They arrived at the manor even faster than imagined, as if no time had gone by at all. They all tumbled out onto a great expanse of road that led directly to the house.
Aurora couldn't count the number of steps leading to the entrance. Nor could she count the number of enormous rectangular windows — it seemed as if there was more glass than brick, each window giving a glimpse into the world inside the manor. One showed an enormous living room with an impossibly tall ceiling. Another showed a study with two pristine oak desks.
A doorman showed them to a room — half way between a study and a library, it was lined with slender bookshelves that almost touched the ceiling. There had to be half a dozen of them, each filled to the brim with books — some so old they looked to be falling apart, while some were brand new.
"Please, sit," the doorman said, "His Grace will be with your shortly.
Three armchairs were arranged in front of the desk in a half-circle. The large chair behind must have been the Duke's, framed on either side by two more tall bookshelves.
Just as they sat, the door creaked open to reveal a tall, slender man with a clean-shaven face. He was older than expected, Father's age or more, with grey-speckled black hair.
"Good afternoon," he said coolly, "Mr Washam, it’s good to see you. And Lord Winters too. You must be here for the presentation on, er, angel's trumpet was it?"
The Duke sat at his desk, hands placed neatly in front of him. Although he gave Father a cursory nod, he went straight to business.
"Yes," Aurora said, snatching up the opportunity to get things underway. "We're here to discuss the idea —myidea — of using certain poisonous plants as healing remedies. My father and I, along with Lord Winters, have come up with an idea of how to grow and cultivate them in England's colder climate."
There was more to say —so much more —but Aurora hesitated when she caught the distant look in the Duke's eyes.
He wasn't even listening.
Father squeezed her hand, a reaffirming action that gave her the burst of confidence needed to continue.
"As you asked, we have come up with an outline of sorts. Angel's trumpet take five years to reach full maturity, but we can begin cross-breeding and grafting much earlier for quick and efficient results. We already have friends in Italy who will provide us with samples, and someone to build our greenhouse."
The Duke was gazing out of the window now, studying the bird on the windowsill as if it were something exotic. It was only a magpie.
This wasn't working. Aurora should have guessed that presenting this as hers, that being in charge, would have ended poorly. Like everyone at the meeting, like Christopher, likeLord Winters,the Duke was underestimating her because she was a woman.
Yet, she couldn't let this fail. Not after they had put so much work into this. Clearing her throat, Aurora reached for the notes in her satchel.
"It's a long process, but we expect it to be more than worth it. The greenhouse will provide the perfect climate for these plants, and keep them contained. I assure you, we won't need to worry about these poisonous plants posing a danger when they're well contained."
The Duke's eyes turned away from the window to focus on Lord Winters. "And you can guarantee success?"
"We can guarantee that these plants, if given the right care and conditions, will be immensely helpful in the medical field. We use a process calledselective breeding —we take the best plants with our desired traits, and breed out what we don't want. Would you like me to outline the entire process?"
The Duke waved a hand, but his eyes were alight with intrigue. "No need," he replied, "I doubt that I would understand most of it, anyway."
Both Lord Winters and Father laughed awkwardly. It was the truth, of course, but nobody wished to say so.
Meanwhile, Aurora was fighting back the flush of anger overtaking her. She had beentrying,really trying, to make the Duke listen. She would have gotten there, if she'd only had a chance to check her notes — but as always, Lord Winters had to storm in and make her sound useless!
"Give me a few days to consider it," the Duke said calmly. He straightened, and reached across the desk to shake Lord Winters' hand. "It's an interesting concept. So long as you promise to be careful with these dangerous plants, and keep it to yourselves until there are results. However, I will not sponsor this project beyond pay for the initial samples; it will be up to you to find the funds."
Accepting his outstretched hand, Lord Winters nodded.
"This is a personal project, between you two only?" When he looked from Lord Winters to Aurora's father, he skipped her over completely.
"Three," Father said pointedly, "but we are the only ones involved, Your Grace."
"And you are all up to the task?" the Duke asked.
"Of course," Aurora cut in, before Lord Winters could speak on her behalf again. Then, with a touch of embarrassment, "Your Grace."
The Duke's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Good. Then I will have my answer to you soon. You may leave."
The men bowed, and Aurora dipped into a curtsey that she didn't think the Duke truly deserved. There was so much that she wanted to say, but Father put a reassuring hand to her back and guided her out, perhaps sensing her distress.