Page 27 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

PETALS AND PROPRIETYO

T he next day, the Rosehaven carriage rattled along the tidy road to Kew, a hush of anticipation settling in as spring light spilled through the lace-curtained windows.

Claire and I sat side by side, facing Cosmos who was visibly pleased with himself, his gloves tucked neatly beside him, his top hat balanced on one knee. He looked, for once, not entirely distracted by scientific musings, though a familiar gleam danced behind his spectacles.

“Lady Edmunds,” he said with boyish earnestness, “I’m most grateful you accepted my invitation. There’s something I’d like you to see—a rather extraordinary specimen I’ve been helping to cultivate. It arrived only a month ago from Madagascar.”

“I so admire a man who can coax something rare into bloom.” Claire’s voice lilted with amusement. “One does tire of predictably English hedges.”

He blinked. “I simply enjoy watching things grow.”

Claire was toying with him. Again. And he, poor thing, had no notion how to deal with her antics.

I turned my attention to the view beyond the window. The city was slipping away, replaced by green stretches and the promise of open air. Kew awaited, with its glasshouses and fragrant pathways and—more to the point—a certain gentleman.

Nathaniel Vale.

He would be waiting at the main gate. I’d dressed with that in mind—modestly, but not without intent. Today, I intended to observe him carefully and learn everything I could about him and his family—most especially his brother Henry. Perhaps, if I dug carefully enough, I’d find what I sought.

The carriage pulled up to the Victoria Gate just past noon, its wheels crunching lightly over the gravel drive. Ahead of us, framed by the elegant wrought iron archway, stood Nathaniel Vale — composed, upright, and waiting with practiced charm. But he wasn’t alone.

To my surprise, three figures stood beside him: a younger man, rakishly dressed in a fashionable coat of ink-blue broadcloth; a young lady with honey-blonde curls and an overabundance of ruffles in her gown; and a stout, ruddy-cheeked gentleman with a gold fob chain stretched taut across his waistcoat.

As soon as we alighted from the carriage, Nathaniel stepped forward with a bow. “Lady Rosalynd. Lady Edmunds. Rosehaven.” His gaze settled lightly on me. “May I present my brother, Mr. Henry Vale; Miss Lillian Travers; and her father, Mr. George Travers.”

Claire, beside me, gave the faintest jolt of recognition. Her fan snapped open with a soft flick.

“A pleasure,” I said coolly, giving Henry only the barest of glances before shifting my attention to the young woman. “Miss Travers, how lovely to meet you.”

Lillian dipped her head. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rosalynd. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope.”

Miss Travers grew flustered. “Oh, yes. Of course. I didn’t mean to imply?—”

“Shall we proceed into the Gardens?” I said aloud to the group. Best thing to do before Miss Travers turned herself inside out.

“Absolutely,” Cosmos heartily agreed, launching at once into talk of rare specimens and hybridized orchids.

I took Claire gently by the elbow and murmured, “A word, if you please?”

We stepped a few paces away, just beyond earshot, our backs to the palm-lined path.

“Tell me about the Travers,” I said under my breath.

Claire didn’t bother with pretense. “Mr. Travers made an ungodly sum investing in railway expansions north of Birmingham. Miss Travers is his only child. She’s new to society—last Season was her first. He’s bought her the best gowns, the best governesses, the best everything. Her dowry is nearly thirty thousand.”

I blinked. “And she’s on Henry Vale’s arm?”

Claire nodded, lips pursed. “He’s cleverer than he looks.”

“Does her father know his reputation?”

“Oh, I imagine he’s heard whispers. But Mr. Travers is nouveau riche. He wants respectability—titles, landed connections. A younger son of a noble house will do just fine, so long as he stands up straight and keeps his boots polished.”

I glanced back at Lillian, who laughed softly at something Henry said, her hand lightly resting on his sleeve.

Claire’s voice dropped lower. “He’s courting her with serious intent. And her father will push it through. Unless someone stops it.”

My thoughts flickered to Elsie. To what Henry Vale had done to her. To what someone in that family might have done to keep it quiet. And now, here they were, parading through Kew Gardens with another innocent girl.

Something coiled tightly in my chest.

We continued to follow the winding gravel path into one of the glasshouses where the warmth and humidity pressed gently around us like a damp shawl.

Dense greenery rose on either side, misting the panes with fragrant breath.

Exotic ferns trailed down from wooden trellises.

Clusters of waxy orchids hung like jewels.

And in the center of a raised bed, nestled beneath an arch of protective glass, stood the prized specimen Cosmos had promised us.

“There it is,” he breathed, practically reverent. “ Impatiens aurantiaca . Native to the eastern highlands of Madagascar. Extremely rare in cultivation. This is one of only three specimens grown successfully outside its native soil.”

The others murmured appreciatively, though Henry Vale’s gaze drifted to Lillian’s neckline, and Mr. Travers blinked with the fixed expression of a man trying to appear more impressed than he was.

An oblivious Cosmos pressed on with enthusiasm.

“Note the purple bracts just beneath the petals. See that subtle veining? That’s how it distinguishes itself from the similar Impatiens gordonii , though the leaf margin is ever so slightly serrated in this hybrid.

Remarkable, really, when you consider the necessary conditions for propagation—heat, of course, and an exacting moisture ratio.

That’s why the caretakers mist it hourly.

Every bract, every bloom—delicately monitored.

A single shift in temperature and the entire plant could collapse. ”

Claire’s smile curled as she unfurled her fan. “I do love a well-tended garden. One never knows when it might bloom again.”

Cosmos blinked. “Botanically speaking, it blooms year-round under the right care.”

Claire fluttered her lashes, like a butterfly in heat. “I wasn’t speaking of this garden, Lord Rosehaven. But my own.”

My brother brightened with enthusiasm. “If there’s a part of your garden that’s struggling, Lady Edmunds, I’d be glad to take a look. I’ve had success with some rather finicky blooms.”

Claire tilted her head, eyes dancing. “Oh, I have a patch that could use your expert touch. Perhaps you’d call on me one morning and see if you can make it bloom.”

I rolled my eyes skyward. For heaven’s sake!

Cosmos, oblivious to the double entendre, nodded with enthusiasm. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Perhaps we might move on to the alpine house,” I suggested before Claire could make another outrageous remark.

“Excellent idea,” said Nathaniel, seizing the opportunity to redirect the group. “Lady Rosalynd, may I?” He offered me his arm, and I took it.

The party began to drift toward the far side of the gardens, where the alpine collection was housed—a cool, stone-edged enclave shaded by slatted trellises and glasswork designed to mimic high-altitude sunlight.

“These alpine houses are among my favorite places in all of Kew,” Nathaniel said. “There’s something noble about plants that survive on so little—sunlight, warmth, soil. And yet they thrive.”

“They do seem to favor adversity,” I murmured.

His expression turned thoughtful. “They’re shaped by their environment. Hardship trims away weakness. What remains is precise. Efficient. Beautiful, even.”

I glanced up at him, noting the slight intensity in his tone. “You sound as though you admire their tenacity.”

“I admire order,” he replied, his gaze forward. “Nature—real nature—is a discipline. A well-run household. A well-bred line. A controlled environment.”

Something cold and familiar tickled at the back of my mind. “And what happens when something unpredictable seeps in?”

He looked at me then, his smile quick and self-assured. “Then you remove the threat. Before it spreads.”

I returned his smile with a perfectly pleasant one of my own, even as my fingers tightened slightly around the crook of his arm.

“And what if the thing that seeps in is merely misunderstood?”

He gave a soft, cultured laugh. “You’re far more charitable than I am, Lady Rosalynd.”

Ahead, Cosmos called out something about Saxifraga oppositifolia , and the group paused to admire a small bank of flowering rocks.

Still linked with Nathaniel, I let my tone lighten as I asked, “Do you visit Kew often?”

“Often enough. My research keeps me close.”

“And your family?” I tilted my head slightly. “Do they share your passion for plants?”

His lips thinned just slightly. “My eldest brother is . . . unwell. He prefers solitude. Henry is more a creature of indulgence than inquiry.”

“And your aunt?”

Nathaniel’s steps slowed half a beat, but he recovered almost immediately. “A practical woman. Devoted to the family. She manages our household.”

I smiled gently. “How lucky you are—to have such a capable guardian of your legacy.”

“Yes,” he said, his tone softening. “We all do what we must to protect our family’s future.”

As the others drew near, I offered a final, idle remark. “Perhaps you’ll show me some of your research one day.”

His eyes met mine, unreadable. “Perhaps I will.”

Just ahead, Claire paused to admire a cluster of white blossoms nestled against the rocky slope. “Doctor Vale,” she called sweetly, “what is this charming little thing with the silver leaves? I’ve seen it in Scotland, but never here.”

Nathaniel turned obligingly toward her, already slipping into lecture mode. “ Dryas octopetala , mountain avens. Grows low to the ground, thrives in cold, nutrient-poor soil . . .”

As his voice faded behind me, I let my steps slow and drifted back toward Mr. Travers, who stood slightly apart, gazing out across the cultivated beds with a satisfied squint.

“I apologize for neglecting you, Mr. Travers,” I said lightly. “You must think me inattentive.”

“Not at all, Lady Rosalynd,” he said, turning toward me with a warm smile. “I dare say you were not expecting our presence.”

“Maybe not, but one does need to make an effort to further an acquaintance. Is gardening a special interest of yours?”

He laughed. “Oh, no. The scientific terms quite overwhelm me. I’m here to support my daughter, Lady Rosalynd.” He glanced off in her direction. She and Henry were a few steps ahead, her hand curled around the crook of his arm.

“She seems very taken with Lord Henry,” I observed.

“She is,” he admitted. “Told me she knew he was ‘the one’ the night they met. At a musicale, of all places.”

I kept my tone pleasant. “And you approve?”

“Truth be told,” he said conversationally, “when Lord Henry first began calling on Lillian, I had questions.”

“Understandably so,” I murmured.

“You know how it is. We come from a different sort of money. My father laid track and kept his boots muddy. I’ve built our fortune on steel and steam, not old titles or ancient crests.

So when my daughter caught the eye of a gentleman with a name like Vale .

. .” He chuckled. “Well, I did my homework.”

“And what did you find?” I asked carefully.

“I was doubtful. But then I received a letter from another gentleman—Lord Phillip, brother to the Duke of Steele. Knew my solicitor somehow. Said he could personally vouch for Henry’s character.”

The air shifted around me, sharp and cold. Phillip. Steele’s younger brother. Was he somehow tied up in this?

“I see,” I said with a faint smile. “That must have been quite reassuring.”

“Oh, it was,” Mr. Travers said cheerfully.

“I may not be a peer, Lady Rosalynd, but I’m no fool.

If the Duke of Steele’s own brother calls a man steady and sound—well.

That speaks volumes, doesn’t it?” Travers said with a shrug.

“And I’ve seen no cause to worry. Henry’s been all charm and attention where Lillian’s concerned. No whispers, no trouble.”

Not yet, I thought grimly. But trouble rarely announced itself in whispers. It came in the dead of night, or slipped notes on monogrammed stationery, or girls left alone and pregnant in homes like St. Agnes.

“I hope your faith is rewarded,” I murmured.

“So do I.” He gave me a sharp, appraising look. “You seem to know a good deal about the Vale family.”

“Not nearly enough,” I said truthfully, then offered a bright smile. “But I’m learning.”

I murmured something noncommittal and allowed myself to drift back toward the others. But my thoughts refused to settle. Henry Vale, courting Miss Travers—for her dowry, most likely. If she married him, I feared she’d know nothing but heartache.

And Steele’s brother. What part had he played in all this? He’d vouched for Henry. Why? Steele hadn’t spoken of his brother at all, but I remembered the bruises, the haunted look, the things left unsaid. Did they have something to do with his brother?

Then there was Nathaniel. I’d seen a side of him today I hadn’t expected. His obsession with order, with discipline. If he demanded perfection from his flowers, what might he demand of his bloodline? Elsie would never have qualified—too common, too flawed.

A faint commotion broke through my reverie. Mr. Travers, his face filled with concern, was bending over his daughter. “Anything wrong, my dear?”

“I seem to have developed a bit of a head,” she murmured to her father, eyes glistening with tears.

“Well, then we’d best get you home. One of your remedies will have you right again.”

“Yes,” she said faintly. “That would be best.”

The party soon dispersed, each guest returning to their carriage. Claire and Cosmos lingered behind, exchanging glances, hers rich with amusement, his mesmerized.

My own thoughts had turned dark. Miss Travers didn’t strike me as particularly strong. Headaches. Remedies. Fragile in that way some women are—pretty, pampered, and utterly unprepared for life. What would happen to her once the Vales had what they wanted? Once her dowry was safely in their grasp?

The eldest brother already had a weak constitution. There would be no room for another frailty. No patience for imperfection.

The thought struck me cold.

What, in heaven’s name, would the Vale family do to her?