Page 7 of A Fearless Heart
“But you don’t have any actual experience with the special tasks that such a position requires,” Cady pointed out, holding up the letters. “Your past employers seem to not have taken much notice of what you actually did all day.”
“Lady Arcadia must have confidence in her groundskeepers,” Rundle said, looking down his nose at Mr Court. Or rather, he tried to look down his nose, but Court was several inches taller than the butler, which made it a difficult task. Still Rundle radiated disapproval. “The gardens are the jewel of the whole county.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Court,” Cady began to say, folding up the letters to hand back to him.
“Wait!” he said, taking a step forward in his urgency. Cady instinctively retreated, alarmed by the prospect of the stranger getting within arm’s reach. He stopped short, and said, “I’ll work, my lady. I’ll do whatever needs to be done, I promise. I’m a quick learner. Tell me how to do a thing once, and you’ll never have to tell me twice.”
“Her ladyship is not a tutor!” Rundle said, affronted.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” the man said. He looked at Cady, perhaps trying to gauge how offended she was by the image of her high-born self instructing a mere mortal how to mulch the roses. If he only knew just how involved Cady was!
He cleared his throat, and half raised a hand as if he desperately wanted to scratch at his beard. “All I meant is that I know how to take orders. And orders for how to garden and take care of the grounds can’t be any more difficult than the orders I carried out in France and Italy.”
She glanced at him, those disconcertingly blue eyes. “You were a soldier?”
He nodded once, his expression tightening. She guessed why—many men who were eager to go off to war were not so eager to discuss their experiences once they returned.Ifthey returned.
“And when did you leave the service?” she pressed.
“Not long ago, my lady. And definitely not long enough to have learned a new profession. But I’m not afraid to try. I’m not afraid of anything.”
Thatgot her attention. Considering how many of the servants left due to rumors and fearmongering, it would be novel to hire someone who was immune to that.
And an ex-soldier, a man without many options for employment in a world that no longer needed him to charge mindlessly at a line of enemies. Cady sensed his desperation, and something in her responded to it. Could she really afford to turn away the one applicant she’d had in the last three months? Especially for the gardens, so necessary to her own work.
Rundle caught her gaze, and she read many of the same concerns in his eyes. Though Rundle was a stuffy old man, his own son had been a soldier, and he was not made of stone.
“Let us say…a fortnight, Mr Court,” she said slowly. “If you prove yourself to be capable of the role by the end of that time, I will hire you on.”
He grinned, looking relieved. “Thank you, my lady.”
“It is a trial only,” she cautioned him. “Rundle will give you the particulars and show you where everything is. Beyond the kitchen and servants’ quarters, the house is strictly forbidden. Several of the gardens are forbidden as well, as are all of the glasshouses.”
His brow furrowed. “But…how can I take care of a garden if I’m not allowed in it?”
“Never mind what’s not yours to mind. Those restricted gardens belong to me, Mr Court,” Cady said firmly. “And if you set one foot on the their soil, you will no longer work at Calderwood. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”
Cady swept out, her back straight and her expression set. She hoped that no one noticed how she was practically shaking at the proximity of the stranger. Like the spider in the garden, he was unexpected and unknown, and thus a threat. Her body clamored warnings, and her heartbeat seemed to thump aget-away, get-away, get-away.
She didn’t like strangers on the estate in the first place, let alone a stranger working among her precious plants, her gardens, her domain. Not that she’d let him! No, he could keep to the outside and work on the broader grounds of Calderwood. A hulk like him wouldn’t know how to handle the rare varieties and delicate seedlings so important to Cady’s experiments. He’d probably crush tender shoots under his foot, and rip up special plants along with the invasive weeds.
Cady hurried away from the men as fast as she could, retracing her path back outside. Her footsteps led her through the chain of walled gardens that she’d so recently forbidden Mr Court to even think about. Only when she reached the gate in the wall marking the next garden did she pause to catch her breath.
Cady passed through the gate and into the garden. Every square foot of it was constructed according to a rigorous pattern. Tightly pruned hedges of boxwood formed four living, green patterns that resembled knots, one in each quarter. In the spaces between the knots, nearly every well-known Mediterranean herb was grown, all planned to take best advantage of the abundant sunlight, and the fact that the high outer walls prevented the worst of the winter winds from chilling the plants. Two paths separated these knotted quarters and met in the middle, where a small circular bed was planted with twelve different plants, one for each hour, all surrounding a sundial in the very middle. Cady’s mother had planned this garden herself, and Cady always felt that it was a place of order and calm where the chaos of the world could be kept at bay.
“At bay,” she murmured, reaching out to touch a particular shrub that just happened to be bay. The dry, summery scent came to her nose as she brought her hand back. She smiled. Her mother had always loved such little jokes, silly word games that made everyone laugh. Cady sighed, the weight of the present day returning. It seemed like it had been a very long time since she laughed for real—a belly-deep, soulful laugh that left the body tired but content. Now all she had was worry and fear.
Glancing over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t being followed, Cady continued on to another gate, this one locked. She pulled a key out of her pocket. The gate opened silently, for she was careful to oil the lock and hinges and keep everything in working order.
She locked the door behind her and let her breath out in a deep sigh. Relief. No matter how lovely and peaceful the other gardens were, this particular garden was Cady’s secret realm, a place where she could be assured of peace and quiet…and no interruptions. Especially not from dark-haired, light-eyed strangers.
“Time to think,” she murmured. Working on her experiments always calmed her mind, and she needed that now. She walked over to one of the brick buildings in the corner of the garden. The moment she got there, she washed her hands, hoping to remove not just the traces of dirt from her stumble in the garden, but also any trace of the stranger’s touch. Odd how she could still feel every point of contact on her hands, and she remembered how warm his hands were, despite the cool weather.
“Probably just sweat all over him,” she muttered to herself, mostly to demystify a very mysterious sensation. “Men never wash up properly.” He didn’t shave, that was certain. He had rough stubble or the beginnings of a beard all along his jawline, shadowing his face but not yet obscuring the outline of his lips.
Why was she thinking about the outline of his lips?
“You are losing your mind, Cady,” she told herself. “Stop worrying about the gardener. Worry about distilling this batch of flowers.”
