Heiress On The Run. Laura Martin
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he had dismissed the servants a few weeks after the fire he had lived alone. Edward knew he’d turned the house into a sort of mausoleum, a place of memorial for all that had he had lost. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way of dealing with his grief, but he’d never felt he deserved anything more than the loneliness he had imposed on himself. Now, with Amelia’s presence, he felt uncomfortable and guilty. It should be Jane here with him, not some pretty young woman.
He didn’t believe for a second Amelia had actually killed this Captain of hers. A petite little thing like her wouldn’t be able to best a seasoned soldier with just a letter opener. Far more likely the scoundrel was still alive and hell-bent on vengeance. That was the real reason he’d allowed her to stay, to ensure she was kept hidden from McNair and whatever plans he had for the woman who’d injured him. Part of him had wanted to hold back and send her on her way, but he knew his conscience couldn’t bear the burden of another death.
So he had promised to look into Amelia’s claims and before he had retired to his rooms he’d walked to the edge of the estate and found a willing boy to deliver a message to his steward for a couple of shiny coins. Hopefully the man would visit later and they could get the business sorted as soon as possible.
Then life can return to normal. Edward grimaced. As if anything in his life could be termed normal.
Mulling his future over in his mind, Edward glanced out the window again, his hand with the pencil in falling to his lap as he saw Amelia pacing about the garden. As he watched he saw her heft a spade from the ground and start to dig.
For years the lawn had been overgrown, but covered in lush, green grass. Now it was beginning to be peppered with several muddy holes of varying depths all scattered about in front of the flower bed. It looked a complete mess.
It wasn’t the mess, however, that made Edward spring up from his chair, it was the realisation of exactly where she was digging. Now there was only a thorny tangle of overgrown bushes and Edward couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a flower, but he knew for certain the area she was attacking had once been the rose garden. The rose garden Jane had once loved so much. With a growl of displeasure Edward stood, pushing his sketches to one side, and quickly made his way downstairs. Out in the garden the full extent of the damage became apparent.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
‘Digging,’ came Amelia’s cheery reply.
She carried on plunging the spade into the ground, a look of steely determination on her face.
‘Why are you digging?’
‘To rescue the roses.’
She didn’t look up at him as she spoke, too intent on her task.
‘Stop,’ he said, adding a quiet ‘please’ as an afterthought.
‘Won’t be long now.’
She carried on wielding the spade.
‘Stop now.’
The hole in front of them got a little larger and Edward’s shoes were sprinkled with mud.
‘Stop,’ he bellowed.
Amelia halted, the spade frozen in mid-air, and looked at him with puzzlement.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ Edward tried to keep his temper in check, but as he looked around at the devastation in front of him he lost the battle. ‘You’ve destroyed my garden.’
Amelia took a step back, but Edward couldn’t regret the volume of his outburst. She had desecrated the rose garden, the patch of ground he and Jane had spent hours planting and tending together.
‘It was a mess to begin with.’
Edward felt guilty. He knew he had neglected a lot in the past three years, allowing the house and gardens to fall into disrepair. He regretted allowing the garden he and Jane had planted so lovingly become this overgrown mess of tangled brambles, but that did not give Amelia the right to swoop in and attack it with a spade.
‘If I had wanted it any different, I would have done it myself.’
‘Like the rest of the house?’ Amelia challenged him.
He could see she regretted her comment as soon as she’d said it, even going so far as clamping her hands over her mouth as if trying to pull the words back in.
‘Do not touch anything else,’ Edward said, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Now leave.’
She hesitated for just a second and then dropped the spade and hurried back to the house.
‘I’m sorry,’ Edward whispered, closing his eyes. ‘I’m sorry for letting things get like this.’
He knew the house and gardens were in a terrible state. No one could live there and be unaware of the dust and the weeds and the crumbling stone, but over time he had become used to it. Each time he’d noticed another cobweb or another fault he’d closed his eyes to it and tried to forget. He knew this was partly due to his need to punish himself. The problems arose when he realised he’d let the things Jane had loved fall into disrepair. He should have been a better custodian.
Carefully he began replacing the clumps of earth Amelia had dug up, patting the turf on top and trying to return the grass to how it had looked before. Once he had finished he sat back and regarded the overgrown rose bushes thoughtfully. After a few minutes he got up, walked to one of the outbuildings and began his search for the gardening equipment.
* * *
Half an hour later his fingers were scratched and bleeding, but the tangle of rose bushes had been trimmed back to a more respectable size. Each individual plant was distinguishable from its neighbour now, and although there were no buds on the bushes it looked more like the garden it had once been.
As he sat back on his knees he sensed Amelia’s presence behind him.
‘They must look beautiful when the flowers are in bloom,’ she said quietly.
They had been beautiful. The whole garden had been beautiful. He and Jane had often taken evening strolls through the grounds in the summer months, stopping to admire the roses or sniff the fragrant flowers.
He turned to face her, trying to work out what to say. Amelia was already walking back towards the house, her head held high, but the slight hunching of her shoulders belying the burden she was carrying.
* * *
Amelia didn’t want to return inside just yet. She had been shocked by Edward’s reaction to her trying to do a spot of gardening and was still smarting from his harsh words. She couldn’t quite understand why he had reacted in such a fashion; it was only a rose garden. Part of her had wanted to be helpful, to repay Edward’s kindness with an act to show she was grateful for him letting her stay. Her other motivation for wanting to attack the flowerbeds was much more selfish.
Amelia couldn’t bear to be idle, not at the moment. Every second she wasn’t occupied with some task or other her mind wandered back to the encounter with McNair in his study. Over and over she would relive the moment he had lunged at her and she’d plunged the letter opener into his abdomen. It made her feel sick and light headed, but no amount of willpower could stop her from dwelling on her crime.
Only when she was occupied, preferably doing something physically demanding, did her mind take a break from brooding over the events of earlier in the week. So she’d decided to attack the flowerbeds, thinking Edward would be pleased to see some part of the estate tidy and thriving.
Amelia kicked at a pebble on the path, taking her frustration out on the small stone. She wanted to be angry with Edward for speaking to her in such a tone, but part of her wondered what had fuelled the outburst. There was something deeper going on at Beechwood Manor, something she didn’t quite understand yet. Edward was a damaged soul—no one shut themselves away from the world like he did without a good reason.