To Deceive A Duke

Chapter 5

The gardens are bright and alive with spring colour, daffodils dance in the light breeze and tulips sway to their own silent song. Flowerbeds line the paths that twist and turn via statues, benches and glistening ponds.

Clarissa is careful to mind her business as she passes the people who are walking through the gardens. She keeps her eyes lowered, head bowed, people spare her glances as they cross paths, but her appearance as mourner keeps them from addressing her. She heads along the same path she's walk a hundred times before with her grandfather; the path to the cherry tree. The time she spent with Roderick was not always taken up by The Strand or lessons, sometimes he'd take her to see the places where he spent his childhood.

In the middle of the gardens grows a large cherry blossom tree with the palest pink flowers, and large branches that stretch far and wide over the surrounding grass. This tree is tallest one in the entire garden and as the sun beams down upon it it casts a long shadow over the other shrubs and plants. Even though it is late April, the flowers are blooming all over, and the pink petals look as though they have been painted by Monet's delicate hand.

Clarissa stares up at it and breathes in the faint sweetness from the flowers. The light floral scent fills her with a sense of serenity that she lacks in her chaotic life. She closes her eyes and allows her shoulders to relax along with the rest of her body, her mind wanders away from Whitehall Gardens and to sky, the stars, to her grandfather. She pictures his kind face, and the way his glasses fit slightly askew on his crooked nose.

An abrupt cough drags her from her imagination, she blinks and turns to her left. The man standing there wears a plain black suit with silver buttons. His shoes shine in the light and a tall hat gives him the appearance of an extra few inches of height on his 5"6 frame. He runs a hand along the scruff of his beard and almost looks regretful to be interrupting her solitude. The Times is tucked under his forearm.

"Detective Rawson." She inclines her head in respect, "Good day." Her eyes narrow as he greets her,

"Miss Lenoir," He tops his hat to her, "May I inquire after your health this day?"

"I am quite well. I thank you." She replies, folding her hands in front of her. "Yourself? I feel it has been an age since we last spoke. When was it? Latimer's ball I believe."

"It has been sometime indeed, I am in good spirits, thank you." He says.

Clarissa smiles coldly. "I am glad."

Detective Rawson has been in her life from the time she was seven, since them he has constantly been stalking the shadows of her and her grandfather, keeping them close. While a successful man he found that he had an aptitude for solving crimes and catching criminals. He solved a few high profile cases back then and then rose in status when he received a strong backing by several rich and affluent families who supported his campaign to clean up the streets. With more money and the influence of societies highest Rawson now has a large team of operatives and endless resources. Most of the days he works on recent and active cases but he has yet to bring down the crime families that are the true terrors of London.

"Beautiful." Rawson states.

"I beg your pardon?" She stutters, confused.

"The tree?" He points at the cherry blossom, "Is it not?"

"Ah, yes quite pretty." She glances at the tree but her gazes snaps back to the detective's, unwilling to let him escape her sight. She knows there is a file, thicker than her neck, in his office, trying to tie her to any crime, any body, anything to bring her down.

"I wonder if you have read the news today?" He says, unfolding the newspaper tucked under his arm. The front headline reads about the latest Irish rebellion, however he shakes the paper open and turns to one of the last pages. He holds it out to her.