Page 18 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
“I can’t believe how much more work it involved than what I first imagined.”
“That’s often the nature of these projects, unexpected hardships.”
She nodded. “And unexpected treasures. Would you believe I’ve found six garden gnomes in the undergrowth?”
“Only six?” he teased.
She laughed. “Right? I’m hoping to find a wishing well, with a bunch of golden coins at the bottom, so I can pay for Gran to have a regular gardener.”
His brow creased. “I think she used to employ someone.”
“It must’ve been a while ago, as these hedges don’t look like they’ve been trimmed in years.”
He plucked a stray rose bloom. Even the archway he stood beneath was nearly impassable. “Does she have clippers?”
“Um, maybe?” She smiled guiltily. “Don’t tell anyone, but gardening isn’t exactly my forte.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” he said kindly. “I have some hedging shears you can borrow if you wish.”
“That’d be great. I’m trying to get this done before Gran gets home tomorrow. I want it to be a surprise for her.”
“Like I said, you’re a blessing.”
Another spurt of unexpected emotion begged for release. She blinked it away.
“Well, I’ll go get those shears and return soon.”
“Thank you. I’d really appreciate that.”
He nodded, and she returned to her work. God bless Tobias, and Marge, both of whom seemed to have taken her under their wing. She wondered what Gran had needed to chat with them about.
Tobias soon returned with the promised garden clippers and showed her how to use them, before apologizing that he needed to visit a congregation member.
“I’ll return these to the vicarage soon.” She smiled to herself. Even saying words likevicaragemade her feel extra English.
The next half hour was spent trying to clip off the worst of the unwieldy branches, to shape them into something approximating what existed in her mind. But the more she did, the worse they started to appear. One particularly savage-yet-satisfying cut unexpectedly dropped a branch of blooming flowers, and she lowered the shears, wincing. “Gran won’t like that.”
Still, maybe Gran would appreciate the thought behind the actions, even if the actions weren’t exactly stellar. And hedges grew back, so hopefully it wouldn’t look bad for too long.
She snipped at the roses in the archway, pruning them back so they no longer pushed past the metal frame, then made her way onto the street.
There weren’t any vehicles to be seen, which was just as well, as Gran’s hedge spilled far across the narrow walkway, forcing anyone who might wish to walk to step onto the road. “I can’t believe nobody has complained to Gran about this before.”
Her arms were tired, but even though she really didn’t want to do this job anymore, it needed doing. Like,reallyneeded doing. Gran’s house might possess a quaint English-village prettiness, but this hedge made things dangerous. So she lifted the shears and started snipping again.
Snip, snip, snip.Each time she heard a car, she kicked the fallen twigs and branches to the side of the road and smiled at the drivers while mouthing a “Sorry.”
They, in turn, either nodded or ignored her, which was fine. She knew she was in their way, but honestly, it didn’t hurt for a vehicle to be forced to slow down in a village, did it? Look out, children and aged people about, and all that.
She had nearly trimmed the entire hedge on the left side of the front gate when another vehicle slowed. She glanced behind her and nearly dropped the shears.
The gardener from Pemberley—sorry, Hartbury Hall—sat in a white van, scowling at her.
“Oops! Sorry. I’ll clear this up.” She shoved the satisfactorily high pile of twigs with her sneakered foot and pushed it to the side.
“What are you doing?” he called through the open window.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m gardening.”
