Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

" O uch!" Eliza muttered to herself as her hair caught on a branch on the way to Captain Blackwood's garden. She frowned, wincing as she thought about her predicament. She was early to their meeting—or at least, she would have been if she could figure out a way to untangle her hair without ripping out a chunk of it. Both of her hands were completely full with pots of delicate transplants. She should have made two trips, but she was confident that she'd be able to manage. But her earlier confidence vanished the moment her hair got caught. She moved her head, tentatively pulling against the prickling branches to see if she could pull herself free. It was no use.

She looked down at her armfuls of flowers. Her precious pots would break, and worse, her transplants that she'd brought for Captain Blackwood would be ruined. She tried to adjust one pot to the other hand, thinking she might be able to hold everything in one arm and free her hair with the other.

But the moment she attempted it, she felt the precarious balance teeter, and she yelped. "Eliza, look at the mess you've gotten yourself into," she said to herself. She shifted, but each movement only tangled her hair further in the prickling branches, adding to her frustration. She was truly stuck, and it would easily be another quarter of an hour before Captain Blackwood was supposed to meet her.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar laugh—a warm, deep sound that sent a ripple of heat up her neck and into her cheeks. Her heart soared with relief, even as the heat of embarrassment made its way into her cheeks. She turned toward the sound, but the movement only trapped her hair more securely.

"Miss Montrose, whatever are you doing in the bushes?" Captain Blackwood's deep laugh bubbled over, his eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight.

Despite her predicament, she found herself smiling. She very much liked the sound of his laugh, though she had heard it only a few times. "Oh, just exploring the local foliage in greater detail. I find it's best appreciated when one is intimately entangled with it."

"It appears your exploration has quite the hold on you." He chuckled, stepping closer .

Her heart skipped a beat as he came nearer. "Yes, well, I am nothing if not thorough in my research."

"You've proven that you are very … dedicated to your work." Something flashed in his eyes for a moment, and he lowered his voice. "Perhaps, Miss Montrose, would you allow me to assist you in your … botanical studies?"

He was very close to her now—close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Without breaking their gaze, he took the larger pot from her aching arms, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sent a shiver straight to her center. He set the pot safely on the ground, then took the remaining one from her, repeating the careful handover.

Her heart sped up. "Thank you, Captain," she said, her voice softer than she intended. She reached up, hoping to untangle her hair, but only managed to make the situation worse.

He smirked, the scar on his jaw moving with the motion. "Allow me. I should hate for your beautiful hair to be ruined. I believe I can see the situation more clearly."

"I must concede to your expertise on this point," she said, her words coming out as a thin whisper. Her cheeks flushed at his compliment. He had called her hair beautiful, even in its tangled state. It was enough to make her weak in the knees and swoon, if such a thing was even possible when one's hair was so entrapped.

Captain Blackwood moved closer, being gentle as he carefully began to free the curls from the offending branches. His fingers brushed through her hair, moving slowly, almost as if he were savoring the silky smoothness. He seemed to get distracted by the feel of her hair, his focus shifting from the task at hand to the sensation of her soft tresses slipping through his fingers. He wasn't looking at her eyes now; his gaze was fixed on his hands, his breathing slowing as if mesmerized by the motion.

Eliza watched him, her breath catching. Margaret had often spoken of Captain Blackwood's charm, and at this moment, she had to admit that her friend was right. He was dashing—a fact that seemed all the more potent as he stood so close, seemingly lost in the simple act of untangling her hair. She found herself staring at him, noticing the way the sunlight caught the slight blush creeping up his neck, dusting his cheeks. She realized then that a blush on a man could be quite handsome.

He tucked the loose strands behind her ear, causing a fire to spread on the tips of her ears where his fingers brushed each time he freed another lock of hair. The sight might have been considered scandalous in a London ball during the Season. But they were in Brighton, and miles from the disapproval of the ton. If she rose up on her toes, her lips might almost meet his.

She blinked away the thought. His proximity was a necessity. She was being rescued from tree branches. But it had been at least half a dozen heartbeats since he'd tucked a curl behind her ear. She didn't want to move in case she was still stuck. Perhaps there was a particularly clever knot that he was deciphering how to untangle. His gaze never left her hair. Her toes wanted to lift her heels off the ground. She told herself it would only be to check if she were free from the branches.

She swallowed down the idea, keeping her feet firmly planted in the soft earth. The moment stretched, each of them caught in a quiet reverie. It wasn't until she spoke that the spell broke. "Were you successful in untangling my hair?"

Captain Blackwood blinked, as if startled. He quickly pulled his hands away, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "Yes, there you are. Good as new." He cleared his throat, seemingly flustered by his own actions. He took a small step back.

Eliza couldn't help but smile at his reaction. It was rare to see him embarrassed, and it made her feel a little less foolish about her own predicament. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs now that there was a little more space between them. "Thank you. You are the ideal rescuer. These bulbs may not have survived without your help," she said, gesturing to the pots on the ground.

Captain Blackwood smiled, a hint of amusement still lingering in his eyes. "Though I must say …" He paused, his gaze flicking back to her, the smirk returning.

"What do you find so amusing?"

He shook his head, a smile still on his lips, teasing her. "Only that perhaps this event will make you more likely to be decisive on a bonnet. "

She laughed, her heart lighter than it had been moments before. "Not likely, Captain. For then it would be my bonnet that would be ruined by the hedge, and I wouldn't be able to handle such things being ruined."

"Even if it would save your hair?" he asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.

"Perhaps I could be persuaded to wear one, but I find that the bonnet gets in my way when I'm working in my garden."

He picked up one of the pots she'd been carrying and examined the contents. "And what is all of this?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

Eliza retrieved the other pot from the ground, and they walked side by side as they made their way toward his gardens. "I brought you a few transplants," she said. "If we work quickly, we should be able to get them into the ground before they become too wilted."

"How very thoughtful of you," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine appreciation.

Eliza stopped in front of a flower bed that she'd recently cleared of weeds. The entire bed had been overgrown and now needed some new life. "What do you think of this spot?" she asked, gesturing to the freshly turned soil.

"You are the expert," he said with a smile. "How do we begin?"

Eliza set her pot down beside the empty bed and knelt down on the edge of the lawn. She pulled out a small trowel from the basket and began to push the earth aside. "We'll start by planting these transplants. They need a bit of space and a lot of care, but I think you'll find the process quite rewarding." She patted the ground beside her, inviting him to join. He hesitated for a moment, and she smiled encouragingly. "Come, Captain."

Captain Blackwood knelt beside her, mimicking her movements as she demonstrated how to handle the delicate seedlings. "Like this?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Exactly," Eliza said, her eyes twinkling. "You're a natural. You are doing well at handling the roots gently—they're very delicate."

"This feels very foreign to me," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of self-deprecation.

"The more you do something, the easier it becomes," she said kindly. "Planting is no different from any other skill. One must not expect to be an expert without practice."

He glanced at her. "You make it look very effortless."

"And I also have many more years of experience than you do," she teased lightly.

"Touché, Miss Montrose," Captain Blackwood said.

Eliza showed him the next step, burying the roots and replacing the dirt, guiding him with gentle encouragement.

Captain Blackwood nodded, his scarred jaw tightening slightly as he concentrated. He mirrored her actions, carefully placing the flower onto the ground.

"Like this?" he asked, his deep voice rough but earnest.

"That looks excellent."

They continued to work in companionable silence for a few moments, the early morning sun casting a golden hue over the garden. The air was filled with the scent of freshly turned soil and blooming flowers.

Captain Blackwood asked questions about the placement of the plants and flowers, showing genuine interest as they worked side by side.

A servant appeared with a small watering can, and Eliza helped Captain Blackwood water everything they had just planted. As they stood, Captain Blackwood rubbed at his shoulder, wincing slightly.

"Are you well, Captain?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Quite well, Miss Montrose. I sustained an injury in my shoulder. Unfortunately, it did not heal well. It tends to get sore quicker than I'd like."

She bit her lip, wanting to learn more about his injury, but knowing that it would be improper to ask about something so personal.

"What is it?" he asked.

She hesitated before speaking. She did not wish to make him feel uncomfortable. But she was curious. "I was only wondering about your shoulder injury. Did it happen at the same time as your scar? "

His hand moved to his jaw, tracing the jagged edge of the scar with precision. "Different times. Months apart. My face healed as well as it could; the scar is the only lasting damage. My shoulder, however, never quite recovered. The pain in my shoulder comes and goes." He rotated his shoulder, wincing. "There are days when the pain is unbearable, but most of the time I can tolerate it."

Eliza's heart ached for him, but she did not want to push him for more details than he wanted to share. "I am so sorry, Captain. That sounds difficult," she said softly. "I cannot imagine the pain you must endure. Is there no skilled physician in London who could help you?"

"I was in London for a time, and I sought help when I was there, but many of my fellow soldiers have injuries far worse than mine. Relief is hard to come by, but I manage. Physical pain is not the worst thing one can endure."

A heaviness sank between them, and Eliza nodded solemnly. "I cannot imagine the horrors you've faced."

Captain Blackwood's gaze softened. "Trust me when I say I hope you never try to imagine it. War is a dark place, Miss Montrose, and not something I would ever wish for a beautiful young lady to know or experience. Many do not return, and from my small experience, those that do are never quite the same. It changes everyone it touches."

"You are very brave, Captain," she said.

His features changed. "You do not know if I was brave or not. I nearly lost my life on more than one occasion. My scar is proof of that. But that does not equate to bravery. "

She could feel the challenge in his voice, and she knew it would be foolish to debate about things that she had no true knowledge about. He was right. Scars didn't mean he had acted bravely. "You are right, of course. I do not know how you were on the battlefield. But I believe I can judge that you are brave now."

He shook his head. "Bravery is elusive."

"So is hope. But, look here, Captain. Do you know what this is?" She handed him some seeds.

He looked at the seeds in his hand. "I do not know my seeds," he said. "Shall I guess? Are they peonies?"

"These will be some beautiful wildflowers. But that's not what this is," she said, pushing one into the dirt along the neat rows they were creating. "This is planting faith and growing hope."

He looked at her skeptically. "Is this another gardening lesson?"

"Perhaps. What are seeds? They are the genesis of plants with untapped potential. But to get them to grow, those seeds must be buried. We would not do such a thing if we did not believe or hope that they would sprout."

"Not all of these seeds will sprout," he said.

"Perhaps not, but none of them will sprout if they remain unplanted."

He held up a small seed between his fingers and squinted at it. "Hope is a dangerous thing to rely on."

"It can be," she conceded, her eyes meeting his. "But it can be the most rewarding. And I believe that you are braver than you give yourself credit for."

"You speak as if you were wiser than your years."

She rolled her eyes. "I am old enough to be this wise."

"You've not seen the world like I have, Miss Montrose. You do not know the dangers, the horrors—how often hope is stolen in dark nights."

"Your garden is yours, Captain. You may plant what you choose, or you may leave it for weeds to infest. Something will end up growing here. It's only a matter of what you decide to cultivate. Hope can be found. It can always be found." She pushed another seed into the rich earth.

He took another handful of seeds. "Then let's plant them and see what happens."

"Then you should be able to expect some beautiful blooms before the end of the summer."

"That will be remarkable."

"The more you plant, the more you will see."

He smiled. "And what are you planting in your garden?"

"You mean besides more ranunculus? I am planting the same as you. Hope. And then I enjoy the fruits of such planting."

"And what is that called?"

"Peace."

They worked together, planting the seeds side by side, each quiet moment between them feeling more comfortable. As they worked in the garden. Eliza wiped the small drops of perspiration that dotted the sides of her face. The golden sun rose higher in the sky.

A servant arrived with a blanket and a basket, setting it up under the shade of a nearby tree. Another brought a wash basin.

Eliza looked at the spread, her stomach flipping at the thought of sharing a meal with Captain Blackwood in such an intimate setting. "What is all this?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Surely, you're getting hungry? We've been working quite hard."

"You didn't need to go to all this trouble," Eliza said, though she was touched by the gesture.

He raised an eyebrow, his tone light. "Should I send you home in a famished state? I could never be so negligent."

Eliza looked at the assortment of food, warmth spreading through her chest as she joined him on the blanket. "You are most generous, Captain."

He smiled. "And you, Miss Montrose, are most welcome."