Chapter Five
The first several days of Sebastian’s new position passed without incident. He found genuine satisfaction in impressing Amos Thorncroft with his knowledge of plants and flowers. Those brutal years with the Langstons had taught him something useful, at least.
On his third morning, he was tending to the roses in the garden’s most secluded corner, carefully applying his soap mixture to rid the bushes of aphids. The work was methodical, almost meditative. And such beauty everywhere he looked.
The rose garden was breathtaking. Climbing roses cascaded over wooden trellises in waterfalls of pink and white blooms. Beneath one particularly elaborate archway hung a wooden swing, its seat polished smooth by years of use.
Sebastian could easily imagine Lady Eleanor Wentworth sitting there with a book, perhaps with her small daughter playing at her feet.
The thought brought an unexpected ache to his chest. That innocent child had become the young woman he’d met just days ago—the enemy’s daughter who looked at him with curious green eyes and spoke with genuine kindness to the servants.
“Good morning, Sebastian.”
He spun around, nearly dropping his brush. Lady Rose stood at the garden’s entrance, framed by climbing roses, her dark hair catching the morning sunlight like spun silk.
“Lady Rose.” He quickly removed his cap and bobbed his head. “I didn’t hear you approach.”
“I’m told my footsteps are too light. I’m always startling people.” She moved closer, her dress rustling softly. “How are the roses faring?”
“Much better, my lady. The aphids are retreating.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She paused beside one of the larger bushes, inhaling deeply. “This garden was my mother’s pride. She and Mr. Thorncroft planted most of these roses together when she was first married.”
Sebastian kept his eyes carefully lowered, as Thorncroft had instructed, though he found it increasingly difficult with her standing so close. “Mr. Thorncroft mentioned that to me. Someone close to me once told me that the best one can hope for their life is to leave something beautiful behind.”
“That is a wonderful way to think about our legacy, isn’t it?” Rose’s voice grew wistful as she settled onto the swing. “Mummy named me after this garden, actually. Sometimes I come here to feel close to her.”
“Understandable, my lady.”
When he glanced up, she was gazing around the garden with such obvious love and longing that something twisted in his chest. This wasn’t the spoiled aristocrat he’d expected to find.
“I admit to being curious about you. Where were you before you joined our staff?” Rose smiled, and Sebastian felt his heart skip against his ribs. The expression transformed her entire face, making her eyes sparkle.
Sebastian’s pulse quickened, though whether from her smile or the danger of her questions, he couldn’t say. “I served in the military from the time I was of age.”
“Were you educated before that? You speak with such refinement.”
“My mother was born into a good family but she fell from grace. However, she managed to teach me letters and numbers and the art of elocution.”
“What did she do?” Rose looked at him with wide eyes. “To fall, that is.”
“In the usual way.” He left it at that, hoping she would fill in whatever she thought that meant.
“I see. Leaving her alone with a baby.” Rose’s voice was gentle, understanding rather than judgmental. “It must have been difficult for her. I can’t imagine being cast aside. Or, rather, I can. And it would be terrifying.”
“We managed.” He returned to his work, hoping to discourage further questions, but also moved by her compassion.
“Is she passed now?”
“Yes, just before I joined the military.” He thought of his papa as he said, “I miss her every day.”
“I lost my mother when I was eight.” Rose’s voice grew soft, heavy with a grief that seemed to echo in the garden around them. “I, too, miss her every day. Sometimes I wonder what advice she might give me now.”
The raw pain in her tone made Sebastian look up despite his intentions otherwise. She looked so young sitting there—so lost—that for a moment he forgot she was Wentworth’s daughter. He saw only a girl who’d grown up without the one person who’d loved her most. Just like him and his siblings.
“I’m sorry for your loss, my lady. It is a terrible thing to lose a parent. Especially so young.”
“Thank you.” She was quiet for a moment, then seemed to shake herself. “I shouldn’t be keeping you from your work. Mr. Thorncroft will be displeased if the roses suffer because of my curiosity about you.”
Sebastian managed a small smile. “I think you’re safe from Mr. Thorncroft’s wrath, Lady Rose.”
She laughed—a genuine, bubbly sound that felt like a soft tickle in his chest. “You might be surprised. He’s quite protective of his gardens.”
“Not above you, Lady Rose. From what I can tell, the staff’s quite fond of you.”
“And I of them. After my mother’s death, I spent most of my time with them. Father was away a lot and even when he was here, he had little interest in me. When we were in London, he was always at his club. Here in the country, he’s mostly managing the affairs of the estate.”
And illegal brandy, Sebastian thought grimly.
Rose stood from the swing, moving toward a particularly beautiful pink rose in full bloom. “My mother would have loved seeing how the garden has flourished. Mr. Thorncroft says these pink ones were her favorites.”
She leaned forward to inhale the flower’s fragrance, but her foot caught on an uneven stone in the path. Sebastian saw her stumble and reacted instinctively, dropping his brush and catching her around the waist before she could fall.
For a moment, they were frozen—her hands pressed against his chest, his arms around her slender form, their faces mere inches apart. He could smell the delicate scent of lavender in her hair, could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
“I am sorry for my clumsiness.” Her cheeks flushed as pink as the roses.
Sebastian’s heart hammered so hard he was certain she could feel it through his shirt. This close, he could see the gentle curve of her lips, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She was beautiful—achingly, dangerously beautiful—and for one mad moment he forgot who they both were.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No, I… thank you.” But she made no move to step away, and neither did he.
The moment stretched between them, fragile and electric, until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the spell. Sebastian quickly steadied her and stepped back, his hands falling to his sides just as Hargrave appeared around the corner of the garden path.
“Lady Rose.” The butler’s cold eyes took in the scene with obvious disapproval. “Your father wishes to see you about the final preparations for tomorrow’s arrivals.”
“Of course.” Rose smoothed her skirts, though Sebastian noticed her hands trembled slightly. “Thank you for… preventing my fall, Sebastian.”
“Of course, my lady.”
She walked away with Hargrave, but not before casting one last glance over her shoulder that made Sebastian’s breath catch all over again.
He stood there long after they’d disappeared, his heart still racing, knowing that everything had just become infinitely more complicated.
He couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for her.
Not when his father’s memory demanded justice.
Not when his siblings’ futures depended on him succeeding in his mission.
But as he worked among the roses her mother had planted, Sebastian found that righteous anger was harder to maintain than he’d expected.
*
Before Sebastian knew it, Sunday arrived, bringing a day off for some of the staff. He decided to walk to the village. Perhaps he might overhear something useful about the Wentworth family?
As he set out, three house servants fell into step beside him. Mary Bright, the head maid; Prudence, Rose’s lady’s maid; Thomas Finch, a footman.
Prudence, tall and slender, had golden hair and wide-set blue eyes, her reserved nature softened by a quiet sweetness that reminded Sebastian of his sister.
Mary, in contrast, had a thick head of brown hair and dove-gray eyes, her expression keen and observant.
Finch, with his wavy blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and athletic build, carried himself with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to admiration—likely a favorite among the maids, Sebastian suspected.
Dust stirred beneath his boots on the dirt road, well-worn by carts and hooves.
They wound past fields of golden wheat, rippling in the summer breeze, and pastures peppered with sheep and grazing cattle.
Tenant farms dotted the landscape, their cottages made of modest stone with thatched roofs.
Small kitchen gardens brimmed with cabbages, leeks, carrots, and herbs.
Farmers and workers in sweat-stained shirts glanced up as they walked by, waving or offering nods.
Mary and Finch called out to some of them.
On one farm, children, barefoot and sun-kissed, chased each other near the fences, while farmhands moved methodically through the fields, scythes in hand.
A merchant’s cart loaded with sacks of grain and bushels of apples came around a corner, forcing them to step aside to let it lumber past.
“You from around here?” Finch asked.
“I was living in Brighton. I’ve come home from the war only recently. Why do you ask?”
“You’re drinking up the sights,” Finch said. “I’ve lived here all my life and I forget to really look around me.”
“Yes, it’s easy to become complacent.”
“What now?” Finch asked.
“It’s easy to take it for granted,” Sebastian said. “When you see something all the time.”
“Aye. We were lucky, Mary and me,” Finch said. “Only a few get a chance to get to work up at the big house. No better positions around here.”