Chapter 2
Wiping his sweat-soaked brow after returning his watch to his pocket, Ethan took a minute to stand tall, elongating his back and stretching his overused muscles before returning to hacking the overgrowth in the garden.
Though exhausted from his labor, he was paradoxically invigorated by the manual work.
It felt wonderful to use his body and not be chained behind a desk.
The thought of completing end of the month reports for January tickled the back of his mind.
Picking up his hoe, he ignored the intrusive thoughts and turned back to his men and pushed down the anxiety that was trying to insinuate itself into his present contentment.
After all, why had he taken this job if not to have more freedom in the types of projects he engaged in his day-to-day work?
Beginning the rhythmic swing once again, Ethan continued tearing up the ground before him, letting his body fall into the practiced movements, allowing his mind to wander over everything that needed to be accomplished on the land.
Though he had never even begun to imagine himself as an estate manager, he was happy with the turn his life had taken.
Many would see his change in occupation as a step down from his work as a solicitor at his father’s practice, but Ethan never felt right in the role, cooped up inside all day and working long hours simply to protect and increase the wealth of the aristocrats they served.
The great irony, however, was that he excelled at the things that made him good at working with the law.
Meticulous to a fault, Ethan was always organized and craved order.
But though he felt a sense of contentment while drafting contracts and summing up accounts, he’d always itched to be out of the office and out of London.
And he felt no sense of accomplishment knowing his work only served to further uplift those who already held power within the British class system.
Pausing again, Ethan gazed at the overgrown garden beds and wanted nothing more than to carve out neat rows of plants from the chaotic tumble.
He was no hypocrite. Ethan realized he was still fully connected to and supporting the aristocracy by working on an estate, but he could make a difference here—improve the lives of those who depended on and farmed this land.
Which is what he should be focused on rather than cleaning up the garden for the lady of the house, he thought, planting his hoe into the ground with exaggerated force.
“That’s enough for today,” he shouted to the other men who were working on clearing the lawn. The men ceased their labor and stood, breathing heavily from the physically intense work and leaving small puffs of breath before them in the chilly February air.
“Good work today,” Ethan said, clapping each man on the shoulder as they walked past to reclaim their jackets which had been discarded from the heat of work—now needed again as their sweat would soon lead to chills in the late winter temperatures.
Joining them, he donned his own coat before taking the proffered water canteen from David, one of the main laborers at Hampton House.
“We should be able to finish clearing this area for the expansion tomorrow if the weather holds,” David stated as Ethan took a large draught of the water. “Once the seedlings are ready, we can get them planted within a day.”
“That was my estimation as well, and I’m more than happy to help so we can speed things along.
” Ethan wanted to get the men onto other projects as soon as possible.
Once the garden was started, the focus could shift to matters of more importance, like maintenance on the machinery and rebuilding fences around the grazing pastures.
Being tasked with a project in which the only purpose was beauty felt frivolous when the land was not producing as it should be.
David eyed him as Ethan took one last large gulp of the cool water. “We’re always more than happy for the extra hand, but if there is other work you need to tend to, we can get on just fine.”
Ethan felt gently chastised, then thought once again of the paperwork he needed to sort through.
Part of him desperately needed to finish organizing the reports and implementing his filing system to bring order to the estate.
But now that he was free to be outside—doing something where he could see the physical progress—he craved the feeling of accomplishment and wanted to stay working the land, even if it was just a garden patch.
“With Matthias still occupied in the glasshouse getting the seedlings started, I’ll continue to help,” Ethan said, justifying his course of action to himself. “But then you’ll be on your own to make sure nothing dies once we’ve got it in the ground.”
Both men grinned, and David let out a chuckle. “We appreciate the help. Now, I best be off to the missus. No doubt she has something she needs me to do at home.” David put on his cap and turned toward home with a small salute.
Ethan gathered up the tools he’d been using and headed toward the storage shed. After making sure everything was in its proper place—he’d had to organize that space as well upon his arrival—he decided to check on what was happening in the glasshouse before calling it a day.
While much of the estate was in need of refurbishment—and the glasshouse was no exception—it was still a remarkable structure.
Given the glass tax, it was baffling that the building had been constructed at all, but the former marquess wanted to present his wealth to the world, even if that wealth was a mirage.
Purely due to pride, the glass house had been maintained as well as possible, and Ethan could see the blooms of out of season flowers as he approached.
Entering the structure, Ethan discarded his jacket once again.
Matthias, the head gardener and cultivator on the estate, had already left for the day but made sure to keep the space warm for the plants.
Even without the sun during the winter months, small, smoldering pots of compost were placed throughout the structure.
Rolling up his sleeves, Ethan wandered through the flowers cultivated for the main house and headed toward the back of the edifice, where Matthias had been tending the starts for the new section of garden they were clearing.
It looked like the newly germinated plants would not be ready for a week or two, the pale green shoots just beginning to poke through the soil, and Ethan was glad he and the men could turn to more necessary work in the meantime.
Having thought himself quite alone, he was startled by the sound of someone else entering the glasshouse.
He couldn’t see who it was from his location but assumed it was Matthias returning for something.
Slowly making his way back to the entrance to get an update from the gardener, Ethan checked on the citrus trees along the way.
Snapping a blossom off one of the orange trees, he crushed it in his hand before bringing it to his nose and inhaling the sweet fragrance released.
Still carrying the bruised bloom, he was surprised to see an unfamiliar young woman looking over the flowers with a critical eye. Ethan took a minute to observe her and discover just who exactly the lady was before she became aware of his presence.
She was a striking little thing; petite—there was no way she would reach past his shoulder—and her bone structure was delicate.
A mass of deep red hair that was curled and braided into an artful arrangement told him she was most likely not a servant of the house, but he had no idea why anyone other than a worker would be here at this time of day.
Who on earth was this elfin creature, and what was she doing in the glasshouse of the Marquess of Hampton?
Ethan watched as she trailed dainty fingers—which had decidedly not been used for rough work—up an equally delicate stem.
Brushing her fingertips across a petal, she plucked it from the flower’s head and brought it to her nose as she pinched it to release the oils.
The scent of roses quickly reached him, and he marveled at how her actions so closely echoed his own from just moments before.
Mesmerized, Ethan moved toward her, desperate to discover exactly who she was.
“Is there something I can help you with, miss?” he inquired once he was only a step or two away.
She started, and a warm blush ran across her cheeks that were lightly sprinkled with freckles, overtaking her pale complexion. It was quite becoming. Turning toward Ethan, she glanced down, but not quickly enough to obscure the warm brown eyes he glimpsed underneath her long lashes.
Lifting a hand to her breastbone, she took in a deep breath, steading herself before promptly transforming into a completely different person right before his eyes.
“You startled me,” she chastised, looking up at him. Superiority and arrogance radiated from her pursed lips. Though a good head shorter than he was and forced to tilt her head back to speak to Ethan directly, she managed her expression to appear as if she were the one looking down her nose at him.
“I need lemons for the marchioness. Please gather some for me—and quickly. I don’t wish to dally out here.”
It was amazing to Ethan how quickly her entire demeanor had altered as she issued her sharp command, souring her beautiful features and his opinion of her right along with it.
What had seemed enchanting a moment ago now appeared haughty.
It was the exact kind of entitled behavior he had come here to escape, and he would have none of it today.
“If it’s lemons you seek, then why are you defacing my flowers?”
Ethan saw her stiffen at his question—somehow becoming even more rigid if possible—but her cheeks colored further.
“Who are you to question me?” she bit out. “You work for the estate, do you not? Please do as you are asked.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ethan sighed before responding to the spoiled woman in front of him and walked back to the entryway to pick up his jacket.
This was obviously a young woman who’d been raised as a lady, and the last thing he needed was for her to complain about her sensibilities being offended by his under-dressed state.
For he was sure she would be reporting him once he’d had his say regarding her attitude.
Swinging his limb back to find the sleeve of his coat, Ethan caught the interloper eyeing his arms. Her charming blush returned and her frame softened, but when he quirked an eyebrow at her unladylike perusal, she snapped back into her stiff posture.
It struck him as unnatural, rather like a performance she was putting on to convey what she believed to be proper deportment.
“There are cutting shears just over there.” He motioned with his head while adjusting his lapels, fumbling the orange blossom he still held and dropping the crushed bloom.
Her eyes followed the path of the broken flower to the floor and flared slightly as she recognized the object, perhaps noting the similarity to her own action.
“If you are collecting lemons for the lady of the house, be my guest,” he said, their eyes now locked on each other.
“The citrus trees are just beyond the flowers.”
Ethan had work to do, and while collecting a few lemons for the marchioness’s dinner was not a hardship and would take mere moments, he was not inclined to help a woman who believing him to be a gardener and herself superior, had treated him with such disdain.
She could gather the lemons herself, and god help her if she talked to another person on the estate in such an imperious manner.
The young lady’s eyes grew wide at his refusal to do her bidding, turning flinty as she narrowed them in his direction. “And just who do you think you are? Do you have any idea who I am?” she seethed. “I should report your impertinent behavior to the marchioness.”
Ethan smirked at her indignation. No, he hadn’t the faintest idea, but at this point he couldn’t care less. “You go ahead and do just that.”