“Do you get your love of plants from her?”
“I suppose so. I never knew her, nor did my mother, so there is truly no one to ask.”
“Please accept my condolences for her absence. Though I am glad she left you the roses.”
“It does not pain me as I never knew her. But her roses were my first project. They were in a shameful state, and I nearly lost them in my rescue attempts.”
“These were on the brink of death?” he asked, brows high on his forehead.
“It was a blight. I nearly butchered the poor thing trying to save it. Pruned too far, dusted it with sulphur, washed every leaf, even had the gardener dig it up, cursing me all the while. New soil, better drainage, and finally, it held on. Now that I’ve blathered on about all of that, I realize that blight is perhaps not the best subject for a promenade.”
“No! Tell me more about the blight,” he cried in a mirthful tone. Her chuckle joined his chortle. “In truth, I am fascinated, even about the blight. I do not know that I’ve ever been aspassionate about anything as you are about this. And your dedication is clear in the haven you’ve grown. What you’ve created is incredible.” He gestured around the yard to the other garden beds.
“Yes, well. I quite enjoy being out of doors. And it is quiet out here.”
“And you enjoy the quiet?”
Eliza worried her lip between her teeth.
“It was not intended to be a sensitive question.”
“No, I know. It is only— Well, I shouldn’t want to frighten you off. And the truth is, I’m quite wretched.”
“Lord of Sin,” he grinned, gesturing to himself. “Whatever it is cannot be so bad as all that.”
She rolled her eyes. “It is truly an absurd name.”
“It is. I believe the surname begs for such a title. My fate was sealed the day I was born.”
“Poor little Lord Sinclair,” she agreed with a pat to the shoulder.
“Yes, pity me. I am truly oppressed. But do not think the change in subject escaped my notice.”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “You must promise to lie to me about how horrid I am.”
“I swear it.” Benedict pressed his hand to his heart in mock solemnity.
She turned to examine her roses, unable to face him while she confessed her most shameful thoughts. “I love my sister with all of my heart. There is nothing I would not do for her. But all too often I find myself exhausted by her.”
His voice was entirely neutral, with perhaps a curious lilt, when he asked, “How so?”
Eliza sighed. “Sophie commands attention in every room—if it were only her beauty, I do not think I would find myself so discontented. But she is seldom still and rarely stops talking.A subject that little interests her will be changed at the earliest opportunity. If such an opportunity does not present itself naturally, she will create one. She acts on the slightest notion with no thought for the consequences; cycling through interests the way others change their clothes. She is never without some new obsession to discuss. Sometimes, when I’m in the room with her, it feels like she has claimed all the air and I’m left gasping.”
“And so you took to your garden where you could be at peace with your own thoughts?”
“Precisely,” she said, finally chancing a look at him.
Benedict’s expression was pensive, assessing her, but far from judgmental.
“I do not know what it is to feel overlooked in such a way. But I, too, have antithetical feelings about my sister and others in my family on quite a regular basis. If you are wretched, I am more so.”
“I cannot believe it of you!”
“Believe it. In fact, she is exasperated with me at this very moment—over something I said on our way home from the ball.”
“What could you possibly have had a disagreement about?”
“She was discussing her own obsession, and I requested to change the subject—admittedly rather rudely. Bella will nurse the grudge for another fortnight at least. I am no expert—possessing only the one—but I rather believe that to have a sibling is to know love and vexation in equal measure.”
