“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.
