Matilda nearly choked on her tea. She exchanged a horrified glance with Jasper, who raised a single eyebrow in mirrored outrage.
“You mean… together?” she gasped, her voice tight with disbelief.
“Indeed,” Evelyn replied serenely, as if the notion were the most natural thing in the world. “I cannot do it all alone, and Hazel and Cordelia will be attending to other matters inside.”
Jasper frowned. “Don’t you have gardeners to take care of such things? I mean, honestly.”
Evelyn shot him a glance. “I am pairing everyone up. Don’t think you are the only ones with chores. Besides, you know well why you two need to spend as much time as possible. I want you amicable for the baptism, if possible. So, if that means finding a million chores for you to do together, so be it. You two are quite capable of chores, are you not?”
Jasper leaned back in his chair, with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Capable, yes,” he said slowly, “but I am not sure the world or the roses for that matter, are prepared for the likes of our combined efforts.”
Matilda looked as though she might protest further, but Evelyn’s gaze was firm. “I insist. You will manage it admirably, I am certain. Consider it… a test of civility, if you like.”
“A test of civility?” Matilda repeated, aghast. “Why, that is almost cruel!”
Jasper chuckled, low and amused, glancing at her over the rim of his cup. “Cruel, perhaps. But interesting. I do like a challenge.”
Matilda’s eyes narrowed. “And I do not,” she retorted, though the corners of her lips threatened to betray her with a reluctant twitch of humor.
Cordelia, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “I think it will be quite entertaining. Perhaps the flowers will survive your… talents. Or perhaps they will revolt.”
Hazel gave her a knowing look. “You both will manage, I have no doubt. And should the roses survive your efforts, it will be a triumph indeed.”
Matilda let out a small, exasperated sigh, folding her napkin. “Very well. I suppose I am resigned to this… horror. Shall we get it over with?”
Jasper inclined his head, still smirking. “Most reluctantly on my part as well. Let us march forth and terrorize the roses in equal measure.”
As they both met up on the west terrace, the scent of roses mingled with the crisp air as Matilda adjusted her gloves. Jasper was already bending over the first flower bed, examining the stems with an exaggerated seriousness that made her chest tighten in annoyance.
“Must you handle every rose as though it were a crown jewel?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
Jasper looked up, dimple flashing. “And must you bark orders as though I were some clumsy footman? I assure you, Lady Matilda, I am fully capable.”
“Clearly,” she shot back, “capable of making mischief, if nothing else.”
He straightened, giving a mock bow. “Mischief is, of course, my greatest talent. But I assure you, I am entirely devoted to horticulture at present. You need only observe and learn.”
Matilda bristled, moving to tie a rose carefully to its support. She felt his gaze follow her every motion, light and teasing, as if he were waiting for her to falter. She did not, of course, and yet her pulse betrayed her.
“You know,” she said, voice tight but quiet enough for only him to hear, “this task is entirely unnecessary. I suspect you enjoy watching me flustered.”
“Flustered?” He bent to adjust a stem near her hand, the brush of his fingers against hers fleeting but deliberate. “I think you mistake concentration for fluster. But if you wish to call it flustered… I cannot entirely disagree.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she had the presence of mind to glance away, only to catch him smirking under lowered lashes. How infuriatingly handsome he could be, even while wielding a pair of gardening shears.
At the edge of the terrace, a small pile of tools tipped over, and they both reached for it at the same instant, with their hands brushing. Matilda yanked back sharply. Jasper only laughed quietly.
“You are far too delicate,” he said, shaking his head. “I might have thought a mere touch would unsettle you, but it seems I was correct.”
“I am not delicate!” she said sharply, though her lips twitched despite her indignation.
“Of course not,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer to examine a rose, though his eyes remained on her. “You are… precise, determined, and entirely infuriating. A combination most dangerous.”
Matilda’s hands froze mid-tie.Dangerous. The word echoed in her mind, and though she wanted to scold him further, she could not deny a tiny thrill of acknowledgment. She worked faster, tying roses carefully, but she could feel him watching, measuring and worst of all, teasing.
Jasper knelt beside a particularly stubborn rose bush, frowning in exaggerated frustration. “This one refuses to behave. I daresay it is determined to defy me.”
Matilda bent over the other side, tugging at a stray branch that had grown at a ridiculous angle. “It seems we are at an impasse,” she said, her voice tight with concentration. “Though perhaps it is not entirely the rose’s fault.”
