Chapter Three
Sebastian liked this Amos Thorncroft. He looked a man straight in the eyes.
With stark white hair and thick black eyebrows, he might have seemed intimidating, if not for his warm smile.
Though not tall, he carried the weight of broad shoulders and hands worn rough by decades of work.
The kind of hands Sebastian could respect.
“Right then, Doyle, let me show you the grounds properly,” Thorncroft said, adjusting his cap.
Sebastian nodded, grateful for the deeper tour. The brief interview earlier had secured him the position, but now he needed to understand the layout. If he was going to complete the real reason he was here, every detail mattered.
“I appreciate that, sir. I want to do the work justice.” Justice, yes. Not the kind Thorncroft expected though.
Thorncroft’s gray eyes assessed him again, just as they had earlier. “Good. A man who takes pride in his work is worth keeping.”
Sebastian followed him down the gravel path, eyes alert. Every hedge, path, and outbuilding was a clue. This was enemy territory, and he couldn’t afford to overlook a single detail. He studied sight lines to the house, servant paths, and back entrances.
They stopped at the edge of the rose garden, and Sebastian felt his breath catch. It was stunning—rows of vibrant blooms, trellises heavy with climbing roses, and a marble fountain murmuring at the center.
“Lady Wentworth planned this herself,” Thorncroft said, his voice softer now. “She and I planted it together when she came here as a bride. Had a particular love for roses.”
Sebastian nodded, though his chest tightened. This garden had been his mother’s rival’s creation, the woman his father was accused of murdering. He pushed the thought aside.
“They’re beautiful,” he said.
“Beautiful, but demanding. These roses are finicky creatures. We’ve got blackspot, and the aphids are driving me mad.” Thorncroft gestured to a struggling bush. “What do you see, and what would you do about it?”
Sebastian crouched beside it, grateful for the hours he’d spent with the Langston’s head gardener as his primary teacher. “Aphids. Left alone, they’ll drain the sap and weaken the plant. That mildew is a byproduct.”
“And the remedy?”
“Soap and water wash. Mild lye soap mixed in, brushed on every leaf, especially underneath. The soap breaks down their outer shells.”
Thorncroft raised a brow. “A brush?”
“Like an artist’s. Dip and paint until each leaf is coated.” Sebastian offered a slight smile. “If there’s no soap, I’ll squeeze them off by hand and pray for ladybugs.”
Thorncroft snorted his approval. “Fine, then.” He turned, continuing down the path. “Come on. Plenty more to see.”
Sebastian smiled to himself. It seemed he had passed the first test.
They continued down the pathway, passing through a wrought-iron gate that led to a more practical area of the estate.
An apple orchard, its trees laden with green-tinged fruits, and beyond, a vegetable garden.
Rows of neatly tilled earth showcased a variety of crops—carrots, cabbages, and beans.
A scattering of sunflowers and marigolds added pops of color.
The scent of freshly turned soil, earthy and rich, mingled with the sweetness of ripening vegetables. The scent of life. Of growth. Renewal. To Sebastian, there could be no better smell in the world.
They walked on, the path winding toward a pond nestled among weeping willows. Sunlight dappled through branches and reflected upon the water where ducks paddled lazily across the surface, avoiding lily pads that floated in clusters.
From there, Thorncroft led him to the apple orchard. The trees stood in rows, their branches heavy with fruit glistening in the sunlight. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of ripening apples.
“We’ve got Codling apples here in this first row.
They’re good for pies and preserves and whatever other delicious things our cook, Mrs. Carter, comes up with.
The lady’s a magician.” He gestured toward the next row.
“Them’s the Golden Pippin. Real princess of a fruit, that one.
Lady Rose loves them.” They walked farther into the orchard, with Amos pointing out the small, sweet, and nutty Russet variety as well as a large cooking apple called a Kentish Fillbasket.
“And finally, we’ve got the Redstreak, which makes a tasty cider. ”
“Do you press them here?”
“That’s right. Just enough for our use. Any additional, we send down to the village for the children.”
Amos took him to the last row. “And these here are our White Joaneting. They ripen the earliest. We’ll harvest them next week. They won’t keep long, though, so Mrs. Carter will make applesauce and put it away for the winter.”
Thorncroft guided him toward the sweeping lawn near the manor.
The grass was a vivid green, bordered by colorful flowerbeds.
A pergola covered in wisteria stood to one side, providing shade and a picturesque spot for tea or quiet reflection.
“Lady Rose likes to come out here to read, but more often she sits in the swing in the rose garden. You’re not to disturb her, should you come upon her. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“During the summer party, this is where the guests will gather for their croquet and games. And just over there, beyond the hedges, is our maze. We keep it trimmed at all times.”
Sebastian’s gaze swept across the expanse, taking in the grandeur of the estate. “How many gardeners do you employ?”
“Six to eight. Your priority will be the roses, as it seems you know what you’re doing. Like I said, they’re important to the family.”
“I can do whatever you need. I’m strong and I grew up working in gardens.”
Thorncroft continued to inspect him, as if he were suspicious of his intentions. Or was that simply a result of Sebastian’s paranoia? Given that he did have dishonest reasons for being here, he worried his charade needed more refining.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you talk kind of fancy for a gardener,” Thorncroft said.
“My mother was educated but was forced out of Society.” He’d prepared that answer should it come up. Hopefully, it was a good enough explanation for his new employer. “But she educated me herself.”
“That so?” Thorncroft nodded, as if he’d like him to elaborate.
“I assure you, I can do the work and be thankful for it, regardless of the extent of my vocabulary. I’ll be proud to tend to the roses and whatever else needs doing.”
“Very good. Lady Rose spends a great deal of time outside. My aim is to surround her with beauty.” Thorncroft’s voice warmed. “Finest young woman you’ll ever meet. Lost her mother young. Staff here would do anything for her.”
Sebastian kept his expression unreadable. Lady Rose, beloved and sheltered, while Sophia had grown up under cruelty. The contrast stung. A fire lit in his belly. He would make this right. Even if he died trying.
They were nearing the rose garden again when Thorncroft stopped abruptly. A slim figure stood by one of the trellises, her dark hair twisted into a knot, bonnet dangling down her back.
“That’s Lady Rose,” Thorncroft said. “Best give her a moment.”
It was then Sebastian noticed she was crying. Not admiring the roses at all, but dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, her shoulders trembling.
She must have heard them, because she straightened and quickly restored her composure.
“Mr. Thorncroft. Good morning.” Her voice was graceful and melodic, though Sebastian caught the strain and sadness beneath it.
“My lady, apologies for intruding.” Thorncroft bowed, removing his cap.
Sebastian followed suit, heart thudding unexpectedly. She was beautiful. Dewy skin, expressive mouth, and striking green eyes that shimmered with pain.
“Are you quite all right, my lady?” Thorncroft asked gently.
“Oh yes. Quite well.” She hesitated, then added, “The gardens are especially lovely today. You must extend my gratitude to your staff. You’ve all done such a remarkable job.”
Thorncroft seemed to grow several inches. “Thank you, Lady Rose.” He gestured toward Sebastian. “This is Sebastian Doyle, our new gardener. I’m showing him the grounds.”
Her gaze shifted to Sebastian. For a moment they locked eyes. A thrill went through him, almost like one would experience when seeing a long-lost friend. Or lover? Someone familiar at any rate. He lowered his eyes.
“Mr. Doyle. I saw your arrival this morning. I hope you find the work to your liking.”
“Thank you, my lady. I’m honored by the opportunity.”
“I’m quite fond of our gardens. They were my mother’s sanctuary, as they are mine.” Her tone held the weariness of grief that remained after the loss of a parent. He understood it only too well.
“I’ll do my best to meet Mr. Thorncroft’s standards,” Sebastian said quietly. He glanced up and found her eyes once again. They were the green of a mountain stream, impossibly clear.
She gave a small nod, sighing. “I must return inside. Much to prepare for the house party.”
“We’ll have everything perfect for your guests,” Thorncroft said.
“I know you will, dear Mr. Thorncroft. You always do.”
Rose turned and walked away, her blue skirts trailing across the gravel. Sebastian noted the slight tension in her posture, the way she carried an invisible but heavy weight.
“Poor lass,” Thorncroft said. “Not been herself since returning from London. Something’s troubling her.”
Sebastian filed it away. Whatever pained Wentworth’s daughter might prove useful.
“Come along,” Thorncroft said. “Let’s get you settled in the bunkhouse.”
Sebastian tried to shove away the image of her tear-streaked face. He’d expected her to be haughty or cold. Instead, she inspired loyalty from the staff. And something else tugged at his heart. One he couldn’t quite identify. A sense of protectiveness? Impossible. She was an extension of his enemy.