Chapter Eleven

Estelle continued to stare at Juliet in disbelief.

"No." she said, her voice edged with shock.

"Yes." Juliet responded, her voice casual and carefree.

"No." Estelle repeated, staring blandly at her mistress.

"Estelle, it is happening. There is no debate."

Juliet was back in her room after a long walk around the manor with Anne, her heart brimming with confidence and determination.

"Do you think we could ask some of the other maids for some gardening shears?"

Estelle walked briskly to Juliet and grabbed her hands as if trying to shake her out of a trance. "You cannot take on the gardening by yourself, milady. Not only is the work enormous, but it is also—madness. That is what it is."

Juliet smiled. "But you did not see her, Estelle. You did not see Lady Isabella. Her face in that painting. She had no children and yet was known to be one of the happiest women in all of London."

"And you think most of her happiness came from the gardens?"

Anne showed me a painting of the garden before it turned into a giant lump of dried-up leaves. It used to be beautiful. Not only would it be satisfying to bring it back to its former glory, but it would also give me some kind of purpose. I need to start giving back to the house, and if the garden is how I do it, so be it."

Estelle sighed. "Have you talked to Lady Beatrice about this?"

Juliet's gaze dropped to the floor. "No. Do you think it that is necessary I do so?"

"Tell her that you plan to restore some garden that has been dead for years? Yes. I think so." Estelle replied, the disbelief still apparent on her face.

"I mean—she did say the manor belonged to me as it did anyone else. She said I could do anything I wanted with it."

Estelle shook her head. "So I take it you will not inform her?"

"Precisely." Juliet replied. She walked to her wardrobe and started to go through her dresses slowly. "Come help me pick a dress. I need to find one light enough to work."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, milady?" Estelle asked, walking to the wardrobe as well. "Will it not backfire in some way?"

"Perhaps it will, and perhaps it will not. I do not have the time to think about that now. I plan to start work in the evening."

"Today? Would it do anything if I beg you to wait till the day breaks tomorrow?"

Juliet turned to Estelle, a knowing look on her face. Estelle nodded in understanding.

"That is what I presumed."

"What do you think about this?" Juliet asked, grabbing a dress from the rack. It was a deep blue satin dress with lesser weight than the others. It was perfect.

"I suppose that will do." Estelle replied, begrudgingly.

"Oh, come on. Do not be like that. Are you not tired of me sulking around the halls all day?" Juliet asked, gently pushing Estelle playfully.

Estelle shrugged. "If it makes you happy, I will do my best to support it."

"I shall change." Juliet said, throwing the dress on her bed.

"I shall come with you to the garden." Estelle said as Juliet walked to the bathroom.

"No." Juliet's voice was brittle.

"No?"

"You know better than to come with me to the gardens, Juliet. I barely let you come with me back in Willowbrook. That hasn't changed till now."

"But it is merely a cluster of thorns and dirt now. You do not want me to come with you and clear it up a little."

"The joy is in the work, Estelle." Juliet responded. I shall do that all by myself. I have found that it is often the most mundane jobs that are the most fulfilling."

"Here you go." Estelle said, handing Juliet her dress with both hands and a curtsy. "This does not mean I still do not think this is a bad idea. I wish you would focus on a hobby that isn't so—dangerous."

"I am not going to the tavern to wrestle with drunk men, Estelle. I am trying to grow flowers." Juliet replied.

Estelle helped her wear her dress and tightened the ropes at the back.

"Do you want me to do something with your hair too? So that sand doesn't get in it?" Estelle asked.

"Please." Juliet responded. Estelle reached for her hair and restyled it as much as she could. She made a huge braid and made sure to tuck it underneath.

"Okay." Juliet whispered, feeling ready with each minute. "Now, see if you can help me with those shears."

Estelle was right. What used to be a lovely garden in Estfield was now a giant lump of dirt, thorns, and dried-up leaves. The garden was near the giant walls of the manor. The walls provided the perfect shade for the flowers while allowing them to receive adequate sunlight. Vines tangled all over themselves and right up to the very top wall. Juliet's eyes followed the vines and sighed. She was going to have to start from the top. Cutting off the vine from there would lessen her work. A wooden ladder had been placed a few yards away from the garden. Still brimming with joy from having to work, she hurried back to where she had seen the ladder, grabbed it, and carried it back to the wall.

As she gently placed the ladder against the wall, she couldn't help but compare the garden to the lives of the former Marquess and his Marchioness. The garden represented the happiness in their lives. Once the Marchioness died, the happiness started to wane, and so did the garden. The more unhappy the Marquess grew, the more the garden suffered.

She balanced her feet on the first rung and gripped the ladder tight. It was steady. Slowly, she started to climb up, the vines on the wall, in her line of sight every step of the way."

The garden died with the Marquess, she was sure. And for two years, no one did anything to revive it. This was no longer the case. She was here. She would bring it back to life. She would bring back the happiness that used to exist between Richard and Isabella. Perhaps it will exist between Weston and her as well.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Weston's voice had come out of nowhere like wildfire. It had shaken her to her very core and had ruined her balance. She couldn't hold on to the ladder long enough to steady herself.

Life flashed before her eyes as her legs slipped off the top rung. She couldn't even scream as she fell off the ladder, bracing for the harsh, deathly embrace of the dry soil.

***

Weston had seen her walk out the balcony with a pair of gardening shears and the most determined expression he had ever seen on her face. He was preparing his shoes to go riding with Charles as usual when she walked out, her eyes tense, and her lips smacked tight against each other.

He wanted to call her. Right from the doorway, he wanted to call her and ask where she was going, but he decided against it. She might try to twist her words if caught this early, so he wanted to watch instead. He watched her walk to the far end of the fields, her dress slightly grazing the dry stems as she moved. He didn't need to watch any further to know where she was going exactly.

The garden.

The abandoned garden near the giant walls that fenced the manor. An amused expression crept on his face as his wife continued to advance to the fence.

What did she think she was going to do when she got there?

He knew Richard had a designated gardener before he died, and even though he never worked the Estfield Gardens that much since Isabella found pleasure in doing it instead, he remained close. On their wedding day, when they were in the carriage on their way to Estfield, he remembered Juliet had asked if it had a garden, and he replied affirmatively. He had made a mental note back then to call the gardener and have him clear the overgrown hedges, but somehow, with the events of the past few days, the thought had floated away from his mind. Now that he was watching Juliet approach the walls, her grip on the garden shears solid and commanding, he couldn't help but wonder if this was her way of telling him it was taking too long. He decided to not only watch from afar but follow her instead.

Calm and trying as much as possible not to make any noise, he started to trail her. She never turned back, not even once, or she would've caught him immediately. He stopped a few yards away from her when they both got to the wall and started to watch again. Using some of the overgrown hedges as cover, he saw her walk to the vines, her hands firmly around her waist. She watched for a while and then headed to a corner. At first, he thought she had decided to give up. The work was a bit too much. When she came back, dragging a wooden ladder with her, he knew she was serious. He watched her climb the ladder with the shears in hand, ready to cut the vines from above.

That was when he could not bear just to watch her any longer. She grabbed a vine stem and reached to cut it. He interrupted her, oblivious to the consequences it would bring.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" He called, his voice loud and shrill. He could see the shock on her face as she lost her balance. All the color drained from his face as he watched her lose her foothold and slip from the ladder.

He did not think. He did not have the time. He did not care for his neat clothing. All he did was jump forward, his left knee digging into the dry soil. He stretched out his arms and let Juliet fall into them.

"Weston." Juliet called, feeling her cheeks flush and her heart pound. "You saved me."

Weston said nothing. He calmly let her find her balance one more time and watched her slowly put her feet on the ground. His eyes swept around her clothing as she stood. He examined her face and her neck.

"Let me see them." Weston gestured to her hands, noticing she had them balled into fists.

"It is not a big—"

"Let me see your hands, Juliet."

Feeling another wave of hot red swim up her cheeks, she opened her hands and stretched them out to him. He turned to look at them, and his heart dropped.

On her left palm was a giant cut that ran across the entire skin.

"Oh, Lord." He whispered. Suddenly, memories of Eliza's final moments tore through his mind. Was he about to suffer the same fate again?

"It is only a cut."

"Come along. I am taking you to see the family's physician."

"Weston—"

"This is not up for debate. You're coming with me. I shall carry you." Weston said and tried to reach for her legs.

Juliet stepped back in amusement and embarrassment. "You will do no such thing."

"This is your life on the line."

"Again, it is just a cut."

"It is no matter. You are still coming with me."

Weston reached for her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. His other hand grabbed her bloodied one. Juliet's heart was pounding so much she couldn't pay any mind to the pain.

"I shall have a carriage brought right across." Weston whispered to her. She was grateful he couldn't see the tiny smile that crept onto her face after he said that.

***

Irene's Apothecary resided only a few minutes away from the Estfield Manor. Weston gently guided Juliet out of the carriage the moment it stopped right in front of the Apothecary.

"I do not think this is necessary for just a cut." Juliet said as Weston pulled her into the house. It smelt of frankincense and burnt flowers. Juliet couldn't tell if the smell was meant to drive people away or invite them in.

"Irene!" Weston's voice traveled through the entire place, almost echoing.

"There is never any reason to yell." A voice Juliet presumed to be Irene's replied, and almost immediately, she appeared. Irene was an older woman whose hair had turned entirely gray. She was in a long brown robe and had her hood pulled down.

"Marquess." She greeted, showing a slight curtsy. Her eyes traveled to Juliet, and she did the same. "Marchioness."

"Can you look at her?" Weston asked, gesturing towards Juliet.

"Again. It is just a cut." Juliet protested.

"One that may fester if left alone. Let Irene treat it."

"Can I see?" Irene asked, her hand outstretched. Juliet stared at it for a long while, wondering if she needed to resist or not. Without giving it much thought, she put her hand into Irene's.

"I was trying to cut some vine from the wall. He startled me and made me lose my balance." Juliet said, her voice slightly accusatorial. Weston said nothing in response.

"Ah, I see." Irene whispered, her fingers grazing across the cut on Juliet's palm, causing her to wince and suck in the air through her teeth.

"Are you alright?" Weston called, reaching for her shoulder.

"I am fine. Just like I had been a few moments ago." Juliet replied. "You do not need to worry."

Again, Weston said nothing. He didn't know how to tell her he once had to watch the love of his life fall and die because he wasn't quick to take her to the apothecary. He didn't know how to tell her that he would not be able to live with himself if she died on his watch. Instead, he decided to keep quiet.

A few minutes later, Irene had applied some ointment on Juliet's palm and had offered her some milk to help with the pain.

"Apply this to your palm every night." Irene said, handing her a vial filled with the ointment she had used. "It should be good as new."

Juliet smiled appreciatively at Irene and wrapped her good hand tightly around the vial.

On the ride back home, Weston became riddled with thoughts. He had slipped. He has let his walls fall for a weak moment. Seeing Juliet fall from the ladder had caused him to lower his defenses. Now that he was sure she would be alright, they were back up.

Juliet could tell as well. His demeanor had changed entirely towards her in only a matter of minutes. The Weston sitting before her was not the one who had jumped to her rescue at the garden or the one who had attempted to carry her. She felt like she had caught a glimpse of something she adored and didn't get the opportunity to see it fully.

"Why?" Weston asked as the carriage skidded over a rough patch in the street.

"I wanted to fix the garden." Juliet responded, still clutching the vial Irene had given her rather tightly.

"There are thousands of other hobbies out there you could pick up without putting yourself in harm's way. Painting, the piano—"

"The garden has always been my hobby, Weston. I thought I would do something and fix this one—"

"Don't do that anymore." Weston said, cutting her off succinctly.

Her eyes widened in disappointed shock. "What?"

"The gardener, Mr Brown, will be in charge of the horticulture duties from now on."

"Absolutely not. The garden is supposed to be my thing. I don't want Mr Brown working on it."

"Look at your hand!? You almost fell today."

"I have suffered worse injuries tending to the garden back in Willowbrook."

"That was then. You were your father's responsibility. Now you're mine. I will not sit idly and watch you continue to injure yourself, trying to pursue whatever fantasy you have regarding this garden. Not only is this dangerous for you, but you shall ruin all your dresses in the process."

"You cannot do that." Juliet said, her voice shaking with despair. This was not happening to her.

"Watch me." Weston replied, his voice firm and solid.

Juliet felt her eyes fill with tears as silence returned to the carriage. The garden was supposed to be her safe space. After she was done growing the flowers, she had envisioned that the garden would be the first child of her own making. Now, Weston was about to rip it from her hands. She wasn't going down without a fight. She was going to make sure it all got settled right in the carriage.

"My mother loved the garden back in Willowbrook." She started. Weston's eyes shifted from the idle scenery to her.

"All of the good memories I had with her before she died involved the garden. I decided to keep working on it because being there made me feel close to her. I don't have that anymore. The closest thing I have to that is the overgrown cluster of bushes near the wall. The one I am trying to clear."

She paused because she could tell her voice was going to crack if she had kept going. Weston's gaze softened for a minute as he watched her gather the rest of her thoughts. Juliet turned to look at the floor for another minute, doing all she could to push back the tears.

She looked up once again, her eyes squarely on her husband. "I know you think this is some frivolous project I decided to pick up because I was bored, but I assure you, it is not. The garden doesn't just connect me to my mother. It also lets me feel closer to the former Marchioness."

"Lady Isabella?" Weston asked, frowning.

"Yes." Juliet replied. Another moment of silence descended into the carriage. Juliet continued to try, even harder to stop herself from breaking down into tears right in front of him. It was the last thing she needed.

"Please." She finally said, when she found her voice one more time. "Please, do not take this away from me. Between you treating me like I do not exist—"

"Juliet—"

"Between you treating me like I don't exist and your mother already asking me to prepare for childbearing, I have nothing to take my time and keep me from running mad. Nothing except this garden. I am begging you. Let me do this."

Weston contemplated his decision as another moment of silence loomed in the carriage. Estfield Manor was already in view, and they would stop anytime soon. Juliet stared at him expectantly as he continued to think.

"I suppose if designing this garden will stop you from finding even more harmful hobbies, you can proceed. I shall refrain from calling Mr Brown."

A wide grin appeared on Juliet's face. "Thank you."

"I shall ask the maids to keep watching you. They shall do it from a distance, but you will not be left alone."

"I can live with that." Juliet replied.

The carriage finally stopped. While Weston still helped Juliet climb down, his demeanor was now cold and his gaze profoundly serious. The Weston she had seen in the garden was gone.

As they both made their way to the entrance doors, Juliet felt a new stem of hope grow in her heart. Perhaps all was not completely lost after all. She could work on the garden without disturbance from anyone. In her book, that was a small victory.

Perhaps there was a chance, if rather slim, that she could grow to become a happy woman at the end of the day.