Chapter Twelve
After she returned to the manor, Rose suggested to the ladies that they take a walk through the meadows and down to the creek where a deep pool of water awaited.
Rose knew the property well and had always found solace in the secluded spot.
The ladies had been delighted at the prospect of an afternoon adventure away from the stifling atmosphere of the house.
Fortunately, Honoria had gone with the men to observe the shooting party.
Violet, on the other hand, had eagerly joined Rose and the others for an outing away from her cousin’s watchful eye.
The five of them set out in the mid-afternoon, with the sun hanging warm and golden over the rolling hills.
They walked arm in arm out of the manicured gardens and onto the wilder paths of the estate, their skirts brushing against the tall grasses.
Foxglove, buttercups, and heather dotted the hillsides in bursts of color.
The wind carried the scent of fresh hay from a farm in the valley below, mingling with the distant bleating of sheep.
Cicadas provided a drowsy summer chorus.
If only she could enjoy it all. Instead, her stomach remained knotted with worry, her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
“Such a glorious day,” Daphne said, sighing with pleasure as she knelt to pluck a buttercup. “Did you know that if you hold this under your chin, it will tell you if you fancy butter?”
“What a silly notion,” Arabella laughed. “Though I suppose it’s as reliable as any other test of affection.”
“Who among us doesn’t fancy butter?” Violet asked, adjusting her bonnet ribbon.
“You’re all terribly practical and no fun at all,” Daphne said, grinning.
Rose forced herself to smile, even though their gentle teasing couldn’t distract her from the morning’s revelations.
Lydia linked her arm with Rose’s. “Would you care to share what’s troubling you? We’ve proven ourselves trustworthy confidantes, have we not?”
“Did something happen?” Arabella asked.
Rose’s throat tightened with emotion. “You’ve all been such dear friends. Yes, something happened this morning. With Baron White.”
“Dear me,” Daphne said. “Do tell us everything.”
Rose proceeded to recount the entire incident in the rose garden, sparing no detail of White’s unwelcome advances or Sebastian’s dramatic intervention.
She also told them about the use of the garden shears.
“If Sebastian hadn’t appeared when he did, I don’t know what would have happened. ” She shuddered at the thought.
“This Sebastian, he’s one of the gardeners?” Arabella asked.
“The tall, handsome one with the serious expression,” Violet said.
“Ah yes, I’ve noticed him.” Arabella’s eyes glinted with interest. “He’s quite delicious.”
“I agree. And he seems almost noble,” Lydia said. “The way he walks, the set of his shoulders.”
“He was educated as a youth,” Rose said. “He told me his mother had him out of wedlock and fell from grace, but she made sure he was educated.”
“How mysterious he is,” Arabella said. “I do enjoy a mystery. Particularly one that comes with such appealing packaging.”
“Arabella!” Daphne said, her cheeks flushing scarlet.
“What? I’m a widow. I’m allowed to appreciate a fine-looking man.” Arabella lifted her face to the sun, letting her bonnet fall back. “Life’s too short for false modesty.”
“You’ll freckle,” Daphne said.
“Let me freckle. I’ll powder over them if needed.”
“Can we return to the matter at hand?” Lydia asked. “This Sebastian actually threatened Baron White with gardening shears?”
Rose nodded, unable to suppress a small smile. “He was magnificent. Completely fearless.”
She explained how Sebastian had convinced White he was a spy for a rival operation.
“How remarkably clever,” Arabella said.
“Yes, but it raises questions,” Lydia said. “What sort of gardener thinks so quickly on his feet? Who speaks like a gentleman but works with his hands?”
“Perhaps he really is a spy,” Daphne suggested breathlessly. “For this Talbot person.”
Rose felt her stomach drop. “I hadn’t considered that possibility.” Why hadn’t she?
“The simplest explanation is often the correct one,” Lydia said.
“But what do you think?” Arabella asked Rose directly.
“I honestly don’t know what to think anymore,” Rose said. “Everything I believed about my life has been turned upside down. I feel like such a fool.”
“You must be cautious, Rose,” Lydia said. “This man’s true motives are unclear.”
“If you knew him as I do, you wouldn’t say that,” Rose said, thinking of their quiet conversations in the garden.
“How well do you know him?” Arabella asked with keen interest.
Rose felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I’ve spent time with him in the rose garden. He loves books and has no access to them, so I’ve shared some of mine.”
“How generous of you,” Arabella said with a knowing smile.
“It was merely kindness,” Rose said.
“Of course it was,” Daphne said soothingly, though her expression remained worried. “But Rose, with everything else happening, please do be careful.”
“I know it sounds foolish, but I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never experienced before,” Rose said. “It frightens me how much I care about him.”
“Attraction can cloud judgment,” Arabella said, though not unkindly. “Especially when one has little experience with it.”
“We’re almost there,” Rose said, eager to change the subject as they approached a thicket of trees. “The pool is just beyond those willows.”
As they drew closer, the sound of voices and splashing water reached their ears.
“What’s that?” Violet whispered.
“It seems we’re not the only ones who had this idea,” Arabella said. “Shall we turn back?”
“Absolutely not,” Daphne said. “We must see who it is.”
“Daphne! How wonderfully wicked of you.” Arabella laughed. “I heartily approve.”
“What if they’re dangerous?” Lydia asked.
“Then it’s fortunate I came prepared,” Arabella said, patting her reticule meaningfully.
“You carry a weapon?” Daphne asked.
“A small pistol. A woman must protect herself.”
Rose felt a chill. The casual mention of weapons reminded her uncomfortably of Honoria, who Violet had mentioned also carried a pistol.
They approached the clearing cautiously, the sound of male laughter and splashing growing louder. When the trees parted to reveal the sun-dappled pool, Rose’s breath caught in her throat.
Six men lounged in the clear water, their discarded clothes scattered along the bank. For a moment, all five women froze in shocked silence.
Rose’s gaze found Sebastian immediately. He stood in the shallows, water streaming from his dark hair, droplets catching the afternoon light as they traced paths down his chest and shoulders. She should look away—propriety demanded it—but she found herself unable to move.
It was then that she saw his back.
A network of scars crisscrossed the bronze skin from shoulder to waist. Some were thin silver lines, faded with time.
Others were thick, raised welts that spoke of deliberate cruelty.
One particularly vicious mark ran diagonally across his shoulder blade, the kind left by a whip wielded with practiced brutality.
Rose pressed her hand to her mouth, bile rising in her throat. Who could have done such a thing? And when? Most of the scars looked old, as if inflicted when he was much younger. A boy, perhaps, unable to defend himself.
She should turn away, should respect his privacy, but the sight of those marks filled her with such fierce, protective anger that she couldn’t move. Someone had hurt him. Repeatedly. Savagely.
Sebastian turned and their eyes met across the water.
His expression shifted from surprise to something like mortification as he realized what she must be seeing.
He didn’t move to cover himself or dive deeper into the water.
He simply stood there, exposed and vulnerable, watching her with wary resignation.
Time seemed to slow. She wanted to run to him, to somehow shield him from the memory of whatever had left those marks. Instead, she could only stand frozen, her heart breaking for the pain he must have endured.
One of the younger gardeners spotted them and let out a yelp of alarm. “Lord preserve us—ladies!”
Chaos erupted as the men scrambled for their clothes, dove underwater or rushed toward the bank. Sebastian remained motionless, his gaze still locked with Rose’s, as if he were testing her reaction to his scarred body.
“Rose, we must go,” Lydia said urgently, tugging at her arm.
Rose tore her gaze away, her heart hammering. “Yes. Of course.”
They hurried back through the trees, the men’s panicked voices following them.
“Sweet Mary, if his lordship hears about this.”
“We’ll be out on our ears before supper.”
“Never thought we’d be entertaining the quality today.”
Only when the voices faded did any of the women dare speak.
“Well,” Daphne said, her face crimson. “That was… educational.”
Arabella laughed delightedly. “Educational indeed. Did you ladies enjoy your anatomy lesson?”
“I’ve never seen…” Daphne trailed off, fanning herself with her hand.
“A man without his clothes?” Arabella supplied helpfully. “They’re quite different creatures when undressed, aren’t they?”
Violet made a small, strangled sound and pulled her bonnet lower over her face. “If my cousin discovers what we’ve witnessed, she’ll be terribly angry I went with you. She thinks you’re all bad influences on me. Not that she truly cares about me, but you know how she is.”
“She won’t find out,” Arabella said. “Those poor men are far more concerned about their reputations than we need be about ours. They were the ones behaving improperly.”
“I rather suspect they’ll pretend this never happened,” Lydia said, nodding.
“The scars.” The words burst out of Rose. “Did you see Sebastian’s back?”
The mood sobered instantly.
“Yes,” Arabella said. “Difficult to miss.”
“What could cause such marks?” Rose asked, though she suspected she already knew.