Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

E liza walked alongside Mr. Everly as they approached the grand entrance of the Royal Pavilion. The structure was indeed magnificent, its domes and minarets standing out against the blue sky. Mr. Everly chatted incessantly, pointing out architectural features and historical details with an air of superiority.

"And here, you see, Miss Montrose," he said, gesturing toward a delicate fresco, "this is clearly the work of the great French artist, Jacques-Louis David. His influence is unmistakable."

Eliza smiled politely, but inwardly she cringed. The fresco was obviously not in David's style, and she was fairly certain it was done by an English artist. "It's quite beautiful," she said, choosing her words carefully.

Mr. Everly continued his monologue as they moved from room to room, expounding on the virtues of the Pavilion's art collection. It was surprising, as it seemed from the way he spoke, that he'd been here a dozen times, although the information wasn't always accurate.

"Ah, and these flowers in the garden are undoubtedly a rare variety of Alpine rose," he said, pointing to a cluster of vibrant blooms.

Eliza glanced at the flowers, recognizing them immediately. "Actually, Mr. Everly, these are dahlias," she corrected gently. "They're quite common in English gardens." And they were among her favorite flowers in her own garden.

Mr. Everly looked momentarily flustered, but quickly recovered. "Ah, yes, of course. Dahlias. I must have misspoken."

As they continued their tour, Eliza found herself comparing Mr. Everly's pretentious knowledge with Captain Blackwood's genuine passion for his garden. She remembered the way Captain Blackwood had listened intently as she spoke about her plants, his questions thoughtful and sincere. He never pretended to know more than he did; instead, he showed a deep appreciation for her expertise.

Mr. Everly led her into the Pavilion's drawing room, where a collection of paintings adorned the walls. "Now, this painting," he said, puffing out his chest, "is a masterpiece by Gainsborough. His brushwork is simply unparalleled."

Eliza examined the painting, recognizing it as the work of another artist entirely. "It's lovely," she said diplomatically, but her mind was elsewhere. She wished she were back in Captain Blackwood's garden, planting flowers and sharing a simple, honest conversation.

She remembered the way the captain had opened up to her about his scars and injuries, the vulnerability in his eyes as he spoke. It was a stark contrast to Mr. Everly's constant need to impress and dominate the conversation.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Montrose?" Mr. Everly asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Eliza forced a smile. "Yes, it's very interesting," she said, though her heart wasn't in it.

Mr. Everly beamed, clearly pleased with himself. "I knew you would appreciate the finer things in life."

As they moved to another room, Eliza's thoughts drifted back to the garden. She could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her face, hear the rustle of the leaves, and smell the fresh earth as they worked together. She thought of the easy camaraderie she shared with Captain Blackwood that morning, and the way they could sit in comfortable silence or engage in lively banter without any pretenses.

"Miss Montrose, did you hear what I said?" Mr. Everly's voice broke through her reverie.

"I do apologize, what was that?" she asked, realizing she had been woolgathering.

"I was saying that this particular room is known for its acoustics. Perfect for intimate gatherings and musical performances," he repeated, clearly expecting admiration.

"That sounds wonderful," she replied, but her enthusiasm was waning.

Mr. Everly's endless chatter continued as they walked through the Pavilion, but Eliza's mind remained firmly in the Captain's garden with its owner. She couldn't help but feel that she was wasting her time here when she could be with someone who truly understood and appreciated her.

Finally, as they reached the end of the tour, Mr. Everly turned to her with a satisfied smile. "I trust you've enjoyed our outing, Miss Montrose. It's not every day one gets to experience such culture and sophistication."

Eliza nodded politely. "Thank you, Mr. Everly. It has been ... enlightening." At least when it came to whose company she preferred. She imagined that she would have liked the Royal Pavilion much more if she'd been able to walk with Captain Blackwood around it. How strange to even think that when she'd been so frustrated by him when they first met. But now, things were different. She found that she longed to see a smirk from him rather than the abundance of smiles that Mr. Everly gave her.

The superficial charm and knowledge of Mr. Everly paled in comparison to the genuine connection she felt with Captain Blackwood.

Eliza sat in the carriage beside Mr. Everly as he took her home. Mr. Everly filled in the silence between them with a constant stream of words that required very little response. Her thoughts lingered on the ornate splendor of the Royal Pavilion. The tour had been pleasant—Mr. Everly had been polite, engaging, and well-spoken, though it seemed very misinformed about the history of the estate. But as the carriage rolled through the bustling streets of Brighton, Eliza felt a lingering disquiet. Despite the beauty of the Pavilion and Mr. Everly's charming company, she couldn't help but feel that something was missing.

As they neared her home, Eliza spotted Lady Margaret's carriage approaching from the opposite direction. Margaret's eyes widened at the sight of Eliza and Mr. Everly, and she signaled her driver to slow down. Their carriages drew alongside each other, and Margaret leaned out of her window, her smile bright with curiosity.

"Eliza! What a delightful surprise to see you with Mr. Everly," Margaret called, her voice carrying a hint of teasing. "Have you two been enjoying the sights?"

Eliza forced a polite smile, her discomfort hidden beneath a veneer of decorum. "Yes, we just returned from the Royal Pavilion. Mr. Everly was kind enough to show me around."

Mr. Everly tipped his hat, his demeanor as polished as ever. "It was my pleasure, Lady Margaret. The Pavilion is quite the marvel, and Miss Montrose's company made the visit all the more enjoyable."

Margaret's eyes flicked between them, her smile widening with delight. "How lovely."

"What are you doing out here?" Eliza asked.

"I just left a note with your housekeeper. I was hoping that you would join me for dinner this evening."

Eliza hesitated for a moment, but she couldn't find a reason to refuse. "Of course, Margaret. That sounds wonderful."

Margaret gave a pleased nod, then turned back to Mr. Everly. "And Mr. Everly, thank you for being such a gracious escort. I'm sure Eliza enjoyed herself immensely."

Mr. Everly nodded with a courteous smile. "The pleasure was all mine, Lady Margaret."

With a final wave, Margaret's carriage continued on its way, and Eliza returned to her own thoughts as they neared her cottage. She thanked Mr. Everly for the afternoon, her words courteous but her heart not quite in them. As she stepped out of the carriage, she felt a sense of relief, the familiar comfort of home welcoming her back.

Later that evening, Eliza found herself in Lady Margaret's elegantly appointed dining room. The warm glow of candlelight flickered off the polished silverware, and the scent of roasted lamb filled the air. They were seated at a small table, just the two of them, and Margaret wasted no time in steering the conversation toward the afternoon's events.

"So, tell me all about the Pavilion," Margaret prompted, her eyes shining with keen interest. "Was it as magnificent as they say?"

Eliza nodded, taking a sip of her wine. "It was. The architecture is stunning—so elaborate and unlike anything else in Brighton. And Mr. Everly was a knowledgeable guide."

Margaret leaned in, her curiosity unabated. "And what of Mr. Everly? He seemed quite attentive. Did he make a favorable impression?"

Eliza hesitated, searching for the right words. "He was perfectly pleasant. Very kind, and he certainly knows a great deal about history." Or at least he thought he did.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied with Eliza's guarded response. "Only pleasant, Eliza? I thought, perhaps there might be something more. Mr. Everly is quite eligible, you know. "

Eliza gave a small shrug, carefully choosing her words. "I suppose he is, but… I don't know, Margaret. I can't say that I felt any particular spark."

Margaret sighed dramatically. "Eliza, you must be more open! You've had so few opportunities to meet someone suitable, and Mr. Everly is practically perfect. I declare the way the two of you looked in the carriage today—it seems to me that he could be taken with you already."

Eliza smiled faintly, her thoughts drifting back to the morning she had spent with Captain Blackwood in his garden. "Well, not everyone can be perfect, Margaret. This morning, for instance, I helped Captain Blackwood plant some transplants in his garden, and we ended up having a lovely picnic together afterward."

Margaret's expression shifted from curiosity to mild disapproval. "Captain Blackwood? Really, Eliza, I thought you didn't care for him."

Eliza looked down at her plate, her fork tracing patterns in the sauce. "I never said that. There was some initial tension over the garden boundaries and such, but it seems we've moved past that. He's not so bad when you get to know him."

Margaret pursed her lips, her gaze sharp. "But Eliza, your first impression of him was unfavorable. I admit that he is still dashingly handsome, even with his scar, but the two of you did not seem to get along. He is quite disagreeable when compared to Mr. Everly."

Eliza felt a pang of defensiveness rise within her, though she tried to keep her tone light. "Perhaps. But he's also been kind, in his own way. I think there's more to him than I originally believed."

Margaret studied her for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head. "You always see the best in people, Eliza. Just be careful. I would hate to see you get hurt."

Eliza nodded, though her mind was still on Captain Blackwood and the quiet moments they had shared that morning. "I'm not looking for anything, Margaret. I just … I enjoy his company. That's all."

Margaret didn't press further, but her expression suggested she was unconvinced. The rest of the dinner was filled with lighter conversation—gossip about the latest arrivals in Brighton, the newest fashions, and the upcoming Assembly. But Eliza's thoughts continued to drift back to Captain Blackwood, and the way he had smiled at her over their picnic, his eyes softening in a way that made her heart flutter.

After dinner, Eliza returned to her cottage, the sky already darkening. She considered going to the beach, but the hour was late, and she knew she wouldn't have the time to lose herself in the calming rhythm of the waves properly. Instead, she sat at her piano, her fingers finding a gentle melody as she let her mind wander.

The notes filled the room, light and airy, echoing the tentative hope she felt whenever she thought of Captain Blackwood. There was something comforting in the way he moved through his garden, how his touch was careful and deliberate, how he listened when she spoke, truly listened, in a way that made her feel seen.

Eliza played for a while longer, the music soothing the uncertainties that had been stirring in her since the afternoon. When she finally stopped, the room was quiet, save for the faint crackling of the fireplace.

She moved to her writing desk, glancing at the letters waiting for her attention. Among them was a half-written note to her aunt, who had wanted to know everything about Brighton. She dipped her quill and finished the letter, giving only general details about the Assembly and the Royal Pavilion. She longed to share her thoughts about Captain Blackwood, but she refrained. She could not put such things into words. At least not for others to read. Margaret had not seemed as excited as Eliza thought she should be. On the contrary, she'd praised Mr. Everly, holding him in such high esteem. It was difficult for Eliza to contradict her friend on such a topic.

Once she finished her correspondence, she took out her notebook and journaled a few small moments. She'd intended to write about the grandeur of the Royal Pavilion, but instead, she found herself writing about the morning she had shared with Captain Blackwood, the small moments of laughter and the way the sunlight had warmed their picnic spot. It wasn't an entry so much as a collection of thoughts—fragments of a memory she wanted to hold onto.

Eliza put her journal away, then picked up the half dozen letters she'd written. Warming the wax, she sealed each letter.

Eliza climbed into bed, her thoughts swimming around her activities of the day, and Margaret's thoughts regarding who she thought was the better suitor. Eliza blew out the candle. It was a premature thought to believe that either of them were actually suitors, and yet, she smiled at the thought of one and frowned at the thought of the other. It was most confusing. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, silver glow across the room. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to think on the possibilities of what it would be like if she wasn't a spinster, and her neighbor was actually courting her.