Page 25 of His Perfect Bride
Nine
She was doing this for Augusta.
Sage repeated the words silently as she followed Jackson outside into the overgrown backyard. She had scissors and a comb along with his shaving kit while he carried a chair from the breakfast room and a basin of warm water.
Long, dry grass crunched beneath her feet, and the morning sunshine bathed her head. She drew in the fresh air that she was growing to love and tried to calm her racing pulse.
Jackson paused only a dozen steps from the back porch. “Where would you like me to place the chair?”
“How about under the shade of the maple?” She nodded at the closest tree at the center of the yard. Some of the golden leaves had already fallen, but most were rustling gently in the breeze.
Jackson placed the basin in the grass, situated the chair, then stood back from it, as if he were to touch it again, he might get bit.
For as nervous as she was, the same sense of urgency as before prodded her. She needed to give him the haircut right away before he changed his mind, ran off, and barricaded himself in his study. From the hesitancy he’d had all along, she suspected his decision had been rash, and that he’d regretted it from the second he’d uttered it.
Regardless of how either of them felt, she was determined to see the deed done. For Augusta’s sake.
“Go ahead and sit.” She placed her items on the grass behind the chair.
He stared at the chair without a sign that he’d heard her.
She rounded the chair toward him, grasped his arm, and gently guided him to the chair. Then she pressed against his shoulder until he lowered himself. When he was finally seated, he remained stiff and unmoving.
“I promise this won’t take long.” She draped a towel around his shoulders to protect his clothing from the hair.
He remained silent.
Maybe she needed to distract him, get him conversing about something he loved. Since he’d been talkative when he’d discussed constructing bridges, perhaps he’d enjoy sharing about his designing and building of his house.
The back side of the fairy-castle-like house was every bit as elaborate and beautiful as the front with large windows, elaborate trim, and tasteful shades of blue. “You have a lovely home. Augusta mentioned that you came up with the design yourself.”
“I did.”
“What made you choose this particular style? Is it similar to your childhood home?”
“Oh no. This is completely different.”
“How so?”
Thankfully, her questions seemed to put him at ease, and he began to share all the details that had gone into designing the house. As he talked, she set to work cutting his hair into the most fashionable style that she’d seen during the ship voyage as well as her time so far in Victoria—a side part with the hair combed back from the face.
Long dark locks fell into the grass, until at last she had his hair short enough to shape neatly and trim evenly. All the while she worked, he talked and seemed oblivious to what she was doing. When she finished and came around to the front with the bowl of lathered soap and the razor blade, he finally halted.
She cocked her head and studied him. He no longer looked quite so overgrown, but the dark facial hair was overbearing and needed to go.
Without waiting for his permission, she dipped her fingers into the soap mixture and touched it to his jaw.
He flinched.
“You were telling me about the turrets.” She gave a nod to the closest one. “What purpose do they serve? The rooms at the top seem too small to be bedrooms or even sitting rooms.”
“I see what you’re doing here.” He’d stiffened again, his back straight and his shoulders rigid against the chair.
“You did want a shave too, didn’t you?” She smoothed more of the soap mixture over his face.
“Do I have a choice?”
She shifted the razor blade to his skin and made the first long rake, removing the hair and leaving stubble in its place. “Not really.” She’d all but made it impossible for him to leave now, not unless he wanted a stripe in his beard.
