I had always preferred gardenias and ranunculus over roses. They were not as popular or as well-known as roses, but just as beautiful and meaningful. I rubbed my fingers over the petal of the pink rose, feeling its softness under my fingertips.
The beautiful scent of the roses expanded across the garden as I walked down the path, toward my favorite place. I tucked my thick book under my arm and bypassed the green labyrinth on my way to the Victorian styled gazebo. It sat right next to a little lake and I found myself there more times than I could count. This spot was eerily quiet and lonely, but peaceful.
The domed wrought iron and carved marble made the gazebo. I settled on the bench, opening my book to where I left off this morning. I had read Wuthering Heights more times than I could count and had probably memorized every single line, but it was still one of my favorite classics of English literature. Followed by any work of Jane Austen and Edgar Allan Poe.
Like my love for ancient castles and tragic love stories, I adored anything historical and classic. Sometimes, I wondered if maybe I was born in the wrong era.
I was so lost in Heathcliff and Catherine, I didn’t hear someone approaching me.
“Mrs. Spencer.” The voice was gentle, but I still jumped and slammed my book closed. My hand went to my black veil, to make sure it was in place, before I turned toward the voice.
The butler, Stephen, gave me a slight bow in acknowledgement. Stephen had to be in his early sixties and his family, for over six generations, had been this castle’s butler. “Emily has asked me to find you, with a message. She says the cake is ready.”
I scrambled to my feet. “What? It’s been an hour already?”
“Apparently so.” Stephen smiled. “She’s excited to have someone with the same passion for baking.”
I walked down the stairs of the gazebo and stood next to Stephen, who presented me with his elbow. I gave him a questioning look.
“Humor me, Mrs. Spencer,” he said. “The path here is rough. Allow me to help you.”
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was taking a dig at my weak legs and my limp, but it was the complete opposite. He was only trying to be considerate.
“You’re a sweetheart, Stephen.” I curled my fingers around the crook of his elbow and allowed him to guide me through the garden. “Didn’t I tell you and Emily to call me Julianna?”
“It’s not appropriate.”
“Well, I’m not comfortable with being called Mrs. Spencer.” Though I was now Killian’s wife, I just didn’t want any reminder of him or our already doomed marriage.
Killian left the Isle the night of our wedding. That was the last time I had seen him or heard from him. All the guests, as well as my father and William Spencer had left the next morning.
He just… left me here. On my own. In this unknown place, without any thought that I probably wanted to return home too?
Nope. He simply didn’t care.
Killian just walked away without a second glance.
Now, I was stuck. Well, not exactly trapped… I could easily call for a boat to come and get me…
So, maybe I was still here due to mild curiosity. This place just had so much history, so many stories to tell. I had been overwhelmed with the need to learn everything. My curiosity had been unmatched for the last seven days. I had explored most of the castle and the terrain.
And I had even walked through the garden’s labyrinth… only to end up getting lost in there for hours.
“We don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Stephen said, bringing my attention back to him.
“Then, please, call me Julianna.”
Stephen slowed down, looking a lot thoughtful and a bit uneasy. “It goes against all my traditions…
“I’m not a traditional Spencer bride,” I cut in.
He laughed, the corner of eyes wrinkling. “Now, that’s quite true. You broke all the traditions, and honestly, I think that’s exactly what we needed.”
“So, Julianna?” I asked, almost hopeful.
He nodded. “Julianna.”
“Yes!” I did a little hop, which only made Stephen laugh louder.
By the time we got to the kitchen, my legs were shaking, but I was in a considerably more pleasant mood.
“Emily,” I said, looking at the older woman who was bent over the table, transferring the baked cake over to the decorating rack. “Stephen has agreed to call me Julianna. Therefore, you have to call me by my first name as well.”
“Oh, has he now?” she mumbled, taking a quick peek at her husband, who shrugged and backpedaled slowly.
“I’ll leave you two ladies alone. Have fun.”
And then he was gone.
Emily was a much older and plump version of Selene, who had to leave with my father – the day after my wedding. The lost of her companionship hurt, but Emily and Stephen helped fill the void.
“There you go. All yours to decorate, Julianna.” She gestured toward the two-layered chocolate cake. I smiled when Emily called me by my first name.
I wanted to be more than Mrs. Spencer, Killian’s bride. I wanted to be Julianna, a person not a vessel for Killian, or a walking womb on lease.
For the next thirty minutes, Emily and I went back and forth, decorating the cake together. The last time I had baked anything was before… the accident.
But when Emily had found out we shared a passion for baking, she urged me to join her. I couldn’t exactly say no to the older woman; she was so damn convincing.
Once the cake was done, we popped it in the fridge. That would be our dessert for tonight. “Why don’t you rest up until dinner is ready?” Emily suggested.
I nodded and left the kitchen and her to do what she was best at.
This was the perfect time for me to continue to explore the castle.
Three hours after dinner, I found myself in the small library on the East swing, which was now my side of the castle.
I had longed finished Wuthering Heights and was now of my second collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. Two days ago, I had found the leather-bound edition on one of the shelves.
A shift to my left had me sitting upright on the chair; my attention snapped to the intruder. My heart had practically catapulted to my throat, only for me to find a young girl sitting cross-legged on top of the table next to me.
Was this who I thought it was?
Emily told me she had a granddaughter who lived here, but apparently, she didn’t like meeting new people, so I never saw the girl.
She wore ripped jeans and a flashy pink sweater, her black hair piled into a messy bun atop her head. She had a septum piercing and looked completely nonchalant and at ease for someone who had just sneaked up on me.
“How did you get in here?” I questioned, eyeing the girl suspiciously.
She pursed her lips. “I have my ways.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“A week.”
My eyebrows pulled up in surprise. “Then why have you never made your presence known?”
She shoved a hand into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a packet of gum. The girl popped a slice in her mouth before offering me a piece, but I shook my head.
“Well, I’m not a people person,” she started. “I was making sure you were safe before I approached you.”