Chapter Seven
For his midday break, Sebastian took his clandestine gift from Lady Rose, along with bread and cheese, to read under a chestnut tree near the herb garden, away from the others’ chatter.
He settled against the low stone wall, stretching his long legs out before him as he tore off a piece of crusty bread.
The shade cast a welcome reprieve from the summer heat, its broad leaves rustling softly overhead.
A perfect spot for a good read. However, instead of opening his book, his thoughts turned to Lady Rose.
Her sudden appearance while he was working had befuddled him. Delighted him too. Which was dangerous.
He suspected she was as drawn to him as he was to her.
Other than his family, he had not felt cared for in such a way by any other person.
Not ever. The way she tilted her head when he spoke, clearly listening carefully to what he had to say, had moved him.
When with Lady Rose, he felt like himself.
How strange.
And what was he to do with these feelings that seemed to have grabbed hold of his heart?
He reached inside his pocket to feel the lace of her hanky, then pulled it out to draw in the scent of her perfume.
She’d not returned his handkerchief from the day she pricked her finger but he’d thought nothing of it.
But clearly she had kept it deliberately.
The way his skin had warmed under her touch had unsettled him.
So did the craving for more. What did it all mean?
He must set it aside for now. That was all there was to it.
He bowed his head and spoke to his father silently.
I’ll not give up on us, Papa. Nothing will deter me. Not even my own traitorous heart.
He finished his chunk of bread, chasing it with a jar of cold water, then opened his book. However, he was distracted by voices coming from the other side of the stone wall.
“I can’t for the life of me imagine why the lord wants to bring the ball back. After all these years? A masquerade, just like the night Lady Wentworth was killed seems in such poor taste.” That was the voice of Mrs. Carter, the cook.
The other belonged to Mrs. Blythe, the housekeeper. “It’s horrific. I’m desperately worried about Lady Rose. She’ll be forced to marry that awful Baron White, and I’m afraid she’ll find the same fate as her mother.”
“Do you think he’s violent?” Mrs. Carter asked.
“I feel certain of it. I’ve heard rumors,” Mrs. Blythe said.
“What kind of rumors?”
“Of him hurting maids. One of them took her life after he…” She didn’t finish but Sebastian knew to what she alluded. White was a rapist.
“Oh dear me, how can Lord Wentworth give her to him?” Mrs. Carter asked.
“He has his reasons. And her name is Honoria Blackwell.”
“She’ll be mistress of this house soon enough,” Mrs. Carter said. “I don’t know what’s to become of any of us.”
“I wish she could find a love match. Someone young and handsome. Someone who could take her far away from here,” Mrs. Blythe said. “As much as it would hurt to lose her, I want her to be safe and happy.”
“I felt sure she would have offers of marriage after the Season,” Mrs. Carter said.
“No, it wasn’t like that at all. She sat alone at the balls with an empty dance card.”
“How is that possible? She’s pretty and well-spoken,” Mrs. Carter said. “Perhaps more so than any other debutant this Season.”
“We’re not the only ones who hear the whispers about the lord’s true business. My theory? No one wants to marry into this family because of it.”
“Do you think so?”
“It’s a dangerous business run by a dangerous man,” Mrs. Blythe said.
“Baron White does not seem to mind. I wonder why?” Mrs. Carter asked.
“From what I’ve heard, he’s as dishonorable as Lord Wentworth.”
“Oh, poor Lady Rose,” Mrs. Blythe said. “She’ll be controlled by Baron White, just as her mother was in her marriage.
I can’t stand to see it. She’s so lovely and pretty, and soon all the life will be sucked out of her.
But she will be engaged to Baron White before the end of the summer.
There’s not a thing we can do about it either.
We best keep our concerns to ourselves. Or we’ll end up like poor Lizzie. ”
“God rest her soul,” Mrs. Carter said. “All this talk of the ball has brought back too many memories of that night. I will never forget what Lizzie said to Hargrave the morning he returned from doing whatever it was he was sent to do.”
“Yes, how could we forget? It was so bold and reckless—telling Hargrave she had no doubt it was the lord who killed his wife.”
“And then questioned Hargrave about his whereabouts after she was killed,” Mrs. Carter said. “Lizzie should never have said what she did to Hargrave. She might still be with us if not.”
“Grief made her reckless.”
Sebastian held his breath.
“You know as well as I—Lord Wentworth sent Hargrave off with that candlestick and planted it in Lord Ashford’s garden,” Mrs. Carter said.
“But how would anyone have ever proved it? Ashford had been at the party. He and Lady Wentworth were old friends. Everyone saw them speaking together at the ball. Then, Lord Wentworth telling anyone who would listen that he and Ashford had a rivalry. The constable seemed to take that as gospel and didn’t look further. ”
“He was in his pocket, you know,” Mrs. Carter said. “It might be different should it have happened now, what with the new constable. He might not be for sale.”
“Every man’s for sale,” Mrs. Blythe said. “Lord Wentworth can do whatever he chooses because he holds the purse strings.”
“The rivalry was only one sided, anyway. They’d both vied for Lady Ashford’s hand but she chose Lord Ashford.
Lizzie told me Lady Wentworth used to speak of it occasionally—how she’d been Lord Wentworth’s second choice—only chosen because of her money.
She told Lizzie once that had she known the truth, she would never have married him.
But you know what they say about snakes in the grass. You never see them coming.”
They must have finished whatever task they’d come out to do because their voices faded away until he was left with only the sound of the bees and birdsong and the rustling of the chestnut tree and the pounding of his own heart.
*
At the end of the workday, the other gardeners headed off to a swimming hole at the edge of the grounds.
Thus far, Sebastian had declined their invitations, preferring to spend time alone before they had their supper together in the bunkhouse.
But today, having felt fire flow through his veins when Rose had touched him, he thought it might be best to cool off before he burst into flames.
He followed the others along a well-worn dirt path to a secluded wooded glade fed by a natural spring.
The young gardeners, Thomas and Oliver, stripped off their shirts, pants, and stockings to wade into the water in their loose-fitting linen drawers.
Jasper stripped down to his underwear as well, and then jumped into the water, whooping.
Old Ned merely pulled off his stockings to put his feet in the water, puffing on his pipe.
Sebastian, arms crossed, watched the others.
If he were to take off his shirt in front of the others, they would see the scars from the beatings he’d endured at the Langstons.
But the heat of the day won out in the end. If the others noticed his scars, so be it. He peeled off his shirt, stockings and pants, tossing them aside, before wading into the water.
The men fell silent, staring at his back. Sebastian could only imagine what they thought when they saw the jagged and uneven scars from Baron Langston’s riding crop. In addition, he had a long scar on his right side, just below the ribs, from a bayonet wound from fighting in the Peninsular War.
Sebastian shrugged off the stares and dove headfirst into the cool water. Nothing had ever felt as good. When he came to the surface, he noticed that Tobias Hale stood near the bank. His presence startled Sebastian, but the other didn’t seem to mind.
They called out to him, respectfully, but in a way that told Sebastian it was not unusual for the steward to join them.
Sebastian treaded water in the middle of the pool, hoping to go unnoticed, but it was not to be.
“Doyle, may I have a word?” Hale asked.
“Of course, sir.” His heart sank. What had he done wrong?
He swam toward the bank and pulled himself up, water sluicing off his bare skin as he stood.
He caught a flicker of something in Tobias’s expression—perhaps the briefest moment of surprise and then sympathy as the older man took in his scars.
Sebastian reached for his shirt, pulling it over his wet skin and reached for his pants.
Hale motioned for him to follow. “I need to speak with you in private for a moment. Won’t take long. No need to dress.”
Sebastian felt the eyes of the other men on his back, only this time for different reasons than his scars. When one’s boss’s boss asks for a moment, it couldn’t be good news.
Hale led him up to a grassy spot away from the others and sat on a thick, fallen log. “Sit, please.”
Sebastian did so, careful to leave space between them, feeling like an idiot in nothing but a shirt and drawers. “Am I to be dismissed?”
“Thorncroft is pleased with your work. In fact, he says you’re saving the roses.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sebastian smoothed his hair from his forehead, waiting.
“However, there’s something I need to speak with you about.” Hale paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I know who you are.”
“What?”
“I know you’re Sebastian Ashford.”
“But how?” His heart raced, and despite his damp skin from the cool water, he began to sweat.