flower opened.”
As the botanists continued to pepper Patience with questions, Lady Buchanan and Lady Chastity stood a mere three steps away from her, their eyes alight with pride and support.
She tried to forget about the incident with Sir Bertram, but her gaze kept returning to Dorian. Why, oh why did she have such a bad feeling now? Like she had missed something vital. Why was Sir Bertram so condescending towards Dorian? And why had Dorian reacted with such fierce nervousness? She could sense his anxiety, and the wrath that he barely managed to contain.
He remained at the edge of the room, his eyes fixed on her. His tall, broad-shouldered frame was tense, his handsome face a brooding mask. There it was, the shadow in his eyes she’d observed in the past three weeks. The other guests gave him a wide berth, intimidated by his formidable presence.
A tangle of emotions rose within her as their eyes met—affection, worry, curiosity at what thoughts churned behind those dark hooded eyes.
Head high, Patience turned back to accept the botanists’ accolades, trying to regain her genuine joy. This night was about her. She couldn’t let some doubts spoil it.
As the discussion continued, she became more and more relaxed. It was her right to be here, she knew. She deserved every ounce of this. Of course, she wouldn’t be here without Chastity’s feedback and Dorian’s support. But she shouldn’t feel shy or guilty or that this might be a mistake. It wasn’t. It had been earned through hard work and dedication.
Dorian’s eyes remained on her face, but there was movement in the group of people where he stood, and Patience caught sight of Sir Bertram walking towards him.
She kept replying to the scientists’ questions, her focus on her work, even though her stomach chilled with the certainty that something bad was about to happen.
In the middle of her reply to the next question, she became aware of raised voices. She trailed off when she saw Dorian looking wrathful, his jaw clenched and eyes flashing, facing off against Sir Bertram. The man jabbed an accusing finger at the duke.
“You have some nerve showing your face here, Rath,” the man spat, slurring his words. “After what you did to poor John Rose.”
Patience’s hand clutched at her neck as her head spun a little. A puzzled murmur ran through the people. She felt Chastity’s hand clutch hers. Lady Buchanan stood on her other side.
