Find me a Find, Catch me a Catch
Work was, for the most part, winding down. Jonathan found himself more and more free time, and for a man like him that was rarely a good thing. He was a beast of burden, when he wasn't kept working he looked for leisure and pleasure. Almost to a self destructive degree..

He'd already had a bottle of something someone had hidden away in the kitchen. It smelled of scotch but the taste burned a bit more. Jonathan didn't have much so he wasn't drunk, but still he was feeling good. Terribly so.

As he wandered the grounds, just making sure things were done, he noticed a woman idling outside getting some fresh air. A chuckle came to him as he ran his fingers over his beard to smooth it down. He glanced around pitying that it was too late in the year for flowers. The groundskeeper was too clever to let something like that put him down.

He walked up to her and flashed a warm smile. She was obviously a guest of the manor, someone he hadn't seen before, not that that was strange. Working out in the grounds you rarely saw the people inside save for other servants.

"Oh dear me... I have looked high and low and seem to be missing something. I hope you don't mind me asking you, Miss. But I do believe you may have it.. "

He rest a hand gently over his chest and gave her a somewhat playful smile.

"I seem to have lost my heart."
Getting too much air was bound to make one put on airs. That was surely how the phrase came about. So she only spared so much time to inhale it. It was cold, anyway. The winter here was wetter and foggier than Canada, and doubly grey and miserable compared to her Patria, France...

She was just about to head inside when a most grubby and strange man seemed to emerge from the dying grass itself. He looked like a soiled oil painting of someone once quite becoming. Faded by the sun and shat on by goats over hundreds of years.

What would a village man be doing in Madswitte's garden? Why would he be addressing her? The sister of the Marchioness? What a wastrel, a vagrant, a cad!

Sibyl gave him her most radiant of smiles. "I beg your pardon?"
Jonathan grinned as the poor woman seemed confused. Perhaps he over did it. He nodded to her and folded his arms.

"I just couldn't help myself. A beautiful woman like yourself must steal the hearts of every man you run across! I am Eldridge. The head gardener. I was just doing my rounds and noticed something prettier than any rose. I couldn't resist coming over to say hello and introduce myself since we haven't met and all..."

He winked as he smiled huge. "I imagine you must be a lady or guest of the house. You delicate flowers rarely come out during my walks. Not healthy to avoid all this fresh air and sunlight."

It was ridiculous and he knew it. Madsmoor was in a strange pocket of near constant cloudiness and the fresh air seemed to always carry the scent of the distant bog with it.

"May I at least have your name?"
[warning: ableism]

His smile threatened to rival hers and she wouldn't stand for it, "You don't know who I am? Why, how very unfortunate, you must be a simpleton. I am Lady Tedcastle, my sister is Marchioness. Lady Colette, you know the names, yes?" Poor fool, he couldn't help his ghastly manners. She leaned forward sympathetically and snapped a fan out from her sleeve to flap it at herself, despite the cool air. It was a posture.
Jon smiled as he saw the woman was merely a pretty picture on the outside, by her words. But he felt everyone woman had a princess inside, this one was just using hers in a less attractive way.
"A simpleton? My word, no! I just do not bother with my my lady's personal business and her guests are her own. I simply came to say hello since I saw such a pretty vision by the house. I thought most young ladies enjoyed a kind word and compliment. Or are you disagreeing with me?" He grinned more, showing he wouldn't be made upset or bothered by her tone and words.
She showed the slightest of frowns, "Are you... a servant?" Still unclear on just what was his station. He was far too dirty to be a peer. Unless he was one of the mad ones. Kelvin so did enjoy that kind. Ignoring his strange flirtation, though did hope he really thought she looked young!
"That's right. I'm the head gardener. I know how to care for beautiful things. Like glowed and lovely young ladies."

He gave her a winked and leaned against a fence. "Don't mind me though, miss. I am just chatting because I do enjoy seeing a beautiful face. I am sure a lady like yourself has tied herself to a rich and charming fellow to match, or do you have a line of possible suitors striving for your attention that you play with like a cat? You look like you could be feisty." He smiled cheerfully.
[warning: more ableism she's terrible!]

"Ah, do you arrange all these... this garden. Kelvin is so taken with France and Italy, he told me he wants his garden to echo the majesty of Versailles." If so, he was at least a talent. How quaint the poor ones were when they had a knack for something! His flirting inexcusable, but perhaps if he was a genius then he was also the sort who did mad things and could not account for himself. She pitied him, offering a smile indicating such.
"Well yes, some of it. A lot of it was already here so I keep it up! But I alter and help it grow to be more extravagant, perhaps almost as extravagant and lovely as you, young lady."

Jon grinned at her, unable to resist keeping it up just a bit. He brushed off some of the dust from his hands and looked around, as if admiring his handy work. He looked back at Sibyl , giving her his warmest, biggest smile.

"A woman like yourself might never know the satisfying and soothing nature of working the land and seeing your hard work bloom. But then, a smile as lovely as yours certainly can steal the show from any roses, am I not right?" He gave her a little grin and winked.
She grew tired of him quickly, "I am sure you must also know of my dearest husband, Mattias? He is not with me now, but at our home in Quebec. But always, he is in my heart with me." Expressing no particular fond tone when mentioning him. "But surely you had no ill intent, so you must want something else of me?"

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