Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

E liza walked a path back and forth in the back corner of her garden until it seemed there would be a rut forming. Captain Blackwood was the most infuriating man she'd ever met. What did he mean by pulling up a fortnight of her hard work? She'd diligently transplanted those beautiful plants from her own garden to help with his space. And what was her thanks—he'd taken it upon himself to undo everything.

Well, not quite everything. He'd left his roses alone. And some other bushes. Eliza knew that those three untouched bushes would not bloom if they weren't seen to, but she was not going to venture across the line to his property again.

"Eliza, what are you doing?" Margaret's voice came toward her as she watched the small dirt cloud rise up from beneath her skirts as she paced .

"Gardening," Eliza said automatically.

Margaret laughed. "Is that how you charm your flowers to grow? You walk back and forth in a cross manner, scowling at the lot of them? You look like a most strict governess right now."

Eliza sighed, her expression softening. She didn't need to take her frustration out in her garden in such a manner. It was her peaceful place. "Wouldn't that be something," she said, giving a small smile back to her friend.

"Indeed it would. I don't think that has ever worked at any school, and I can't imagine it works well in the natural world either."

"You are right, of course," Eliza said. "I didn't expect to see you this early."

Margaret smiled. "I wanted to see how you were after last night." She raised an eyebrow. "And I see that I made the right choice in coming when I did. Why don't we take a turn about your garden together, and you can tell me what is on your mind."

"There is nothing on my mind," Eliza said quickly. She did not want to admit that Captain Blackwood had any effect on her at all.

"You can tell me a tale, but this rut you have now worn in your path knows that there is something on your mind."

Eliza involuntarily looked toward Blackwood Manor. "He pulled up all the flowers I planted. I don't understand it. He said he thought they were weeds. But how could anyone think that flowers are weeds? "

Margaret looked around. "In his defense, some wildflowers are hard to know."

"Well, if he can't tell the difference, perhaps he has no business in the garden. Mistaking flowers for weeds. What an insult."

Margaret pressed her lips together. "It's not a personal blow against you, Eliza. You have an eye for the difference. He has spent over half a decade fighting in a war."

"That is true," Eliza said slowly. "I suppose I shouldn't judge so harshly."

"That might be wise."

"But he isn't being very gentlemanly. His apology last night felt more antagonistic than apologetic."

Margaret nodded, but then switched the subject, chatting about the new shipment of lace that just arrived in Brighton. Margaret almost convinced Eliza to join her in town for some shopping, but Eliza needed the sea and its breeze. She said goodbye to her friend, and then set out for the sandy shore that lined the very edge of her property.

If gardening was her first love in Brighton, her second was the sea. She stooped and picked up a handful of the damp sand, letting it run through her fingertips as she walked to the far edge of her property, on the opposite side of Blackwood Manor. Walking next to the water was one of her favorite pastimes. As she walked, she thought about what Margaret had said about Captain Blackwood, and how instead of spending his life immersed in flowers for years, he'd been in the thick of war. It put several things into perspective. She had judged him too harshly, and that wasn't an accurate reflection of him—or her, either. Something would have to be done about that.

Driftwood lay scattered on the sand close to the water. Eliza dragged the heavy pieces up toward the top of the bank, where grasses grew in between the clumps of sand. She'd made quite a pile of driftwood over the last couple of months. With effort, she pulled another large piece of wood and placed it next to the rest of the collection, with a new determination. The next time she saw Captain Blackwood, she would think about Margaret's words before passing judgment on him.