However, as the samples will have to come from overseas — Italy specifically — there will be a shipping fee. Until I know more, I cannot say how much that fee will be. Due to the nature of the plants, I believe it will be quite expensive.
In your honest opinion, do you believe this is a viable idea? I hope that you will agree it could have many benefits, and that it is worth the fee and the risk of transport.
I eagerly await your reply.
Yours faithfully,
Lord Winters, Earl of Gloucestershire.
He had written so many letters now that his hand was beginning to cramp, but Elmore simply stretched out his fingers and waited for it to pass.
This letter was perhaps the most important of them all, as without the Duke's agreement there wouldbeno project. Elmore hated to rely on somebody else for this to go ahead, even if itwasthe Duke, but he fought back that sensation of disapproval.
He will agree,Elmore told himself,he's a sensible man and will see the benefits of such a project.
Now, all he had to do was send this letter and wait. There was no sense in sending his other letters — to Mr. Russo and those like him — until he had the Duke's approval to continue. Perhaps it was childish, but he didn't want to get his hopes up too early and face defeat.
It would be twice as disappointing for Aurora, however, and the thought made his stomach turn. That woman deserved the world, and so for her sake he hoped this was a success.
That letter went inside an envelope too, and Elmore made sure to address it in his best, neatest script. Usually his writing was a mess, used for taking quick notes or drawing in his notebook; he rarely bothered to actually refine his handwriting, unless it was something important. Like this.
With that done, there wasn't much else to do. He wandered through the quiet halls with the letter close to his chest. This London house reallywaseerie with so few staff to fill the space, and yet it was still better than home.
Home, where memories of his father lingered. Where the maids looked at him with sad eyes that saidoh, that poor man.They already thought him odd for his interests, and now they pitied him for the loss of his father. After all, hadn't he already lost his mother by the tender age of twelve?
Elmore fought not to scowl as he found himself in the foyer. There was his doorman, dutifully standing in the same spot as always. Elmore didn't see why, it wasn't as if they would receive visitors; only Mr. Washam and Aurora knew that he was here.
"Good morning," Elmore said kindly, and the doorman's head snapped to face him. "I'm in need of posting a letter today, to go out as soon as possible. Perhaps you could fetch the coachman to take me into town?"
The doorman nodded. "Of course, My Lord."
"And could you say to please have the carriage ready as soon as possible?"
"Of course, My Lord," he repeated, with a faint smile crossing his features. The poor boy was so young that he hardly looked suited to the job at all, so perhaps it was a good thing that guests here were rare.
It took perhaps fifteen minutes for the carriage to be prepared, in which time Elmore settled down in the sitting room with a cup of hot tea. He took gentle sips, careful not to scald himself, and eventually his mind drifted back to Aurora. He couldn’t help himself, nor shake the strange urge to imagine them spending time together.
It was early afternoon. What was she doing right now, he wondered? Sitting down to the afternoon meal, out in the garden pruning flowers...he tried not to think about her too often, embarrassed at the thought of being caught, and yet his mind refused to stay away from her.
Once again, he imagined her in Italy. There were flowers there that were unimaginable here in England, with bright petals and strange leaves, and scents so sweet it was almost sickly. Any botanist would have loved it, but he was thinking solely of Aurora.
Would she like art galleries? It was easy to imagine her wandering through great white halls filled with the classics, the look of awe on her face when she spotted the work of Botticelli or Michelangelo.
There was something almostromanticabout it all, about the beautiful art and the food, all of it.
He wasn't so naïve as to think that Aurora would see it that way, of course. She had shown no signs of interest in romance, nor had she returned his chaste glanced and attempts to impress. Still, it was a warming thought.
A knock at the door stirred Elmore from his thoughts. It was one of the maids, a petite woman named Henrietta.
"My Lord," she said softly, "Thomas has prepared the coach and horses."
Relief trickled into Elmore's chest. The sooner this letter got to the Duke, the happier he would be.
"Thank you," he replied, and offered a kindly smile. His father had ruled with a stern gaze and sterner words, but Elmore always made a conscious effort to be thankful for his staff's work.
Henrietta smiled, then scurried off down the hall to finish whatever chores she had for the day.
That left Elmore to wander outside himself, with a nod to the doorman on the way out. The sun beat down on him, making his skin prickle; a rare reminder that even England was capable of good weather, when mother nature felt like it.