Garden of Joy: A Sweet and Clean Regency Romance: Garden of Love, #4

By Daphne Bloom

Can two people with painful pasts still find a happy future?

 

Orphaned at a young age and left with almost nothing, Iris Bedford welcomed the chance to become governess and guardian to three distant cousins who were also orphaned. At least, she did when she was merely twenty-one. Now, at twenty-six, and her young charges growing up, Iris is worried about what the future holds. Is it too late for her to have a family of her own?

 

Franklin, Duke of Suffolk, always had an adventurous spirit, until he ended up lost in the heart of Africa for two years while hunting for rare and exotic plants. Now back home and nearing thirty, it's time for him to take his place in society by finding a wife and having children. But Franklin is not the confident man he once was and is doubtful he will be able to find a woman able to put up with his acquired oddities.

 

Iris and Franklin cannot deny the attraction they feel for each other, but when Franklin is ordered to marry a young lady of status and Iris's reputation is called into question, will they ever be able to find the happiness both have so long been denied?

 

Garden of Joy is a sweet, clean Regency romance and book 4 in the Garden of Love series! It is a STANDALONE romance novel. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Empress Publishing
• Release date: May 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393861645

Book preview

Chapter One

Iris

O h, Iris, my cousin Winifred says with a sigh as she turns right and left, admiring her new ballgown in the mirror. Isn’t it just exquisite?

She truly is a vision. Winifred is tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and has a face that could turn the eye of almost any man. And now that she is eighteen, we are planning a trip to London for her first Season. Part of me is sorry to see her growing up so quickly, but I can hardly stop the world from turning.

Though, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the gowns I’ll be able to buy in London, Winifred laments, the gorgeous lavender gown already losing some of its luster in her estimation.

We will get more, I say. But this and the two others you ordered are more than adequate to get you by until we are able to visit a seamstress. You can’t show up to the city with nothing. You’ve already been invited to a ball scheduled for the day after we arrive. I only hope we aren’t delayed.

As long as it doesn’t rain we should remain on schedule, Winifred says. Here, help me undress. I begin undoing the long column of buttons down her back.

Won’t I get any new dresses? Winifred’s younger sister, Elsa, asks petulantly, her arms crossed.

Why should you? Winifred asks. You aren’t being presented to society.

I’ll still be seen! Elsa says. There will be parties and trips to the park and gardens. I don’t want to look like a poor country girl.

Have you saved any pin money? I ask Elsa. She huffs because we both know she hasn’t. I told you to think ahead. You might be able to buy one new dress, but not much more than that. You won’t have enough money for a Season until you come of age, just like Winifred.

It’s not fair! Elsa says, stomping from the room. Upon making her dramatic exit, she throws the door open so hard it nearly smacks her brother in the face as he walked down the hall past the room.

What’s all this, then? Tobias asks, rubbing his foot that thankfully stopped the door.

Just Iris being mean as usual! Elsa says, stomping down the hallway. Tobias looks at me and we share a shrug before he continues on his way. I know Elsa doesn’t mean the things she says. She just has a hard time controlling her impulses. In a few minutes, it will be as if the outburst had never happened.

I wish we could leave her behind, Winifred says as she steps out of her gown. I hand the dress to a maid to pack away nicely for the trip to London.

That would be unkind, I say. You should spend as much time with her as you can. You’ll miss her soon enough if you receive a proposal while we are in London.

You mean when I receive a proposal.

I hope you are right, I say, holding up a day dress for her to change into.

Are you? Winifred asks, her eyebrow cocked. I would have thought you’d want all of us to stay unmarried as long as possible. Whatever will happen to you when we are all gone?

I have some savings put aside, I say, but she isn’t far off the mark. My salary for taking care of the children isn’t much. Thankfully, my food and board are provided for me, so I haven’t spent much money over the last three years. Still, my savings won’t be enough to set me up for the rest of my life. I suppose once all three of the children are married I’ll have to find another position.

When I have a child of my own, you could stay on as a nanny, Winifred says, smoothing her hair in the mirror. You would love to work for me, wouldn’t you?

Naturally, cousin, I say, though she must surely know it’s a lie. Caring for Winifred as a governess and guardian has been difficult enough. Having to actually take orders from her as a servant would be unbearable. I’ll see you at supper, I say, leaving the room to take some fresh air for a while.

I do love the children, of course. But having to be mother, nurse-maid, and governess to three very rich and very spoiled young persons has not been easy. Though I daresay I was the most suited person for the position.

Lord and Lady Brentwood died tragically while taking a holiday in France, leaving the children as orphans. Their grandmother, Lady Brentwood’s mother, Lady Cordon, was still alive and stayed with the children for a while, but they proved to be quite a lot for the older woman to handle. The children have a rather extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins, but they all seemed to have some excuse that prevented them from taking the children in, most of them having families of their own. Lady Cordon exhausted her list of relatives, searching for a suitable long-term carer, when she finally came to me—a third cousin once removed from the children.

I was twenty at the time with no real prospects of my own. My parents had died of typhoid when I was twelve. An aunt took me in. She was kind enough, but not a mother, and my parents hadn’t left me much. I was working in a flower shop when Lady Cordon’s letter arrived. I knew that stepping in and taking care of three children would be difficult. But I also knew that, having suffered a similar loss, I was the person most likely to have some idea of what they were going through.

Winifred and Elsa mostly lash out in anger, but they cool quickly. Tobias has rather drawn into himself and rarely speaks unless spoken to. I hope he will open more as he grows older, but I do worry.

Lord Brentwood, even though I never met him, seems to have been a thoughtful man. According to his solicitor, after the birth of each of his children, he amended his will. When he died, there was no question as to the children’s fortunes. Tobias was to inherit the estate and title, and each girl was left a considerable dowry. Arrangements for all three children’s coming-out Seasons and monthly allowance were also made. The only thing left to question was who would care for them should the worst happen. I suppose Lord Brentwood never imagined that both he and his wife would perish at the same time. It was a true tragedy.

Lady Cordon is the executor of Lord Brentwood’s will. As such, she was able to provide me with a governess’s salary from the estate’s funds. As for what will happen to me when my services are no longer needed… Well, that is the question, isn’t it? I have asked Lady Cordon her thoughts on the matter, but each time she has told me that we would discuss it when the time comes. I don’t want to press the issue and appear greedy, but I would like some surety. After all, here in the country, busy raising three children, I’ve had no opportunity to find a suitor of my own. By the time all three children are settled, I’ll be near or even past thirty, and any hope of marriage will have passed me by. I try not to worry. I tell myself that it is still a long time away. Still, it is always in the back of my mind.

As I pass Elsa’s room, I’m surprised to hear her still muttering in anger and tossing things about. I knock, but then enter the room without acknowledgment. If I waited for permission to enter their rooms it would never come.

My jaw drops when I see books and papers strewn about, a curtain pulled down from its rod, and a chair toppled over.

Elsa! I say loudly enough for her to hear me. She turns to me, her face flushed. What on earth are you doing?

She wipes tears from her cheeks and tries to smooth her hair. I hate it here! she says, stomping her foot.

Very well, I say, my voice low and calm as I take a step toward her and make calming motions with my hands. I know you are upset, but remember? What do we do when we feel angry?

She grits her teeth and stomps her foot again.

We count down from five, right? I step toward her again. Five. Another step. Four.

Three, she says, her temper already cooling.

Two, we both say together. One.

I’m now standing close enough to reach out and offer her my hand. She takes it and I pull her to me, holding her tight and petting her hair.

Shh, I say. There, there, my darling. It’s all right.

She shakes her head. No, it isn’t, she mumbles into my sleeve.

Why is that? I ask, turning her face to me and brushing the hair away from her hot cheeks.

Because… She has to take a few breaths before continuing. Because… Have you noticed how much Winnie looks like Mother?

Does she? I ask. In truth, I know she does. I didn’t know Lady Brentwood, but there are several portraits of her around the house. When I first arrived, I could see Lady Brentwood in all of them. But as Winifred has grown to womanhood, it seems as if she has become a near duplicate of her mother. I have noticed that Elsa often looks at Winifred with an angry or confused expression, and I have suspected this was why.

I hate looking at her! Elsa says, pulling away. And I hate that you are here, taking us to London and not Mother.

I know, I say, sitting on a bench at the foot of Elsa’s bed. Believe me, I wish more than anything your parents were here instead of me. But we can’t change how things are.

Elsa is thirteen years old, and was only eight when I came to live here. Of all the children, she is the most like my own child, and I think she often leans on me as she would have her mother. But I think she also feels guilty for that, as if she is betraying her mother’s memory.

Elsa picks up the overturned chair and drags it to her desk, where she sits facing away from me. She picks up a miniature portrait of her mother and looks at it. I stand and walk over behind her.

Do you remember how Winifred looked when I first came here? I ask. Elsa shakes her head. She had the longest legs. When she tried to run, they would get tangled like two wet strings.

Elsa lets out a little laugh.

She hated her nose. She thought it stood out like the horn of a rhinoceros.

Elsa sputters a bigger laugh.

And her hair! I say. Was it even hair? Or was it a stack of hay atop her head?

Elsa is laughing so hard now that she is crying. When she calms down, I squat down on my heels and turn her to face me.

But isn’t Winifred beautiful today? I reach out and take the portrait of Lady Brentwood. You are right, she does look like your mother. But so do you.

Really? Elsa sniffs and wipes her eyes.

Of course! I say. Just look. Your mouth is the exact same shape, a perfect little cupid’s bow. And see here. When you smile, you have an adorable dimple, just like what she had.

Elsa takes the portrait back, running her thumb over it. We have the same color eyes. We…we had.

I smile and pat her knee. Just wait, Elsa. When you are older, you’ll see more and more of your mother every time you look in the mirror.

Elsa smiles back at me, but I can also see a blush on her cheeks. She’s embarrassed for her outburst and