Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A fortnight of getting up before the sun rose above the horizon had made a thorough difference. Not wanting to alert anyone to her plans, Eliza had dressed early and spent at least an hour or two at Blackwood Manor before her servants were up. Then she'd squeeze back through the hedge and start her own gardening.

The effort had been worth it. Though she'd seen movement at the house for nearly a week, no one had paid attention to the grounds. It was a very good thing that she'd taken it upon herself to help her neighbor. Some of the bushes would have missed the proper pruning time had she not stepped in. With any luck, it wouldn't be many weeks before she would see the fruits of her labors. Her good deed was satisfying.

She looked up to the sky, her time nearly done for this morning. Her hands were dirty and her back ached, but she felt a sense of accomplishment. The rose bushes were beginning to take shape, their wildness tamed under her skilled hands. "You're looking well," she said, touching a rose bush and giving it some encouragement. She saw a stray branch that needed pruning. She positioned her shears, ready to clip the last branch needed attention.

"What do you think you're doing in my garden?"

Eliza started at the gruff voice, her fingers slipping on the stem as she closed the shears. She yelped as the sharp shears bit her skin, blood squeezing from the tip of her finger. She flinched, immediately curling her hand into a ball to protect her finger as the fiery pain ran the length of her arm.

She looked up to see a tall, imposing figure standing over her. The man's voice was clipped, a look of danger in his eyes. He was dressed simply but neatly, his dark hair tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed. His piercing green-gray eyes were fixed on her with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. From her vantage point, he looked even more imposing, with a long scar running up his neck and across his jaw.

"Just a little pruning of your roses. These flowers and the others will be in full bloom before the end of the season," Eliza replied. She stood up, keeping her injured finger at her side in a tight fist. She met his gaze unflinchingly. She had been doing a good turn, being neighborly—and filling the need that she saw .

"I can see that," he said, his tone still sharp. "But you're on my property, and you have no right to be here."

Eliza bristled at his tone. She'd heard a rumor that someone might occupy the estate soon, but over the few days that she'd seen servants enter the house, none of them had come toward the garden or paid any mind to the grounds. She'd come early, and she'd never believed that her service would be unwelcome or unwanted. Her eyes moved to the scar that seemed to go up to his ear, though his hair covered the end of it. "Your garden was an eyesore, and it was affecting the look of my property. I thought I'd do you a favor."

The man crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "A favor? By trespassing and taking it upon yourself to decide what my garden needs?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "Clearly, someone had to." Her finger throbbed, and she tightened her hand around it, and tried to keep herself from wincing.

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I appreciate your ... enthusiasm, but I can take care of my own garden."

"Really? Because it doesn't look like you've been doing a very good job so far," Eliza shot back. She bit her lip. So much for making a good impression on her new neighbor. She cringed at her behavior. "I apologize for my lack of manners in how I spoke. However, I do not apologize for coming into your property and making this area better. It truly was an eyesore." She closed her eyes, frustrated that she couldn't even give a simple apology without getting defensive with the man in front of her.

He looked taken aback for a moment, then a grudging smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You're quite the feisty one, aren't you, Miss—?"

She debated within herself on whether she should share her name without a proper introduction. A few years ago, when she'd had a London Season, such things would have been scandalous. But she was now a spinster. She shouldn't care what people thought of her. "Eliza Montrose. I live in the cottage through your hedge," she said, holding out her left hand instead of her right. "And you are?"

He eyed her hand warily before saying, "Captain Daniel Blackwood." He finally took her hand, but then he looked toward her other hand, folded in her dress. "You're bleeding."

Eliza jerked her hand away, wrapping her bleeding finger in her dirty apron. "Small scratches are common when one works with their hands."

"That is more than a mere scratch. Perhaps this job isn't suitable for you."

"I was startled."

He looked down at where her finger was wrapped. He pulled out a clean handkerchief, holding it out for her. "I apologize for startling you. Please use this."

Eliza accepted the token, pressing it to her finger. "Thank you. "

"Allow me," he said, offering his hand to her.

Without thinking, Eliza extended her hand to him again. He gently tied the handkerchief around her finger as if it were a bandage on a serious wound. Eliza's breath came in short spurts at the tender way he wrapped her finger. His fingers were rough and calloused, but his touch was tender. Eliza noted the long scar on one of his own fingers. She was about to ask about it when he pulled away, and the moment faded around her.

He cleared his throat. "There you are. It will keep more dirt from getting inside and will hopefully help stop the bleeding, though I would advise you to wash it when you return home."

"So you're a captain and a doctor, then? It's an intriguing combination," she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "War requires many hats, Miss Montrose. I should hate for something so benign as a pricked finger to cause you pain if it were to be infected. Infection causes suffering that brings grown men to their knees."

Eliza blinked. There was more to this man than she'd first given him credit for. "Thank you, Captain. I shall take your advice. And if you should need any help with the garden, I'd be more than willing to lend a hand."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And what makes you think I need your help?"

"It's clear you are most capable," she said, holding up her bandaged finger with a smile. "Your entire garden is beautiful. I should hate to see these rose bushes go to waste from neglect."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "I do not take kindly to others trespassing on my property without my permission."

The reality of what she'd done hit her with more force than before. She'd focused on the look that this estate had had on her own property without taking into account how forward and unwelcome it could be. "I understand, Captain. And again, I do apologize for … overstepping. These roses and the rest of your flowers will be exquisite, with a little more care."

He surveyed the spot she'd been diligently tending to, but his features changed. She'd expected him to be a little impressed with her hard work, but she saw something else in his eyes. Was it boredom? Apathy?

"It's only a garden, Miss Montrose," he said, his tone returning to the clipped and cold way he'd first spoken to her.

Her defenses climbed at the provocation. This man had no idea what kind of Eden he stood in the midst of. "Only a garden? Why this garden is arranged in one of the most stunning ways I have ever beheld. Buried under here is something that could live again. These plants and flowers could thrive."

"Thrive? Gardens are a trivial pursuit." He scowled, his green eyes darkening to a more gray hue. "Gardens are ornamental. They do not actually live , Miss Montrose. They just house things that will eventually wilt and die, regardless of what we do about them. It's a trivial thing, a time-waster when compared to the weightier matters of life."

She blinked. His words felt like a slap in her face. "That is not the purpose of a garden. Gardens can provide peace and tranquility. They can be a haven."

"The purpose … of a garden? Miss Montrose, it is clear you know little of the world. In the grand scheme of things, it matters very little. Going beyond one's borders is considered a crime in most parts of the world. Neglecting a garden is not. Gardens are unnecessary, merely distractions and ornamentations."

"Distractions?" It wasn't a distraction, it was the essence of her passion. She couldn't believe the word could be used so forcefully against one of the things she most enjoyed.

"Anything unimportant is a distraction from the true pursuits of life."

Tears pricked at Eliza's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Captain Blackwood's offensive words were weapons that stung worse than a hundred cuts from the pruning shears in her hand. She'd taken pride in her own garden, and the meticulous care of it had given her a sense of accomplishment. To be told that it was nothing—that it mattered little, pierced at her pride and her heart.

She bent over to pick up the basket that was on the ground. She'd longed for neighbors—perhaps in the form of a family, with children she might dote on, or an aged widow she could visit with and bring flowers to. But now she wished she'd kept her dream to herself. She did not want a neighbor who was so offensive and opinionated, and yet that was exactly what was to be her lot with Captain Blackwood for a neighbor. She couldn't fathom living next to him with such an unsavory attitude toward the thing that she worked so hard for every day.

Eliza steeled herself as she met his gaze, willing her voice not to quiver with emotion. "If you will excuse me, Captain. It appears I have overstepped for too long." She glanced at the bushes and plants around her that she'd helped revive. This garden would be stunning, if only it were cared for. But she couldn't focus on that. It was not under her jurisdiction, and she had no confidence that the Captain would keep up the maintenance. Her efforts would soon be ruined. The thought filled her with pain. Her finger throbbed, and she longed for the comfort of her own garden. "I still submit that your garden has great potential, even if it matters very little to some ."

Something dangerous seemed to flash in his eyes, but she turned swiftly on her heel.

She didn't wait for his response, but only moved the overgrown branches of the hedge and slipped through. Branches pulled at her hair and her skirt, but she walked on, sustaining a rip on her petticoat. Though she didn't turn around, she could still feel his penetrating stare on her. She wanted to stay in her garden, as was her habit. The flowers would soothe her. But he would make that impossible.

She dropped her basket in her garden and made her way inside, telling herself that it was because she wanted to clean her finger, and not because she wanted to escape the scrutinizing glare of Captain Blackwood.

"Eliza, are you here?" Margaret's voice floated from the back of Eliza's cottage. Eliza opened the door, peering outside at her friend.

"I'm in here," Eliza said, gesturing into the house. "Would you care to join me?"

Margaret looked shocked, but nodded. "Are you unwell, Eliza?" Margaret asked, once she was seated in the small drawing room.

Eliza's smile faltered. She was most unwell—she was still spinning about her encounter with her neighbor. "Why do you ask?" Eliza poured tea for them both. She didn't ask Margaret what she would take with her tea and handed her the cup.

Margaret eyed the cup suspiciously, but took it. "It's only that this time of day you are usually outside, regardless of the weather. I've seen you enjoy rain and sunshine outside in your garden." Margaret eyed the window significantly. Sunlight streamed into the room, leaving a beautiful stream of golden light across the furniture and the rugs. "There's no rain, Eliza."

"I woke up early and accomplished all of my gardening desires before the sun was up," Eliza said, which was mostly true.

Margaret squinted. "I don't believe you. You're not telling me the full story. What's wrong? Do you need a doctor? An apothecary? I shall not leave the matter until I am satisfied."

Eliza shook her head. "I am fine. I had a small mishap this morning," she said, holding up her finger that she'd cleaned and retied in the Captain's handkerchief, though now that she looked at it in front of Margaret she felt self-conscious.

Margaret blinked. "That explains it, I believe."

Eliza nodded. "It's a little difficult to manage with a sore finger. But I shall be good as new tomorrow, and I will continue my routine."

"It appears that you have extra time on your hands this afternoon," Margaret said.

Eliza smiled over her teacup, happy that Margaret had come for a visit. It was exactly the distraction she needed after the morning confrontation she'd had with her neighbor. "It appears that I do."

Margaret set down her teacup and with determination she said, "Then I expect you to come to the Assembly rooms with me this evening. You have no other excuse. "

"Except for my finger," Eliza said, teasing her friend.

"That is hardly something to miss the socializing for."

"I'm not in the mood to dance."

"Nonsense. You are an excellent dancer, and we both know it. And I will not take no for an answer."

Eliza smiled at the persistence of her friend. "Very well, I shall join you."

"And I have such news. Have you heard that Captain Blackwood has arrived? I haven't seen him yet, but I hear that he will be back in Blackwood Manor. Isn't that wonderful? You will finally have a neighbor."

Eliza rolled her eyes. "I was hoping for an agreeable neighbor, not a boor."

Margaret laughed. "Captain Blackwood is devilishly handsome. I'm sure you'll find him quite agreeable."

"I do not see how that will be possible. He is quite determined to be very disagreeable. It appears if you haven't been to war and sacrificed for your country, your life is trivial and completely without meaning."

Margaret blinked. "Those are very strong accusations."

"Not when you hear the way he acted toward me," Eliza said. She related the morning's events in full to Margaret, sharing his opinions. After retelling the story, Eliza was convinced that he truly was the most ungrateful and ungracious man she'd ever met. She'd barely noticed his gray-green eyes and the way his dark hair fell next to his ears. She'd noticed his strong jaw, but it was hard not to notice it with the uneven scar running along it.

Margaret gave Eliza her full attention during the entirety of the story, and when she was finished, Margaret said, "That is quite the first meeting. And does he look quite handsome?"

"I don't believe someone can be ungrateful and handsome at the same time," Eliza said, though inwardly she admitted that he was indeed handsome.

Margaret's eyes widened. "Well, I daresay that does not bode well for him at all."