The path was littered with enough dry weeds and fallen leaves that a crunch would most certainly accompany any step. 

Maisy’s silent approach, without a sound underfoot, was even more unsettling than her usual dead and distant demeanor.

“This garden bloomed, once.” She said, taking a step closer as her head scanned the area.

“It was a living, breathing tapestry of Lady Ophelia’s spirit. A sanctuary, if you will, with wild abundance that hummed with a life of its own. In those days, this garden was not merely for viewing, but inhabiting for guests and servants alike. You could come inside and immediately find yourself drawn deeper into its embrace. And there,” She pointed to the tree that nested the broken memorial within its roots.

“Amidst the shade of this old oak, you’d find Lady Ophelia. A noblewoman reposed atop the grass, reading classic tales of love and fantasy, or simply listening to the secret poetry of the wind rustling through the leaves,..” She paused, looking off with a distant gaze.

Somewhere far from the abandoned garden we currently occupied, I’m certain.

“...but now, a quiet hush has fallen over these grounds. The noblewoman is gone, and the garden has since faded.” Maisy continued as she ran her fingertips over a frail rosebush that all too easily seemed to crumble at her touch.

“The cobbled stones of this overgrown path are now swallowed by moss and creeping vines. Even the roses have lost their will to bloom, the petals are as dry as old paper. The only thing left with some semblance of life is this grand oak. A wise guardian, tenderly defying the face of time… This garden, in its peaceful decay, continues to tell a story. I wonder, Henry, if you might like to hear it?” She said, her distant eyes falling on me.

I crouched speechless, under the gaze of her focused, hollow eyes.

I had never felt such raw emotion from this woman before.

Her words radiated with such inner sorrow that I felt like they were scratching at my heart, but why?

Who exactly was Lady Ophelia to this commoner maid, that made her feel so strongly?

“Yes,” I responded, standing up straight.

I would have given anything in that moment to have my questions answered, even by this frightful woman.

Maisy slowly closed the distance between us, her eyes never leaving mine.

My heart was beating so loudly in my chest, I could barely register if I had even heard her approaching footsteps.

Before I knew it, she was standing right next to me, closer than she’d ever been.

The air around her seemed so…

Cold.

“Do you happen to know why the former duchess was referred to as ‘the Verdant Heart’ on this memorial?” She asked, staring down at the rubble.

I shook my head.

“She was a native of the Verdantia Isle. The Verdantians hold the strong belief that one's life and environment are inseparable. Important memories, oaths, and intentions can not be recorded in ink, but in the living matter of the world.” She said, glancing over at me.

I had been aware that the Late Duchess was a foreign noble, but I had not known her specific origins.

I did, however, know that Verdantia was a large island located far to the west.

“The Verdantia Isle is known for its rare silks and unique botanicals. Lady Ophelia not only had a knack for botany, but she was also politically astute. The ladies in high society often referred to her as a gardener,” She continued with a slight chuckle.

I clenched my handkerchief tighter, how utterly rude.

“That is how she came to meet the current Duke. During trade negotiations between the De’Wraith Empire and Verdantia Isle. They were betrothed by the end of negotiations and married 3 months later,” She said rather flatly.

I looked at her, but couldn’t get any read from the now blank expression.

“So, how did the garden come to be this way if she’d been a botanist?” I asked.

Unable to hold back the question.

“While the marriage alliance was primarily political and contingent on a successful trade agreement, that didn’t mean it was the only potential arranged marriage being discussed.” She answered with a small chuckle.

I could feel my ears burning red from embarrassment.

Here I was gossiping like a woman, in the middle of a garden.

“So, as another candidate for marriage during that time, you can imagine Duchess Beatrice’s sheer indignation at the matter. It was not only a slight on her honor and reputation to have the Duke stolen from her in less than a fortnight by another woman, but a foreigner at that. It was humiliating,” She said, taking a seat on an unbroken portion of the stone bench.

I nodded slowly.

That made sense, I’d never say it aloud, but the woman had a ghastly temper.

I’d be hard-pressed to believe there was something she wouldn’t do to even a score.

My eyes widened slightly, the longer the thought saturated and expanded in my head, the more questions I had.

If Beatrice could smash this memorial, just what else could she do?

“I admire the complexity of your brain, Henry. Even more so, the simplicity of your reactions. There’s something unyieldingly genuine and truthful about them,” She said, looking up at me with those muted brown eyes.

One part of me took her comment as a compliment in Maisy’s own right, but another part of me also couldn’t help but take it as an insult.

“While Issac and Ophelia didn’t initially marry for love, they were quite fond of each other. They were married for 2 years before bringing the young Isadora into the world. Unfortunately, their blissful, happy existence was short-lived. The Villani family made sure of that,” She said, wiping invisible dust off her skirt.

“Villani family?” I mumbled, confused.

I thought the Duchess Beatrice hailed from the Mauvais family. 

So who, then, were the Villani?

“A year after the Duke married, Beatrice Villani unwillingly wed into house Mauvais. Forced by her family to politically align with another, at the time, powerful family, though significantly less powerful than the Alistairs. She married Jeremiah Mauvais of the–”

DISSOLVE TO:

The Duke's private carriage, returning from the Mauvais-Villani wedding. It's night, and the carriage is enclosed and intimate.

“–the Mauvais family,” Duchess Ophelia Allistair mused, her head nestled on the broad chest of her husband.

“Being more precise, Mr. and Mrs. Mauvais,” Duke Issac Allistair corrected in amusement, his fingers lightly stroking her bare arm.

He looked down at her face, her brows adorably furrowed in concentration.

“Vicountess Beatrice Villani-Mauvais,” Ophelia muttered, with clear displeasure.

“You needn’t worry. The woman’s married and fallen off to the wayside. A Mauvais is hardly a threat,” He said with an arrogant air of nonchalance that sparked a rage within the small-framed woman beside him.

Ophelia suddenly sat up straight, turning to look at Issac.

She could barely be seen by the dim flicker of the mounted oil lamp in the carriage, but he felt the intensity of her now narrowed gaze.

“While a Mauvais might not be a threat, this is most certainly not a retreat, it’s a strategic maneuver,” She snapped.

“Placing oneself at the side of a Viscount can hardly be deemed as particularly exhaulting, my love,” He said with an unbothered shrug.

“I’d like to remind you that I’ve since been disowned and will receive nary assistance from my family. That vicious viper has now slithered her way into court and she’ll lay waiting, Issac-”

“Ophelia,” Issac started, placing a hand on each of her shoulders.

“My sword and my will are yours. I will face any storm for your tranquility, and my strength shall always be your safe harbor. You are and will ever be protected," He said, leaning in and placing a passionate kiss upon her lips.

She pulled away, staring at him for a moment before grabbing his hand and gently placing it on her stomach.

“You must, Issac,”

WIPE TO:

Lady Isadora’s private garden. A conversation between a distant maid and an uncomfortable footman. Henry’s POV.

“–the Mauvais Family. At the time, he held the title of Viscount. It has since been stripped, but Mauvais remains a quiet branch-family of House Villani,” Maisy explained.

“That woman’s held malice and resentment over the past twenty years to this day. Making sure to settle her scores one at a time. This, being one of them,” Maisy continued with a quick gesture to the broken memorial.

Naturally, I could not understand the Duke.

His love for Lady Ophelia seemed unyieldingly true, so how could the man allow this place to fall into such ruin?

I refused to believe that he’d knowingly allow Duchess Beatrice to desecrate the memorial of his first love.

That simply was too cruel a circumstance to consider viable in my mind.

“Your thoughts are quite loud, Henry,” Maisy said, standing up to join me under the shade of the old oak.

“Duke Issac has refused to enter this estate since Lady Ophelia’s passing. All residential matters were handed over to Duchess Beatrice, that is, until Lady Isadora comes of age. It is likely the Duke is unaware of this manor’s affairs,” She explained solemnly.

I looked around once more at the torn down garden, whose atmosphere was one of abandonment and entropy.

I had begun to see it in a new light, one unfortunately illuminated with vengeance and malice.

Ophelia’s legacy that had existed here was no longer a place of human cultivation, but one forced to surrender to those with evil whims and that of nature.

I shoved my handkerchief into my pocket, closing my eyes for a moment.

I was unable to hold the sigh that escaped my lips.

Who knew the Allistairs lived like this?

That poor girl’s reputation torn to ribbons, her father, a neglectful bastard, and the step-mother and sister, both vile snakes wading in tall grass.

Your modern-day minstrel holed up in the cellar of any playhouse would find much delight in possessing such useful content.

There’s a certain melancholic beauty in this chaos, one that’s overshadowed by loss.

“I would like to task you with getting the private garden ready for use. It will prove extremely beneficial to the Lady's recovery.” Her words weren’t a question, but a polite order.

Not that I had any reason to refuse.

I simply nodded.

“As you wish,”

---------------

Lyra and I lay awake in our bed that evening, she cuddled against me, head resting on my bare chest.

Her small soft hands stroked my abdomen, sending sensations rifting through my body.

I tightened the arm that encaptured her small frame and landed a loving kiss on her forehead. 

She was warm.

No doubt due to the heat emitting from my larger body. She snuggled deeper into the crook of my arm and I instantly felt the weight of the day start to leave me.

“So, you’ll be in charge of the restoration of her personal garden?” Lyra asked.

I had told her about my day.

I, of course, omitted the conversation I had with Maisy in front of the memorial.

Something about that just felt like I needed to keep it to myself…

Which was an insane thought to have. 

“Yes, that’s right,” I responded with a nod, snapping myself out of my thoughts.

I felt Lyra’s body turn slightly away from me.

I held her closer to keep her from moving any further. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked quickly.

She was obviously not happy.

Could it have been our conversation this morning?

Was she still upset about that?

She lay still and quiet for a moment before commenting.

“It just seems that Lady Isadora sure has a lot of freedom for someone who tried to take her own life,”

“Lyra!” I said, looking down at her.

I was completely shocked.

How she could say such a thing?

“What?! What exactly is it I’ve done this time, Henry?” She shouted.

I stared down at her wide-eyed.

She was upset, but I still had no idea why.

Had I done something to make Lyra feel as though she’d burdened me in any way?

I racked my brain for an answer, but nothing came to mind.

I must fix this, it was never my intention to make the woman I love ever feel this way.

“Lyra, please. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I only meant that it breaks my heart to hear you say such cruel things, when I know the woman I love to be just and kind,” I said, quickly.

A brief moment passed. She did not respond.

“The garden restoration is a key factor in Lady Isadora’s successful recovery. Allowing her to recover in an environment where she will never feel the need to take her life again,” I further explained.

Trying to reason with the silent form beside me.

At this point, I truly believed that Lady Isadora did not attempt to commit suicide. 

There was something foul at play here.

But I was struggling to keep this information to myself.

With no proof there was certainly no reason to bring this up to Lyra, especially in her current emotional state.

“Let’s just sleep, Henry. The day will almost certainly be long again tomorrow,” Lyra said, leaning forward to kiss my cheek lightly, then positioning her back to me on the other side of the bed.

My heart immediately dropped.

I had no idea what I needed to do to rectify this situation.

Pausing for a minute, I continued to stare at Lyra’s back in the dark room.

My mouth felt dry, as my heart pounded away, a throbbing ache with each beat.

“Good night, Lyra. I love you,” I said finally with a sigh, turning my back to her.

There was nothing I wanted more at this exact moment than to embrace the woman before me,...

But I couldn’t do that.

This was a wound that, I truly believed in that moment, only time would alleviate.

I closed my eyes and let the black depths of sleep take a welcome hold over me.