Weston's eyes softened when he realized Juliet had stopped digging. “I am sorry. I did not intend to cause you any—”
“It is fine.” Juliet responded. Since her mother died, she hadn't been able to talk about her with anyone except her Aunt Grace. Having to speak to Weston about it was not only freeing, but it also continued to grow the newfound bound between them.
“They're really red. The roses.” Weston commented a while later, gesturing towards the plants beside Juliet.
“We have Mr. Brown to thank for that.” Juliet responded. “He seemed to know what is good and what isn't.”
Weston watched her continue to work. She felt at peace here. Her face shone radiantly in the sun, and her smile had more genuineness to it. He had never seen her this happy before and was beginning to realize just how important the garden was to her. Even in her simple blue gown and packed hair, she remained elegant.
“I should apologise, by the way.” He started. Juliet did not stop working, but he knew she was listening to him. “For the dinner. I did not know she would invite Lady Helena and her parents.”
“You have nothing to apologise for. In another world, she would have been your wife.” Juliet replied.
“No.” Weston said. “I was never interested in her from the start. This was just a whole plan orchestrated by my mother to join Thornewood and Estfield.”
Juliet nodded. “It is not the worst idea. She only wants what is best for you.”
“She doesn't have the faintest idea about what is best for me.” Weston replied. “If she did, she would suffer a shock so great it might kill her.”
“Do not say that.” She said. “No matter what happens, she is still your mother.”
“You should be more upset about this. She brought those people in to make a great mockery of your plight.”
Juliet shrugged. “There is nothing I can do about it.” She wiped the sweat off her forehead and grabbed one of the plants. “It's the situation we have found ourselves in.”
Weston shifted on the bench. “You are not wrong.”
Juliet felt her heart pound at the prospect of his reply to her next question. This could go either way, but she needed to know.
“Does this mean you will no longer sneak out of the room early in the morning so I don't have to see you when I wake up?” She asked, turning to look at him.
An amused expression crept onto his face as his eyes met hers. “You have—” He trailed off, gesturing towards his face. “You have soil on your face.”
“Oh.” Juliet whispered, flushed. Using the arm of her dress, she tried to wipe it off. She must have done an even worse job because the amused expression on Weston’s face transitioned into a slight chuckle.
“What? It is not gone?” She felt frantic and tried to clean her face again. Weston, at that moment, started to laugh fully.
“Tell me where it is!” Juliet said, her voice rising in embarrassment. He was laughing at her.
And for the first time, she didn't mind it.
“Yes. Yes. of course.” He said and rose from the bench, his laughter still as bright as ever. He knelt before her and started to wipe the sand off her face. After a few tries, he managed to getmost of it off. As he wiped off the last of the soil, their eyes met, and held each other for a while. Weston couldn't help but admire how green Juliet's eyes were. They were sharp and showed her carefree spirit—one he wasn't used to seeing. Juliet, on the other hand, couldn't help how red her cheeks continued to get.
Weston cleared his throat and rose from the ground.
“I know it is only going to get worse, seeing as you have even more flowers to plant.” He said, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the dust.
“You are not wrong about that.” Juliet responded.
“And—to answer your question. I only wake up early to get a ride in before I could get any work done. Someone once told me an early ride was enough to clear one's head. I am not avoiding you, Juliet.”
Juliet smiled. “Was it the same person who told you masks are but a mockery of who we are?”
Weston gave her an intriguing smile. “Actually, yes. It is.”
Juliet wanted to ask who it was. She knew this person must have been incredibly special to him, but she was afraid he was going to close up. She would ask later when she felt even more comfortable with him.
And part of her knew, deep down, that he was going to tell her.
