Chapter 6 #2
West had cast a weary eye toward the sky that morning before he began digging, his thoughts aligned with her own. If they were able to plant Eliza’s blooms along her timeline, it would be a miracle.
Though Bella was loath to touch dirt—let alone kneel in it—she’d made the sacrifice rather than hear more of Eliza’s fretting.
Now, she followed along after each of West’s new holes, adding a scoop of lime from the bucket as Eliza had directed her to, before working one of the burgundy chrysanthemums free from its terra-cotta pot and pressing it into the soil.
West had brought the lot over on a cart from the greenhouse that morning.
After the two of them had painstakingly acclimated the blooms to the outdoors over several days following Eliza’s explicit instruction.
Diagrams were involved. Her brother had married a madwoman because surely a plant—a plant—could survive life outdoors without a training program to rival the one West devised for the ring.
Bella did her best to ignore the sounds spilling from West’s direction, several holes ahead of her.
But the sight was proving to be too great a temptation.
He’d stripped his vest quickly. The braces followed shortly thereafter—that man and his damned braces would be the end of her.
His shirt clung to his sweat-soaked skin in an obscene manner.
He may as well not have worn one at all.
Though she rather suspected the shirt remained on for her modesty, not his, the sight really was an assault.
Chrysanthemum finally free from its clay prison, Bella plopped it into its new home with much less fanfare than Eliza would have employed. Then she set about mounding the damp earth back overtop the roots before patting it down.
“Afternoon, you two,” a warm, feminine voice called. Bella turned at the waist to see Effie striding across the way with a basket in her arms.
“Mam,” West called in greeting, pausing in his shoveling to lean against the thing in a manner that had no business being as appealing as it was.
“Thought I’d bring a bite to you.”
“You didn’t have to do that—”
“Nonsense. You know I love having someone to cook for,” Effie reached Bella’s side and set the basket a few feet from the new plantings. “Now, go wash up.”
Finger by finger, Bella stripped her gloves as she stood to follow Effie’s directive and made her way to the nearby pump.
West followed and stepped around her to work the handle for her before washing his own hands.
Then, to Bella’s utter consternation, he dragged those wet palms through his sweat-dampened hair, leaving the droplets to run down his chest in rivulets.
Truly, why had he bothered with a shirt at all—this one barely warranted the name.
She shook away the thought and caught his gaze with a raised brow. He chuckled before rinsing his hands again.
“Point taken. But all of me is disgusting, so this might be the best I can do.”
“I’ll agree with you there.” Bella turned on her heels to make her way back to Effie.
West’s answering laugh followed her across the field.
When Bella reached Effie’s side, the woman had already spread a blanket across the grass and begun setting the contents of her basket across it. The tempting scent of hearty pasties washed over her.
“You should not have.”
“Any excuse to spoil you—both of you.” Cheeses, a flagon of cider, pasties, and fresh apples covered the blanket, and Effie was still removing delights from her oversize basket. “Sit! Sit! I best be getting back to your father, but you two deserve a break.”
“Are you certain you cannot join us?” Bella asked, even as the other woman backed away.
“Nonsense. I’ve so many chores…”
“Such as?” Disbelief was clear in West’s tone
“So many chores.”
“Of course, Mother. So many chores.” He dragged his fingers across one brow. “Thank you for the food,” he added as he turned back to Bella with a gesture to sit before joining her on the opposite corner of the woolen blanket.
“She’s not…”
“Matchmaking?” he supplied. “Afraid so.”
“I’m not certain how to feel about that.”
West snagged a bit of cheese and popped it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then reached for the cider and a mug. “Nothing to fret over. It’s not as though anything will come of it,” he said, studying his hands as he poured with a fascination the action did not warrant.
“True.” With great effort, Bella imbued the word with undue enthusiasm. She took the tin mug as West handed it over and indulged in a heavy swig. “And for some reason, you are her favorite person in the world—I should be grateful she’s trussed you up for me.”
“I’m quite charming once you get to know me.” That infuriating little dimple appeared on his cheek.
“And modest too. It is a slight concern, though—that your mother has so little opinion of my discernment.”
West’s head fell back on a laugh as the rest of him unfurled, shoulders unclenching, legs straightening.
“There’s no risk of false modesty—not in your presence. She really ought to speak to Pa, though. He warned me off you again, just the other day.” He dropped the intelligence breezily before snatching an apple and biting a revoltingly large chunk from it.
“I beg your pardon? Again?”
West turned his gaze back on her, expression incredulous. “You didn’t suppose all that time we spent together went unnoticed, did you?”
“I—”
“Oh, yes. Lady Arabella, you were my grand youthful rebellion. The fence on that back pasture broke near weekly toward the end—great mystery that.” He tipped his head east, to the old field Bella had all but forgotten. “Anything to keep me from making eyes at you.”
Bella’s cheeks heated and she took a bit of cheese as a distraction. “I hadn’t thought anyone noticed.”
“They noticed. They just knew it didn’t mean anything to you. No point in warning the diamond away from the thief.” He gave the apple another chomp.
His sentiment wound its way through Bella’s mind, uneasy there for a reason she couldn’t immediately name.
Not once had anyone urged her away from West. She knew, of course, that if her father had discovered her infatuation there would have been hell to pay.
But she’d assumed her feelings—whatever they were—had escaped others’ notice.
Apparently, that had not been West’s experience.
“Don’t fret—everyone knew it was only on me,” he added.
It wasn’t. The denial lingered on the edge of her tongue, trapped only by the meager pride she scrabbled together in his presence.
Instead, she reached for a pasty.
West shifted, leaning back on a palm. It was truly unfair—the way his open shirt pulled against his damp, muscled chest.
“How many more of the flowers has she got?” he asked.
Bella fought back a scowl. “Too many. Eliza loves her flowers.”
West’s gaze was heavy, weighing on her. “You don’t like her.”
A huff escaped her. “I’ve never met a less objectionable human being in my life. And I don’t like anyone.”
“Good company—among those whom you dislike.” West’s swig of cider was pointed. “It’s not still because of her father, is it?”
Bella’s eyes tipped skyward for a moment before returning to her pasty. It was surely excellent—everything Effie made was—but she could taste none of it. “I can hardly hold her to account for the sins of her father. Not after she forgave me for my actions in service of my own.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“I have no reason to dislike her or her father. It would be entirely irrational to do so.”
“And you are always rational?”
“Of course,” she chirped. “Why am I receiving an interrogation? I agreed to no such thing.”
“You’re welcome to interrogate me any time you like.” His voice dipped low, lingering in the air and leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
“I cannot make out your intent with that one. But you’ll keep your innuendos to yourself, if you please.” Bella finished her pasty and wiped her fingers off on the edge of the blanket.
“That isn’t how I meant it. And I loathed your father with every part of me. But he was still your Pa.”
Bella swallowed past the knot in her throat. West’s dark gaze trapped hers. She was unused to such sincerity within their depths. “It’s… complicated.”
“I can probably follow along.”
The denial caught at the tip of her tongue, paired with a vicious insult. But Bella was so tired of her own thoughts. “My father died. And I felt… relieved.”
West nodded, no hint of judgment crossing his expression.
“He never hurt me—not the way he did Ben. And I doubt he would have. He had more effective methods. But I spent a decade waiting for the next Draycott. Ten years waiting for my father to find some use for me—marriage or...” Worse.
West’s answering swallow was loud on their little blanket in their private corner of the world.
“From the moment I was born, I was told that every single thing wrong in our lives was the fault of Michael Wayland.
Every greasy candle, every cobweb, every empty belly—all of it was because he cheated my father of every last shilling.
We had this plan, and it was going to fix everything.
Destroy Wayland. Ruin his family. Restore ours to glory.
But then Ben fell in love with Eliza, and suddenly up is down and down is up.
And then he wanted to put an end to our scheme.
“But I wasn’t in love with Eliza. So I wrote to Father. And he sent Draycott.”
The sound that escaped West bordered on animalistic.
“He knew. Surely Father knew. He offered me to the man... But even in my most loyal moment, when I thought I had proved my worth, when I’d succeeded where Benedict failed, he sent the man who tried to—” She couldn’t say what and glanced away. “Do you know the worst part?”
“There’s worse?” West’s voice stretched thin.