The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

                Pip curled in on himself, checking over the flowerbed behind him to make sure he couldn't be seen.

The ball was only last night, and he was meant to be diligently working in the gardens, but he didn't want to be so easily found. Mr. Colton had been forced to leave after the guests had gone, as late as the night was.

Pip remembered how everyone had gathered in the entrance hall to watch, apprehensive and disbelieving, how Mr. Colton had refused to meet anyone's eyes as he barked orders at the servants who were taking his bags to the carriage waiting outside. He'd straightened his spine, and did not spare Pip or Lord Westcott the slightest glance.

He stopped across from Miss Westcott and fixed her with a glare. "The Great Lady Westcott would be ashamed of you."

Miss Bradley's hand had tightened on Miss Westcott's as she turned to stone. Mr. Colton's footsteps echoed against the marble floor in the overwhelming silence, and when the door closed behind him, the manor erupted into cheerful applause.

Miss Bradley burst into laughter at Jane's joyous reaction, Lord Westcott looked startled but pleased, and even Miss Westcott managed a small smile.

But Pip could not be so joyous. He had caught Oliver's eyes across from him, and looked away again.

Oliver had discovered the entire truth in the end. And yet . . .

Pip buried his face in his knees with a groan. The cold snuck in under the back of his shirt and sent a shiver down his spine. The wind played in the empty branches and the distant sounds of birds flying to the warmth for the winter echoed across the gardens. Pip wished he could join them.

"Ah, Mr. Kensley," Lord Westcott peeked over the flowerbed. "Hard at work yet again, I see."

Pip opened his mouth to retort, but then Lord Westcott sat down beside him against the brick wall, and the words caught in his throat. A memory of Lord Westcott's arms around his waist overtook his thoughts, his breath on Pip's neck, his lips on Pip's forehead—a memory Pip hadn't dared allow to surface since the young lord had saved them the previous night, but would not remain buried now.

"I told you to call me 'Pip,'" he finally muttered. "Wasn't that what you'd been complaining about for months?"

He sighed, his elbows on his knees. "I suppose I only find it a bit odd now."

"Odd is certainly a word for it," said Pip. To his surprise, Lord Westcott's cheeks were dusted with pink. "Stop that," he snapped.

"What?" he blinked.

"Blushing! Y-You make it very difficult for me to speak to you if every word I say leaves you red."

"That's fair, isn't it!" he scoffed. "Can't you imagine how difficult it was for me, feeling Oliver's eyes burn holes into my head whenever you so much as handed me a glass of water? That man would envy the sunlight touching you, it's ridiculous!"

Pip turned silent, scrunching his shoulders and hugging his knees tighter. "Am . . . am I in trouble?"

Lord Westcott rolled his eyes. "What for?"

Pip swallowed the lump in his throat. "I dunno. For all the secrets and lies . . . I would've thought there'd be great repercussions for our . . . well, for coming into the light." Pip's eyes burned. He couldn't even say their 'romance.'