“Get him, you fool!” Newbridge shouted, lifting the gun above Perry’s head and smacking it on his forehead.
Perry wobbled, warm blood dripping down his cheek from a fresh wound. Strong arms gripped Perry from behind, pushing him back down to the ground.
“Ooh, I am going to enjoy this, Winchester. Say goodbye to your precious countess,” Newbridge said in a sing-song voice.
Thomas raised the gun once again, and Perry braced himself for the hit. He prayed his friends would arrive in time to stop Newbridge from harming his family.
The devil had come to collect his due and no one could stop him. The sound of Thomas’s laugh filled the room as everything went dark.
Chapter Fifty-One
The project was more daunting than she ever imagined. After having toured the garden a few days ago with their gardener, Wembley, Charlotte was invigorated—almost overwhelmed—with the possibilities. Her eyes lit on the lush greenery, her fingers itched to sweep over each of the roses, irises, daisies, and lilies growing unchecked in her surroundings. Their wildness beckoned something within her that craved such freedom, such unruly devotion to spreading beauty in each corner of the garden.
Wembley had shaken his head in dismay, at once happy to be working on the project and ashamed that the area had been neglected for so long. It wasn’t his fault the garden was locked away and the gardeners were told to forget about it.
“I’ve instructed the workers, and we will commence working as soon as you have plans for us, my lady,” the gardener spoke up from behind her.
Startled by his intrusion into her thoughts, Charlotte placed a gloved hand on her heart, which seemed to leap out of her chest.
“I will make some sketches, create some designs,” she told thegardener, who nodded his gray head under his wool cap. Offering him a smile, she got the impression she was going to like working with Wembley. He hadn’t scoffed at the idea of her helping, or of a countess getting her hands dirty. The man had even gone as far as to procure her and Aurelia their own tools, neatly stored and easily accessible for whenever they desired to venture out into the garden.
Assessing the space, her heart raced at the herculean size of the task.
“I would like to be left alone, to observe,” she indicated the journal and charcoals she had brought with her in one arm.
With a knowing smile, Wembley nodded. “Of course, my lady.”
He pulled the gate half-closed as he departed, the old hinges protesting the movement. A breathy laugh escaped her mouth as she noted the first repair that would be added to her list—restore or remove the old gate. The space was calm as she took in her surroundings.
Closing her eyes, she absorbed the sound of the robins chirping above and the quiet sound of the river trickling outside the walls. The breeze gently rustled the leaves in the branches that hadn’t been trimmed in ages, leaving a wild tangle of oak leaves jutting up into the sky. The old trees surrounding her only increased the privacy and canopied intimacy of the space and though she wanted the trees to be healthy, she dared not interfere with them too much.
With a delicate step through the ankle-high grass, she came up to the biggest tree, pressing a hand against the rough bark. It pulsed with life beneath her palm, emitting a reassuring promise of safety, an overwhelming sensation of home. Her heart longed to trust its reassurances and believe that she had at last found her place in the world. This garden longed for love, just as she had. It needed to be cared for, just as she needed to be found and brought back to life. There were dead parts that needed to be removed or cleared away for new growth to be possible. Charlotte wanted tobe there for each part of it. To polish this diamond and see it shine once again, away from the shadows and into the light. Her cheeks flushed as she eyed the bench where she and Perry had tangled, as did the branches. Never could she have imagined the idea of a garden making her skin prickle with desire at the memories of their wanton behavior. The wildness of the garden echoed some small part of her that wanted to be free, to feel, to experience, to taste life she had never known in her secret isolation. Her presence seemed to unleash a similar desire in her husband, as though he had been starved of human connection as well. The way their souls called to each other seemed impossible, but she dreaded the idea of them being apart, even if only for a day.
Seeking the garden as a distraction, she was determined to make some progress on this daunting project, in hopes of impressing her husband. Pressing a finger to a gnarly boxwood bush, she giggled as the plant bounced back, almost challenging her to tame it. She wondered what shape the bushes had originally taken. They formed a circle around the massive fountain, which would be a sparkling centerpiece to the space, once she was done with it. Sitting on the only sound bench surrounding the fountain, she sketched what she imagined the garden had looked like once upon a time. The pipes would have to be updated for the fountain to function properly, as they hadn’t been tended to in a long time. Wembley seemed to think they could be revived with a thorough cleaning and some determination.
A peony bush, its blooms long departed, sat untamed in one of the beds. She dreamed of what color would be revealed once they flowered again next spring. Little tufts of forget-me-nots spread unchecked, even sprouting up into the lawn. Charlotte admired their determination to survive and splatter their delicate blue color throughout the garden, a smattering of periwinkle on nature’s grassy canvas. They would need to be restrained, but Charlotte was inclined to preserve their reckless spread somehow.
As it was later in summer season, the rowdy columbinesdanced in the breeze, each competing in a beauty contest to charm the observer. Charlotte shook her head at their stubborn need to take up as much space as they possibly could. She was in love with every sturdy bloom, each spring blossom that would come to life the following year. The holly bush was cluttering the wisteria, and everything needed a good trim to get back into its proper space.
Her charcoals scratched feverishly over the paper, making notes and drawing plans for some plants to remain, to be moved, or simply eliminated in favor of creating a garden with different layers. It was of utmost importance that the blooms continue throughout the warm seasons, regaling the viewer with an enchanting portrait of beauty rivaling the paintings from the masters. Her heart grew light as she came up with ideas and decided which plots would require Aurelia’s input. She wanted her daughter to help her with the project as much as possible. If it meant dirty dresses and soil on her hands, so be it.
Charlotte jumped, startled as she heard the crack of a branch overhead. She turned to watch it tumble into a cluster of bushes. Trimming dead branches would be important for safety as well. Dropping her sketch book to the stone bench, she went to explore the hidden place where the limb had fallen, eager to become familiar with every secret corner in her garden. She wanted to hear the lovely language it spoke, a delightful song to her ears, and truly understand each curve and niche, each flower and the history of its existence within the stone walls. No part of this place would be a secret to her. Walking in the direction of the sound, she came upon a wall of thick bushes reaching up toward the sky and nestled into the side of a yew tree, an impenetrable wall of protection. Once the gardeners trimmed the bushes back to some semblance of what they were supposed to look like, she would know better what hid beyond the thicket.
A movement behind her caught her attention.
She jumped as her eyes caught the presence of a man standingby the gate, his hands tucked behind his back as he waited in silence. She recognized him immediately as Viscount Newbridge. A smile teased her lips as she mused the reason for his visit. The servants must have led him here.
Charlotte passed a hand through her simple chignon, noting that a few stray hairs had slipped out, framing her face. She hoped she didn’t appear too unkempt for her visitor. His presence in her garden without an invitation seemed an unwanted invasion, but being a countess meant entertaining her husband’s friends with a smile on her face and a pleasant demeanor.
“Lord Newbridge, how lovely to see you,” she called out to him, catching his attention. The way his mouth curved into a smile made the hair on the back of her neck raise. Perhaps the events of the last month had made her paranoid and untrusting of anyone save her very close family.
His cool blue eyes held a menacing glint that hadn’t been there at the ball, when she danced in his arms. Though her pulse jumped, she willed her heart to quiet, lest he hear how loud it was beating.
“It is a pleasure to see you once again,” he spoke in a disarming voice. “I came to call upon the earl, and the servants led me here. I hope I am not disturbing you.”
Her shoulders slumped, relief flooding her body. Of course. He was here to visit with Perry; they must have known each other a long time.
“I’m ill-prepared for guests, please don’t mind my appearance. I’ve been ambling about the garden, daydreaming.”
