“Perhaps you could leave next time without making that much of a spectacle.” Charles said, walking briskly behind him as they walked towards their horses.
“It does not look to me that there will be a next time. If this is how those men talk about women, about my wife, I do not think I would associate with them any longer.”
“So let me get this straight.” Charles said, hastening his steps as their horses appeared in sight. “You will not talk to your wife, yet you will jump at her rescue even when she is not there?”
“You say that like it is a bad thing.” Weston questioned.
“It is not the best thing either.” Charles said. They got to their horses and untied the ropes which were tied around the trees. “If you're going to be a fine husband, let your wife see it as well.”
“One of these days, we will have to stroll through town in carriages. I am getting a bit tired of riding all the time.” Weston said, his voice carefree and casual.
“You are not changing the subject.” Charles said, his voice firm and solid. “If you're going to be a fine husband, be one in and out. Talk to your wife. Get close to her.”
Weston grew silent as they both mounted their horses.
“You cannot stay guarded forever, Weston. Eliza’s death was a tragedy, but it is time you moved on. You have a wife now, and in case you cannot tell, it feels like you keep punishing her for Eliza's death.” Charles continued.
Weston felt a pang in his heart. His walls were still up, and he kept trying as much as possible to remain stoic. He couldn't bear to suffer another kind of heartbreak again.
“I know you think you're betraying her memory, but it has been six years. She would've wanted you to get married, too. She would want you to be happy as well.”
Weston tugged gently at his rope, and his horse started to move. With the wind blowing gently through his hair as he began to gallop through the tired streets, he wondered if his friend had a point after all.
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 childrenand 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.”
