Garden of May - Chapter 39
Chapter 39
The narrow path leading to the rose garden was River Ross’s masterpiece. A few years ago, finding the garden somewhat lacking, he’d begun planting peonies, adding new life to the otherwise plain Gloucester gardens.
Vanessa carefully picked up two or three pristine peonies that had fallen to the ground and adjusted the heavy basket containing lunch in her grip. The closer she got to the rose garden, the more hesitant she became.
‘Should I have sent word? Is it alright to just appear like this…?’
Vanessa, who had been walking while gathering flowers, suddenly looked up. At the end of the path, the iron gate stood slightly ajar. Staring beyond it for a moment, she quickened her pace.
A premonition, for reasons unknown, told her River Ross might not be there.
‘Perhaps he’s gone down to the river with the servants for a picnic, or maybe he’s gone to Bath…’
He often seemed to leave his cottage empty for days. On sleepless nights, pacing by her window, she’d sometimes notice his cottage remained dark all night.
Vanessa’s gradually increasing speed shifted into a run. In one breath, she pushed open the rusty gate and tumbled through, as if falling into another world.
There it was: the untamed, vibrant garden of May. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight that poured onto her face, her vision clearing. With a single turn of her head, she found what she was looking for—or rather, the man she was looking for.
Vanessa slowly exhaled the anxious breath she’d been holding. Her heart pounded from the suppressed breathing. She realized she’d been holding her breath the entire run through the path, a testament to her nervousness.
‘Perhaps I was afraid he’d left for good.’
It was Dahlia who noticed her first. The little white dog, which had been tumbling at the man’s feet, barked happily and leaped for her skirt. He, who had been pruning overgrown rose branches, turned around.
Under the shade of his straw hat, his striking eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Suddenly, her lips felt dry. Vanessa offered a shy smile. “Hello, River Ross.”
***
“Hello, River Ross.” As she offered that short greeting, Vanessa didn’t miss the subtle furrow in his brow, as if he were looking at something bothersome and annoying.
The look sent a momentary chill through her heart. But in the blink of an eye, his expression returned to its usual nonchalance, as if the previous flicker of annoyance had been a mere illusion. “It’s been a while, Vanessa.”
The way River Ross said her name sounded like a sigh. It almost felt like an accusation—that she shouldn’t have come again.
‘Though that’s probably just my own insecurity…’
Awkwardness hung in the air, making her fidget. River Ross closed the distance between them in a few strides. He took off the thick gloves he used for gardening and relieved her of the heavy basket. Lifting the cloth covering the contents, he looked at her with surprise.
“You brought this?”
“I thought we could eat together, since it’s before lunch. And we haven’t seen each other for a while.”
“I heard you were ill.”
“Yes, but I’m better now.”
His clean linen shirt and neatly pressed trousers made him look more like the owner of the garden, or a distinguished guest, rather than a laborer. He seemed to have a knack for getting the maids to do his bidding. By paying them, of course.
‘Or perhaps… by giving them something else.’
Her grip on her manuscript bag tightened involuntarily.
“Come in.”
He opened the cottage door and called to her from the dim interior. Vanessa set the wriggling Dahlia down and followed him inside. The cottage looked much the same as she remembered.
“Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
River Ross placed the basket she had brought on the table and put a kettle on the small stove he used as a hearth. Unlike the men she knew, who didn’t even know how to warm milk, River Ross was proficient at everything. Vanessa watched him, her chin resting on her hand.
Her feelings for him were now tinged with a certain desperation. For a man who had agreed to be her lover, his attitude was lukewarm.
‘Perhaps my standards for a ‘lover’ are too high.’
From the beginning, she had yearned for something beyond a mere contract or agreement.
