Garden of May - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
It was him. Though she’d only glimpsed him from afar, a flicker of recognition ignited within Vanessa. Even amidst a crowd, she couldn’t mistake him.
“Vanessa.”
The mere thought of him painted her suppressed memories with vivid color and scent: a sultry summer night, the humid air, his warm breath, a rose garden in full bloom, and that voice.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her breath hitched. Was this a hallucination, a phantom born from that night? Or perhaps, a cruel, unwelcome afterimage, brazen enough to haunt her even in daylight? It couldn’t be real. How could he possibly be here? They were at war, and he was an officer in the enemy’s ranks….
“[Are you alright?]”
A hand grasped Vanessa’s shoulder as she swayed, lost in the onslaught of memories. Startled, she pulled away, meeting the concerned face of a stranger.
“[You’re pale as a ghost, young miss. I work at the hospital over there.]”
The woman, dressed in a nurse’s uniform, spoke with a clear, ringing voice. Vanessa hurriedly pulled her hat lower. Now, even the bustling passersby were casting curious glances their way.
“[I’m fine. Thank you.]”
“[You don’t look it. Wait here. Just a moment….]”
“[No. I have to go.]”
Had her accent been convincing enough? It didn’t matter anymore. Vanessa hurried away, her pace quickening as she left the market street behind.
She needed to get home. First, she had to send word to the Marquis of Winchester, confirming the arrangements for their passage out of Amiens. If that wasn’t possible, she’d have to get her child to safety first….
“Oh!”
Misfortune, as always, struck twice. Vanessa tripped over a loose cobblestone, sending her sprawling. The paper bag of groceries she’d been carrying crumpled, spilling its contents across the grimy cobblestones.
Potatoes, bread, and the precious can of formula she’d managed to procure… It rolled across the street, finally coming to rest against the polished boot of an approaching officer. Vanessa’s frantic scramble to gather the scattered potatoes froze.
Why? The sight of the officer’s immaculate boots rekindled the phantom memories, transporting her back to the gardens of that bygone season. The scent of sandalwood, his signature fragrance, couldn’t possibly permeate this filthy alleyway.
Vanessa kept her head bowed, unable to look up. From the corner of her eye, she saw him bend gracefully, retrieving the can from the ground. A terrible silence descended.
“Lady Vanessa.”
He finally spoke her name, his voice laced with a disbelieving chuckle. Oh. The moment when vague premonition solidified into reality was always so breathtakingly surreal. She finally forced herself to look up. There he stood, at the end of the alley, bathed in the pale sunlight filtering through the gaps between the dilapidated buildings.
Theodore. Her usurper. Her charming deceiver. The man she’d left behind in that garden so long ago.
“I thought… I thought I was losing my mind.” His red lips curved into a wry smile. His skin was a shade darker than she remembered, his physique more robust, filling out his naval officer’s uniform. His eyes were sharper, his cheeks a little leaner….
Yet, he was still breathtakingly handsome, a man whose mere glance could still unsettle her soul.
“Tell me. Why are you here, like this?” His eyes, a swirling mix of emotions, settled into a languid mockery.
Vanessa closed her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. Why was she here, like this? To explain that, she would have to go back further, to the very beginning….
* * *
Happiness arrives subtly, often unnoticed. Misery, however, announces itself with brutal clarity. And misery rarely travels alone. Vanessa Cyrene Somerset learned this truth in the spring, just two weeks shy of her thirteenth birthday.
“Everything will be different now.”
The man, silent until that moment, finally spoke as the train pulled into Bath Station. Vanessa, who had been gazing out the window, turned to face the man who had introduced himself as ‘Mr. Wyatt’s solicitor.’
Mr. Wyatt, her estranged uncle, had sent for her immediately after her parents’ funeral.
“The title of Count of Somerset will pass to Mr. Wyatt, Vanessa. You will have no claim to the estate or the family name. Mr. Wyatt will assume all legal rights and responsibilities concerning you.”
“All legal rights?”
“Everything. What you eat, what you wear, every penny you spend, it will all be up to him.”
“….”
“Including your marriage, when you come of age.”
A flicker of pallor touched Vanessa’s young face, framed by her black mourning dress. The solicitor observed her with a curious gaze. He hadn’t expected a thirteen-year-old girl to grasp the full implications of his words.
