Chapter 21
CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
Harriet was inside Applewood.
I’d given her and the rest of the party a quick tour of the main level of the home and she’d been delighted with every space, commenting with exuberant enthusiasm over the aspects from the windows and the size of the drawing rooms. She even ran her hand along the velvet jacquard wallpaper in the dining room in appreciation of the craftsmanship.
She may not have shown me any marked attention for the last week and a half but she wasn’t hiding her keen interest and approval of my home.
Perhaps I should have brought her glove with me and proposed to her while we were here.
If Harriet were my fiancée, her compliments would mean more to me, wouldn’t they?
For all of her gasps and smiles each time we turned a corner, none of her exclamations landed as forcefully or as sincerely as Miss Blackwell’s comment atop the rise.
Applewood was a fairytale castle pleading to be woken up.
It was exactly how I felt about my home and it had nothing to do with the views from the windows or the clever stonework above the fireplaces.
It wasn’t the clearing of the land or the removal of dust that would wake Applewood from her long rest—it was the return of a family, and somehow Miss Blackwell had known it.
Or perhaps she simply liked the idea of the hedges being trimmed.
“Shall we continue outside?” I asked. “I’m afraid the upper stories haven’t been readied for company.”
Charlie, whose expression had glazed over at least two rooms ago, nodded so quickly his hair flew into his eyes. Apparently he hadn’t been overcome with emotion by the drawing rooms.
I led everyone to the garden room, which they’d already seen, but it was the only drawing room with doors that connected to the back garden.
We had no grand earthen terrace, nor an expansive lawn or waterfall.
Ours was a garden made for walking and sitting and cutting flowers, or at least it would be once the flowers were restored.
As it was, only the roses had survived the seven-year hiatus.
“To your left is the walled garden.” I gestured toward the tall wall made from the same sandstone as the home. “Cook has been replanting there and it is by far the tidiest spot you will see this afternoon.”
“What’s that?” Charlie’s eyes were wide as he took in the central focus of the garden directly in front of us.
“It’s the rose garden.”
“That feels like an understatement,” Miss Blackwell quipped wryly from just behind me.
I turned and grinned at her. Two generations ago my grandmother had a large portion of our back garden dug out in a circular shape to create a sunken garden. It had winding paths and natural benches made from the large stones that had been unearthed during excavation.
Most of the roses had survived but in a wild manner that would take careful cutting and shaping for years before it would mimic the garden grandmother had originally planned. Some of the bushes were as large as trees, which made the walking path more than a little treacherous to clothing.
“What are we waiting for?” Mr. Howard took Miss Blackwell’s hand and pulled her toward the stone steps that dropped down into the garden. She sputtered in surprise and then let out a soft peal of laughter when he tugged her into a run.
“Be careful,” I called after them, but they were already down three of the stairs and Charlie was only a few steps behind them.
I turned to the others. “I suppose we will be exploring the rose garden, but be aware nothing has been cut back there for seven years. If you are worried about your coats or gowns, I would advise against it.”
I trotted after Charlie, not waiting to see who would follow.
When I reached the steps I could see Mr. Howard and Miss Blackwell. They’d turned right after entering the garden and he held up a particularly overgrown branch of a rose bush so Miss Blackwell could walk underneath it. He still had a hold of her hand.
I took the steps two at a time and was at the bottom within half a breath.
“Let’s go this way,” Charlie pointed to the left.
I’d already taken a step toward Miss Blackwell.
I took another one on instinct before willing myself to stop.
The rose garden wasn’t completely secluded.
If anyone stayed outside of it, they could see down into it.
And if anyone could handle herself against unwanted advances, it would be Miss Blackwell.
And if she wanted Mr. Howard’s advances? Well, that was none of my business.
I turned toward Charlie and then stopped again.
Mr. Howard had always shown a marked interest in Miss Blackwell, but ever since the game of forfeits, his flirtations had become more brash.
If her confession about being kissed had anything to do with his newfound interest in her, well . . . I did carry the blame for that.
Didn’t I have an obligation to protect her from the consequences of my actions?
A hand tugged at my arm. “Come on,” Charlie said. “It is a circle. We can meet back up with them on the other side.”
True. I returned Charlie’s grip and tugged him forward, tearing through my rose bushes, scraping my hands and ripping my coat as we darted along the outside path of my overgrown rose garden.
We reached the halfway mark within minutes, sweating, scraped up, and panting, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Had they not dashed through the bushes at a breakneck speed? Apparently not.
I trudged onward.
“Oh, there they are,” Charlie huffed from just behind me. I turned to my right and glanced down one of the bisecting paths through the garden. And Charlie was right—there they were.
I’d imagined Mr. Howard playing with the locks of hair that had escaped Miss Blackwell’s bonnet. I’d imagined him pulling her into a private nook and demanding a kiss from her. I’d imagined more scenarios than I’d care to admit in the five minutes it took to reach them.
None of my imaginings compared to what we actually found.
Mr. Howard was kneeling down in the dirt path in front of a gloveless Miss Blackwell, his head bowed low over one of her hands. He turned his head and caught my eye just as he released the tip of Miss Blackwell’s finger from his mouth.
I was on him in less than half a heartbeat. “What the blazes do you think you are doing?” I grabbed the wrist of his hand that still held Miss Blackwell’s finger and pulled him off the ground and away from her.
He smiled at me in response, and by the heavens it took everything in me not to pummel him for that smile alone. It was too similar to the one he’d given all of us when Miss Blackwell had avoided answering his question on the night of the forfeits.
He waved both of his hands in front of him as an act of surrender. “Don’t fret, Captain. A thorn tore her glove and punctured her finger.”
The edges of my vision turned black. “And you were what? Bleeding her like a leech?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I was cleaning it.”
“I didn’t know you were a doctor. Where did you learn such a technique?”
He shrugged with complete nonchalance. “I must have read it somewhere.” I clamped down harder on his wrist and had the pleasure of watching him wince.
Miss Blackwell scoffed at my side. “Do you think either of us are going to believe you’ve read a book on medicine?
” Her tone held censure, but it should’ve held more malice.
How could she manage to speak without raging at him when he’d taken such an absurd liberty with her?
She turned to me, but I couldn’t return her gaze.
I couldn’t look at her. “He told me,” she said pointedly, “he was going to examine the cut.”
He smirked. “I did examine it.”
Yes, he did. With his blasted tongue. His arched eyebrow made it clear he was thinking the exact same thing I was.
“What is your verdict?” Miss Blackwell asked as if he actually were a medical doctor.
He pulled his hand away from me with a quick jerk.
I took a small amount of pleasure from the way he massaged his wrist with his other hand.
“The cut isn’t very deep,” he said, then lifted his chin toward Applewood.
“But I think the captain here should take you inside and do a better job cleaning it than I did.”
“I agree,” I said with a huff, turning back toward the house, still without looking at Miss Blackwell’s face.
I shoved Mr. Howard aside and strode forward.
I should have offered an arm to Miss Blackwell, or at least motioned for her to go first, but it felt like a thousand bees were swarming just under my skin and I simply couldn’t trust myself.
Not yet. I heard the scuff of her riding boots through the years of fallen leaves behind me, so she did follow.
“With water and cloth,” Mr. Howard called out to us, and I stumbled on an overgrown root at my feet.