Garden of May - Chapter 8
Chapter 8
As she watched, the man took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it—a shockingly disrespectful act in the dry, untended garden. Startled, she gripped the window frame. Creak. The hinges groaned under the sudden movement.
The man’s head snapped up. Their eyes met—eyes as deep and dark as the ocean. For a moment, Vanessa felt a strange breathlessness, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
“….”
His gaze slowly swept over her. Vanessa bit her lip until it turned white. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. It was unbelievable that a mere worker would dare look at her with such boldness… and yet, she was strangely curious about how she appeared to him in that moment.
“Vanessa.”
Blair’s voice behind her made her jump. Her heart pounded as if she’d been caught in some illicit act.
“Yes?”
“What’s with you?”
“Oh, nothing…”
Her reaction must have seemed suspicious, because Blair strode over and stood beside her. As he carefully peered out the window, Vanessa unconsciously bit her lip and clasped her hands together.
Why was she so nervous? It was just a worker sneaking into the garden. If anyone was going to get in trouble, it would be him.
A moment passed, feeling like an eternity. Then, Blair let out a short, dismissive laugh.
“There’s really nothing there.”
“What?”
“Was there a cat or something?”
…Nothing there? Impossible. Vanessa frantically looked out the window, but the spot beneath the tree where the man had been standing was empty. As if he were a phantom conjured by the shimmering summer heat.
Who was he? She silently repeated the question she couldn’t bring herself to voice aloud.
“Speaking of which, Enoch sent an invitation for tea.” Rosaline, who had rung the bell several times for the perpetually absent maid, spoke in a strangely excited tone. Blair, who had been about to pick up his teacup again, stiffened slightly.
“Enoch Berkshire? He’s here in the South? What about the superior officer he was always trailing after?”
“He’s completely vanished for some reason. Speculation is he’s somewhere in the South. That’s what my sources tell me.”
“Who vanished?” Still lost in a dreamlike state, Vanessa asked vaguely. She’d interjected into the conversation impulsively, drawn in by the unfamiliar topic. She had just seen a strange man in a familiar garden, and somehow, it felt connected.
“The Duke of Batenberg.” Rosaline offered only the name, as if that single word should explain everything, including her unusual excitement.
Vanessa blinked, bewildered. Rosaline, realizing her oversight, quickly added, “Oh, I completely forgot you haven’t made your debut yet… It’s understandable if you’re not familiar with him.”
“Vanessa spent most of her holidays buried in books at boarding school. It’s no wonder she wouldn’t know. Besides, the only publicly known image of the Duke is a photograph taken at his mother’s funeral when he was eight or nine.”
“Yes, that famous photo. Even then, he had a face that promised a remarkable future.”
“Generous praise, Rosaline.”
“He rarely attends social events, so I’ve only seen him once from afar. He’s a sight for sore eyes. He’s twenty-three this year. Returned from the Principality of Hesse about six years ago, graduated from the Royal Naval Academy, and is serving as a Lieutenant Commander.” Rosaline, after her haughty assessment, suddenly blushed and added, “Rumor has it he’s looking for a wife during this leave. He seems to have received an extended holiday after his distinguished service in the Battle of Potsdam.”
Something stirred vaguely in Vanessa’s memory. The headline in the newspaper the girls at boarding school had been passing around: ‘The Hero of the Battle of Potsdam.’ It hadn’t been a topic that captured her interest, but she remembered he’d been immensely popular.
“The young ladies in the capital must be terribly disappointed. What could he possibly find of interest in this dreary South?” Rosaline nudged Blair’s side, glancing at Vanessa. Vanessa, of course, wasn’t bothered in the slightest. She wholeheartedly agreed that the South was dull.
A region resistant to change and slow to embrace anything new. She would bet her favorite fountain pen that the South, and Gloucester in particular, was the last place in all of Ingram to get electricity.
In any case, Vanessa quickly lost interest in the topic. The man with the cigarette, a habit fit for servants, couldn’t possibly be the gentleman from the society pages.
“What on earth would a man like that be doing all the way out here in the South?”
“Who knows?” Blair scoffed cynically.“Perhaps he’s gone mad and developed a sudden eccentricity.”
