Page 49 of A Secret In The Garden

Sowerby moved closer to my father, his weathered hands clenched. “Darius,” he warned, a protective edge to his voice.

“I mean it,” Darius continued. “I’ve heard rumors—about the restorations and updates to modernize it. I won’t stand for it.” His eyes were wild, darting nervously around the room.

Eliza stepped forward. “What rumor is it that you’ve heard, sir? The restoration is proceeding exactly as planned with the highest amount of respect for your wife’s plants. I have black roses going in tomorrow,” she said with a watchful eye.

But Darius wasn’t calming down. If anything, it only riled him more. “That sounds lovely, but I’m quite certain she’d prefer to plant them herself, my dear.” The rest of his words were jumbled and incoherent and his eyes danced about the ceiling. His mental state was becoming increasingly erratic. Dementia possibly?

I exchanged a concerned glance with Eliza. Whatever was happening, it was clear my father was not entirely stable. The man before me was a shadow of the authoritative figure from my childhood—fragmented and nearly broken. I couldn’t help wondering if that was new or if it could possibly have had something to do with everything that happened after they left. Either way, I was pissed off.

“You shouldn’t have come back. I’m not the helpless child you left behind. I will throw every ounce of my weight and power around, spend every penny I have, to ensure you don’t get this place back, and not because I want it, simply for the fact that I know you want it and I want you to hurt. I want you to hurt, and if this is the only way to do it, then I’ll be damned if I don’t make it as painful as I fucking can.”

But Darius had retreated into himself, mumbling about doctors and blood checks.

Sowerby moved closer to me, his voice a concerned low whisper. “Jasper, look at him. Your father…he’s not okay. He’s not right in the head. Just look at him.”

I looked away, angry. He was right. It was easy to see he was unwell, and it took all of the satisfaction out of being mean.

“We aren’t stopping the work, and the estate is in my name,” I said, my voice low and controlled.

Darius stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly. “This manor was your mother’s sanctuary. You don’t understand what it means to her—you can’t change it.”

Sowerby erupted. “You blithering idiot, you abandoned this boy, Darius!” Sowerby’s normally calm face contorted with decades of his own suppressed rage. “You have no right to dictate anything about this manor! For god’s sake, let the boy heal. It’s time everything was finally out!”

“No!” my father shouted as he gave a terrified look to Sowerby.

Before anyone could react, Sowerby lunged at Darius, landing a solid punch that sent my father stumbling backward into the wall. The old gardener’s strength belied his age.

“Sowerby, stop!” Eliza intervened, positioning herself between the two men. Her hands pushed against Sowerby’s chest, restraining him. The sweater vests had caused me to temporarily forget what a rough-around-the-edges hard-ass Sowerby was.

I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. “What is it you two aren’t telling me?” I demanded, looking directly at my father.

Eliza tried to mediate. “We should discuss this calmly. The restoration is nearly complete. Your mother’s original design was quite remarkable.” She turned to my father. “I think once you see it, you won’t feel conflicted about it any longer. Perhaps she could come and give me her input as well.” Her eyes searched his.

Darius seemed to deflate, the fight draining out of him. “No, I won’t step foot in there without her,” he muttered, more to himself than to us.

Sowerby scoffed. “You’ve made your bed, Darius. All of this was your doing.”

The old man’s words hung in the air, a sharp accusation that cut through the room’s thick atmosphere. I could see the weight of guilt pressing down on my father, his shoulders hunched under an invisible burden.

“You shouldn’t live here,” he said, looking at me.

I stepped closer, my curiosity piqued. “Why come back now?”

But Darius said nothing more. Instead, he held a blank stare, lost in some distant memory that seemed to both haunt and consume him.

“Mr. Blackwood,” Eliza addressed my father formally. “Is there something specific at Blackwood Manor that concerns you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. It was like he wasn’t there any longer.

Sowerby, still bristling from his confrontation, muttered, “Some secrets are better revealed than festering in darkness.”

I couldn’t have agreed more, but whatever secrets Darius Blackwood held, it seemed he wasn’t here to share, just as he wasn’t here to reconcile. I stood frozen, my gaze locked with my father’s—a man who had been more of a ghost story than a parent.

He took a tentative step forward, his hands trembling slightly. “Jasper, I know you have every right to hate me, but your mother…” he began, his voice a ragged whisper.

“Hate is a strong word,” I replied, my tone deliberately measured. “Indifference is perhaps more accurate.” The words were a calculated strike, designed to wound precisely where it would hurt most. “You’ve been gone for so long, I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

Sowerby cleared his throat. “This is a lot for one day. Darius, I think you need to go.”