The Rogue's Reluctant Rose Read Online Free PDF

triplicates from the archives. It seems the late Viscount Fanshawe, that would be Charles Barrington, the seventh viscount, tried to recover the finances, but his unfortunate accident happened before his efforts saw much success.”
    “I see. And how extensive are the Fanshawe losses?”
    “Quite extensive. The country estate in Colestershire seems to have been mortgaged, along with the London house and a minor holding in Shropshire. The eighth viscount will have procession of the remaining bonds when upon his eighteenth birthday, but that will only be in seventeen years. I daresay, my lord, that it will be much too late for the estate.” The clerk shifted uncomfortably. “A pity, really. I had the honour of meeting the seventh viscount, and he was a very gracious gentleman.”
    “Is that so? Well, thank you, Mr Fenwick. You may leave the papers behind. I shall look at them at my leisure.”
    Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Fenwick stood up, and nervously placed the papers on the desk before the marquis. With a jerky half-bow, he made his way out of the study, leaving Chestleton with his thoughts.
    Soon after Fenwick’s departure, Chestleton repaired to the library, where he contemplated Miss Barrington and her peculiar determination. He suddenly felt that he had quite a good idea of what the girl was trying to achieve.

Chapter 3
    The sun was close to setting over the elegant promenades of Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. Araminta regarded the walk ahead, bordered by beautifully trimmed roses in full bloom. Their scent lingered in the warm air and clung to her hair.
    It was a pleasantly warm summer evening, and many of London’s elite had gathered at the pleasure gardens for a display of fireworks later that night. Araminta had come with her aunt and uncle, and her cousin. Susan stood next to her, admiring a beautiful red rose. Lord Worthing was deeply in conversation with Lord Harris about some development on the Peninsula which had been reported in the evening papers.
    Lady Worthing was speaking with Sir Timothy Stanton, the young baronet who had danced with Araminta at the Snowe ball. Sir Timothy looked to be five and twenty, with a pleasantly handsome face. His person was always well kempt and his blond hair neat. She had known Sir Timothy for the three years since her presentation at court, and he had always shown a certain partiality towards her. His manners were polite and pleasing, and his fortune was said to be considerable. He was a favourite with Lady Worthing, though he had never before made clear any official intention to court Araminta.
    “Perhaps a walk, my dear?” Sir Timothy asked, startling Minta out of her reverie. He had evidently caught her looking down the rose path. The Gardens were full of walks, some more secluded than others, and this particular one, with its neat hedge and pruned roses was enough in view to avoid impropriety, but secluded enough to allow private conversation.
    “Oh. Yes, I think, Sir Timothy, that I should quite like a walk. If my Aunt and Uncle do not object?” The young lady looked enquiringly at the older woman.
    “Certainly, my dear. It is a lovely walk. I do so love roses. You mother did, too, didn’t she, my Araminta?’
    “Yes, Aunt, she was very fond of them.” Araminta smiled softly at the memory. “She always took care to have bouquets in the drawing room.”
    “Shall we, then?” Sir Timothy offered Araminta his arm, which she accepted with a nod of thanks and a warm smile. He had always been an attentive suitor.
    They walked together down the narrow walk, enjoying the roses and the sound of laughter and chatter from the groups of people scattered around a clearing in the gardens, from where they would later watch the fireworks. Araminta opened her printed fan as they walked.
    “You certainly have a good taste in promenades, Miss Barrington,” observed Sir Timothy softly.
    “Thank you, Sir Timothy. I must say the fireworks will be a pleasant break