Garden of May - Chapter 10
Chapter 10
‘So, what becomes of me?’ she wondered. ‘Will I be paraded around until I’m sold to the highest bidder? To a man who desires only my youth, my appearance, and my family name, with no regard for my own wishes?’
“As long as my value in the marriage market doesn’t plummet, Uncle won’t give up,” she murmured, the words she’d once spoken herself now echoing back like a suffocating mantra. With each breath, she felt herself diminishing. Just as the silence became unbearable, a sound reached her—footsteps from the far end of the garden, near the rose bushes.
‘Who is it?’
Vanessa straightened, pushing herself away from the railing. The approaching sound stopped directly beneath her terrace. Then, the acrid smell of smoke drifted upwards. Even Vanessa, unfamiliar with the nuances of tobacco, recognized this wasn’t the aroma of a gentleman’s cigar, but the harsh scent of a cheaply rolled cigarette.
Narrowing her eyes against the pungent smoke, she peered down into the darkness below. It was him. The man who had appeared and vanished like a phantom a few days prior. The light from the garden lamps cast a soft, reddish glow across his face.
“You have these strange moments of bravery,” Rosaline’s voice echoed in Vanessa’s memory, like dust motes swirling in the air. “You need to be more cautious, Vanessa.”
‘Perhaps,’ Vanessa thought wryly, gripping the terrace railing. If no one would save her, she would have to save herself.
***
“May I use the motorcar tomorrow afternoon?” Vanessa asked. Wyatt, hunched over his desk, looked up, frowning at the unexpected request. Vanessa clasped her hands tightly, trying to mask her nervousness. “I have a quick errand to run in town.”
“In town?”
“My fountain pen broke. I want to see if it can be repaired.”
Wyatt stared at her for a moment, then shook his head firmly, dipping his pen back into the inkwell. “No.”
“But, Uncle…”
“This is a crucial time. Until your marriage is settled, I’d prefer you didn’t wander about outside the castle. Unnecessary gossip would be… inconvenient.”
“….”
“Now, if you understand, go back to your room. And try to control that expression.” Wyatt scowled, as if attempting to quell the flicker of defiance he saw in her eyes. Vanessa bit her trembling lip and turned away. Just before she reached the door, she heard her uncle mutter, “I’ll have to assign more guards. She’s been unusually rebellious lately…”
Vanessa returned to her room, her lip still smarting. Her request to leave the castle had been denied, but that didn’t mean she had no way to send her manuscript. Fortunately, a few of the household staff were still willing to indulge her minor requests. Glancing at the clock, she pulled her manuscript and pen towards her.
It had been three months since she’d started publishing her stories, serialized in a weekly magazine, under a pseudonym. It was a somewhat risky pastime for a lady, but the joy of writing always outweighed the danger. At least while she was writing, she could escape the complexities of her life.
“Coming in, my lady,” Mary announced, bursting through the door without knocking. Her face, as always, was impassive. She sighed, exasperated, at the sight of Vanessa’s ink-stained hands. “You’re still at it? Dinner is almost ready.”
“I’ll clean up. Just a moment.” Vanessa quickly scribbled a few more words, then carefully bundled the pages she’d spent the last few nights writing and slipped them into an envelope. Meanwhile, Mary poured fragrant oils into a basin of water and retrieved the dress Vanessa had chosen for dinner.
“Sit here. I’ll brush your hair.”
Vanessa obediently sat at the vanity. Mary’s hands, though not gentle, were quick and efficient as she worked through Vanessa’s tangled hair. “Lunch will be served late tomorrow. All the kitchen staff, everyone, is being assigned to the hunting party and preparing the banquet hall.”
“That many?”
“They’re desperately short-staffed. They hired a few extra hands, but three of them ran off after the first day’s lunch.”
‘Workers.’ The word brought someone to mind. Looking up at Mary’s reflection in the mirror, Vanessa asked, “Mary, do you know that man? The one who looks like the new assistant gardener?”
“Who?”
“The handsome one. Is he one of the temporary workers, too?”
‘The handsome one.’
Mary’s hand, still brushing Vanessa’s hair, paused.
