A Wildflower for a Duke

A Wildflower for a Duke Laura Linn Copyright © 2023 by Laura Linn All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Contents Title Page Copyright Author’s Note Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Epilogue Author’s Note As you fall headlong in love with Gabriel, Violet, and the other characters that I’ve spent the last fourteen months getting to know, there may be times when their trauma or struggles feel too close to your own. While this book is sprinkled liberally with humor and lively banter, emotional triumph and love, some moments may be distressing to read. I felt it would be a disservice to those who have experienced similar trials if I were to gloss over the characters’ painful realities. With respect to those who want or need to avoid upsetting content, a complete list can be found on my website, https://lauralinn.com. A Wildflower for a Duke contains sensitive topics including: the death of a spouse and miscarriage (discussed), abuse of a child pertaining to the out-of-date and barbaric treatment of autism (discussed), violence and abduction (on the page), grooming and sexual assault (discussed), self-harm (discussed and mildly present on the page), and bullying (discussed). There is also descriptive consensual sex, drinking in moderation, and mild profanity. Oh, and there are goats…very troublesome goats. Putting this story to paper brought me a tremendous amount of joy, not only in the creative process but also because it provided the opportunity to help others experience a neurodiverse perspective in a neurotypical world. Something near and dear to my heart, both personally and as a parent. A special thank you to my friends, who are no doubt tired of hearing the ongoing plights of Gabriel and Violet, but still ask how my writing is going without a single noticeable grimace, and my editor, Kate, who endured multiple drafts with a smile despite the fact that I lost my glasses fifteen months ago and couldn’t physically see the nonsensical punctuation I applied to the page. And, most importantly, thank you to my husband, Seth, and kiddos, Juliet and Sullivan, for their ceaseless encouragement. ~Laura For my mom, who kindled my imagination to life with a library card and countless hours of reading. You will always be the voice in my head that says that I can accomplish whatever I set my mind to. -Laura, your lucky penny Chapter 1 London, England, 1826 G abriel Anson, fifth Duke of Northam, had always thought of death as a singular moment in time. Now, he saw dying as a slow and steady song that followed him everywhere, coming to climax in unpredictable places that left him breathless. Emma was dead. And everything in his life had followed her, as if that loss had become the Pied Piper, with all the remnants of good in Gabriel’s world falling helplessly in the wake of his hypnotic lure. Gabriel’s confidence in the value of his work in the House of Lords, dead. His desire to connect with friends, dead. His devotion to the tenants of his ancestral lands, dead. His interest in romance, also dead. Staring sightlessly at the gardens below, Gabriel traced the erratic path of one raindrop as it shimmied down its stilted path. The splintering crack of breaking glass reverberated through the upstairs halls, jolting Gabriel from his thoughts. A cheerful tap at the door followed. “Are we just going to pretend we didn’t hear that, Your Grace?” Keene asked, propped casually against the door frame, lanky as an adolescent cat. Slate grey eyes the shade of a sunbathed rock flickered in the direction of the hallway before settling again on Gabriel. Another explosion of porcelain sounded, and Keene cringed. “That sounded like the Imari Pattern.” His inflection was the same as one might use to announce that a quarter of London’s population, along with Prinny himself, had just drowned in the Thames. “Is that the set that looks like it has bits of pumpkin splattered on the bottom?” Gabriel asked idly, turning back to stare out the window. “And how the hell would you know the sound of one teacup breaking from the next?” Keene exhaled a suspiciously indignant-sounding puff of air through his nose. “That tea set is soft paste, and I imagine it would make a more spectacular crash than say, the Jasperware. And they aren’t blobs, they’re orange blossoms. Or, they were.” He added the last bit with a grumble. “Perhaps you would have made a better butler than a valet. Speaking of which, don’t you have something to starch?” The indisputable sound of solid wood colliding with plaster stalled the progression of their asinine conversation. Gabriel stood and lifted an eyebrow at Keene. “That would be the mahogany tea caddy, I believe.” “Why does my daughter have, what appears to be, tea service for twelve in the nursery?” Keene spread his hands. “The dolls demanded tea.” Gabriel trudged his way through the door of his study swallowing down his resentment at the interruption. If it were only his future to consider, he would happily lock himself away and marinate in his grief. Society expected him to look to the future of the dukedom, remarry some empty-headed debutante,