Rotating to deposit the shovel of newly released soil, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, briefly holding the contact. Straightening, Ethan leaned against his shovel and brought his forearm across his brow, swiping away the perspiration. Alice approached and silently held out her hand, reaching for the shovel. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, causing the corner of his mouth to twitch ever so slightly, before he surrendered the tool. Bending to pick up another shovel that lay on the ground nearby, he didn’t resume his work immediately, but instead watched her to see what she would do.
Alice stepped forward until she was beside him, then hesitantly bent over, placing the tip of the shovel even with the fresh marks where a shallow layer had been lifted from the existing turf. Putting her weight behind it, Alice stumbled when rather than piercing the soil, the head of the shovel stuttered and slipped over the hard ground. She heard what soundedsuspiciously like a snort of amusement behind her but ignored it, trying once more. Positioning the tip at a deeper angle, she leveraged her strength at the end of the handle and let out a triumphant cry when a small amount of earth came up, but she huffed in frustration after a few more tries and very little progress. About to give up, she paused upon feeling a presence behind her.
Mr. Beaumont came up close behind Alice and wrapped his large hand around hers, slowly shifting it up the handle of the shovel.
“There,” he said slightly exasperated. “You’ll have better leverage and be able to lift more at once.”
Ethan stepped away quickly to continue his own work, but not before her skin warmed from his touch and she caught a strong whiff of his scent. It was a mixture of all his contradictions, an undertone of cologne that held notes of warm spice—cinnamon mixed with cedar—which defined his aristocratic roots, but the overlaying pungency of freshly turned soil showed the real truth of him, the man of simple labor he seemed to crave being. Integrating both was a wisp of perspiration, a deeply masculine tang that made the dominating scents work together in a way that caused her to catch her breath, stirring something deep within her. All together it created an unexpectedly harmonious fragrance that was not only unique, but uniquelyhim, like the very spice of earth.
Alice shook her head at the ridiculously romantic notion before determinedly returning to work. Focused on keeping her hands in proper position where Ethan had placed them, she quickly formed a pile of discarded soil as she worked with more efficiency, the stretch of cleared lawn slowly extending toward the trees that lay ahead of them.
After half an hour had passed and the sky was fully lit, Mr. Beaumont paused and placed his hand on Alice’s shovel,stopping her work as well. “That’s enough for now,” he said slightly breathless. They stood together, the tension between them now eased, chests heaving and puffs of their warm breath clouding the cool air before them. Once cold, Alice was now overwarmed from exertion, and she could feel tendrils of damp hair curling against her temples from the air laced with morning dew.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she finally offered, breaking the silence that hung between them. “I sought to impress you with my dedication, but I see now all I accomplished was once again displaying just how selfish I can be. I should not have asked David to stay late—truthfully, it never crossed my mind that he had a family to return to.”
Ethan looked at her intently, assessing, his eyes scanning her face. Eventually, his chest lifted with a large sigh and he relaxed his weight onto the handle of the shovel, leaning against it like it was the only thing keeping him vertical. “And I’m sorry I was so harsh with you. I should not have yelled at you like that.” He looked away as his body changed position, straightening once again, but sought out her eyes before resuming his thoughts. “I know you were intending to do something good, and no real harm was done. All I ask is that you think through the implications of your decisions before taking action in the future.”
Alice was warmed by his heartfelt apology; she could tell by his direct manner and steady tone that he was sincere.
“My reaction had more to do with myself than with you, and I would like to lay this to rest and try to begin again.”
“I’d like that, too.” Oh, how much she would like that. It weighed on her that whenever he was around, her best self always seemed to disappear. Alice was more aware than ever of how little she thought about those around her who made her life comfortable. She cared about these people—and was friendlywith many of those who served in her London household—but she rarely thought about them beyond what they could do for her. While it had been difficult to hear Mr. Beaumont accuse her of such indifference last night, she did appreciate the new awareness of her actions, even if it did cause her pain.
“I suppose I’m discovering how truly ignorant I am of how others live,” Alice offered a moment later. “Most of my life has been spent in London.” She felt her cheeks warm at speaking so openly of her shortcomings and hoped the existing redness from the cold would obfuscate the tell of her discomfort. “All of our servants lived with us and did not need to return to others at the end of the day. Their job was to serve until we retired for the night or no longer required assistance. I never considered it might be different here.”
“I can understand that,” he offered, his tone soft and kind. “In the future, I’ll try to remember that we come from different backgrounds and I’ll approach any situation assuming you have the best intent.”
“Thank you. And I’ll try not to go off plan without first sharing my reasoning.” She offered a genuine smile, but her mind lingered on something he had just said. As Ethan collected her shovel and headed toward the shed, she called after him.
“Why is that, though?”
Turning back, his brow furrowed in question. “Why iswhat?”
“You said that we come from different backgrounds, but that’s not really true, is it? We are both related to a marquess in one form or another, so how is it that we were raised so differently?”
Ethan looked at her thoughtfully before answering, head tilted slightly so that his light brown hair fell charmingly across his brow. Her fingers itched to push it back and feel it’s silky texture.
“I guess it has to do with how my family came into its title and how my father was brought up,” he offered. “Your family has held the Wrexham title for generations, so you were raised by those who had never known anything except life within the aristocracy, constantly being affirmed in the belief that meant they held importance.” Alice nodded as he expressed the exact sentiment which had been shared with her throughout her life.
“But my family is different.” Ethan shrugged and Alice couldn’t help but notice the muscles that moved across his chest and beneath his waistcoat. She forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying, knowing it was important.
“My father was ten years old when his father became the Marquess of Hampton. He remembered life before they were elevated, when they lived and worked with others in the merchant class. His father had worked as a solicitor, with my father and then I, following in his footsteps. He wasn’t born believing he was superior to anyone simply because of the position his family held—that status was granted to them. He understood that we’re all the same and that the hierarchy of the British class system has been imposed and sustained by those who have power, enabling them to keep it.”
He shrugged once again and continued. “No one is inherently better than another, it’s only the luck of whom you were born to which determines how you are regarded by those around you. My father understood this and raised my siblings and I to understand as much.”
Alice knew her eyes must be wide by the time he finished speaking because Ethan looked at her with mild amusement, small crinkles visible around his eyes. “So no, Miss Pembroke. We are not that different at all, but we understand the world around us differently.”
CHAPTER 11
Throughout the rest of the day, Ethan’s mind kept returning to Miss Pembroke.
He tossed and turned all night, uneasy with how he’d reacted to her. Yes, she had acted without thinking, but he knew she had good intentions. Ethan was just so on edge, impatient to see changes around the estate, that when she’d shown a level of thoughtlessness once again, he momentarily lost grip of his control.
The last thing he’d expected was for Alice to show up in the early morning as he worked off frustration in the garden. Ethan could begrudgingly admit to himself that her willingness to get down in the dirt herself had surprised him, and he admired her determination.
He was a bit concerned—certain Alice’s hands would later protest her handling of the shovel. An unpracticed grip caused her hands to slide along the handle, making her lifting utterly inefficient and abrasive. He was sure she would develop some blisters from the constant friction.
Shaking his head to clear the mental fog of his fatigue, Ethan tried to refocus on the pages before him. Johanssen was set to begin soon, and he needed to inventory repairs needed for thenew steward’s cottage on the edge of the estate. Bending his head and dipping the quill, Ethan returned to his document.
