Garden of May - Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Blair and Rosaline endured the southern social season with a tenacity Vanessa couldn’t quite comprehend. She had initially assumed the siblings wouldn’t last three days, but the Winchesters, prominent nobles from the capital, seemed determined to remain at Gloucester Castle until the very moment their ship set sail.
News of their presence had sent the southern social scene into a near frenzy, with a relentless cycle of tea parties, balls, and picnics. Rosaline consistently encouraged Vanessa to join them, but for her, the social season was nothing but an endless, tedious affair. She found no reward in sipping tea with the same faces, applauding men returning from hunts, attending horse races, or meticulously reading through new catalogues from the shops.
‘I’d rather spend that time writing, even if it’s just a single word more.’
Of course, when unavoidable obligations arose, Vanessa, ever dutiful, endured them with her characteristic diligence, her mind often half-lost in other worlds. The truly unbearable moments, however, were of a different nature entirely.
“Very good,” the Baron breathed, his damp breath ghosting over Vanessa’s shoulder. They were in the study, where she had been summoned by her uncle. The Baron, without preamble, had taken her hand and commanded her to waltz. As the old man’s hand guided her body, Vanessa endured, stiff and unyielding. This apparent display of modesty seemed to satisfy the old man, a gleam of approval in his eyes. “Well-behaved, and a lovely face. You’ve raised your niece admirably.”
“So, shall we proceed as planned?” her uncle asked.
“Well…” the Baron began, his eyes suddenly sharp, scrutinizing her as if she were a swindler. Seemingly sensing Wyatt’s antipathy, the Baron waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing much. I simply require proof of the bride’s… purity before the marriage.”
“You’re insulting both myself and my niece,” Wyatt retorted.
“Boarding schools are all the same, aren’t they? There’s no knowing what sort of mischief children get up to within those walls.”
Wyatt appeared momentarily speechless. The Baron, seizing upon this flicker of hesitation, pressed his advantage. “I hear the Winchester heir and your niece are quite close.”
“Well, yes, they’ve known each other since they were children… But how can we possibly provide such proof?”
“I know someone quite skilled in these matters. Whether a woman is… experienced, or not. Remarkably perceptive, I’m told.” The Baron’s gaze slowly raked over Vanessa’s form. Even fully clothed, she felt exposed, her body trembling.
“If her purity can be guaranteed, the Count will be able to ask anything of me.”
‘Demand. Transaction. Proof.’
The bluntness of the words was sometimes difficult to bear. This charade had played out countless times. Horrifying, simply horrifying… Lately, her uncle’s favored prospect was a newly rich newspaper magnate. His cheap rags, Wyatt claimed, were filled with every sort of scandalous gossip imaginable. He’d made a fortune peddling such filth and, consequently, had no concept of financial restraint. This, apparently, was the man’s sole redeeming quality.
“My, how fortunate I am! To meet the famed Lady Vanessa, whose beauty is so widely celebrated.” Thick, grey smoke curled from the cigar clenched between the newspaperman’s fingers. From the moment Vanessa entered the study, the pungent aroma of cheap whiskey had filled the air, making her want to flee. The man’s eyes held a strange mixture of longing and a vulgar, predatory gleam. “Twenty years ago, someone like me wouldn’t have dared even dream of this.”
‘In their presence,’ she thought, ‘I become not a person, but a commodity.’ These men assessed her, assigned her a value, debated her worth as a purchase, utterly indifferent to her humanity. ‘But then again,’ she mused, ‘in a land where a woman cannot even inherit her parents’ estate, what grand expectations should I harbor?’
“Oh…”
It was in that moment, overwhelmed by the familiar disgust, that the fountain pen she’d been gripping snapped in two. Vanessa stared with dismay at the pen and the paper, now marred by a spreading ink stain. The pen had been cracked for some time. She’d mended it with glue and wrapped it in thin cloth, reminding herself to be careful. The ruined manuscript, three hours of work lost, was upsetting, but the broken pen was a far greater loss. It was one of the few things her father had left her.
“Miss, it’s time to extinguish the lamps,” Mary announced.
“Alright, Mary,” Vanessa replied, quickly dabbing at the spilled ink with a handkerchief. She longed to continue writing, but wasting lamp oil would only invite her uncle’s reprimand. She washed her face and hands in the prepared basin and changed into her nightgown. Once she was settled in bed, Mary extinguished the lamp and closed the door.
Sleep evaded her. Normally, she and Rosaline would be nestled together, whispering secrets, but tonight, the Winchester siblings were visiting relatives in the neighboring village, leaving the castle unusually quiet. After tossing and turning for some time, Vanessa finally climbed out of bed, draping a shawl over her nightgown. With a touch of urgency, she crossed the room and unlocked the terrace door. The early summer night air was cool against her skin. Taking a deep breath, she felt a sense of release.
