“Yes,” William said as he reached over to rest a hand on the small of her back. He felt her startle, but when he pretended not to notice, she relaxed a bit more.
“Myrtle is a flower that is steeped in mysticism,” he said while reaching out to the delicate blossom. “According to ancient mythology, the Goddess Aphrodite was born there. The saying goes that her Roman counterpart Venus visited the Isle ofCytherea but was ashamed to show herself because she was naked and hid her nakedness behind the myrtle tree. It was thought to inspire lasting love and marriage.”
Rachel huffed. “I’ll stay away from that flower then.”
He turned. “You don’t have to fear marriage, Rachel; the only thing you do have to fear is marrying the wrong person.”
“Considering the men my parents would deem fitting, I am sure that whomever they do choose is going to be the worst person for my life,” Rachel noted.
“I would not give up yet,” William said as they moved to a rosebush. “Have you ever seenan orange rose?”
She shook her head, “I was not aware there was such a thing.”
“An orange rose means that you are besotted with someone. The yellow rose shows warm feelings of friendship, joy, wisdom, and power. White rose symbolizes innocence and purity.”William said while moving to the far side of the bush to snap of a flower. “The dark pink rose shows love and gratitude while the lighter shade shows gentleness and admiration, but the red rose is the greatest symbol to express romantic love and passionate affection.”
He offered her the rose, “Sometimes it means simplicity, like yourself. Simply beautiful.”
She took the rose, but her cheeks bloomed brighter than the flower’s hue. “You truly think I am beautiful?”
“It’s a crime that no one has told you the same,” William said, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “I wish there were a pigment, a hue, and a mixture of what colors we have to paint the blush on your cheeks.”
She ducked her head, but the hue on her skin only burned brighter. “Erm…thank you.”
Knowing that he was making her uncomfortable, William stepped away. “There are more flowers and many more reasoning, but it is late, and we do not have time to get to them all. Aren’t your parents at home? How can you be out so late?”
“My parents are back at church—again,” Rachel said tonelessly. “They will be back long after I am gone to bed.”
He brushed her hair away from her face, “Know this; you are worth real love, not a pale version of it or to marry for the sake of marriage. Marry for love, nothing less.”
Rachel grew a bit misty-eyed, “That poem you said to me…was it something you wrote?”
“In a whim of fancy, yes,” William said. “I too dream of love, but to find it, there is the rub.”
She reached out and touched his shoulder, “You’ll find it; I know you will.”
He took her hand, placed it on his cheek, and laid a long lingering kiss on her palm, “I hope so. Good night, Rachel.”
Dropping her hands, he stepped away and watched her leave to the closest doorway. She paused at the doorway to look over her shoulder before vanishing inside. William went back to the bench and sat. The darkness did not bother him—god knew that he had spent more than a few times surrounded by it.
What did concern him was the hollowness in Rachel’s voice when the topic of marriage came around. What sort of man were the Duke and Duchess looking at for their daughter? If what Rachel said was right, it was a man who would suck the vivacity that she was trying so hard to keep alive out of her.
She deserves so much more. True love does not have to live only in novels…
William stayed in the garden, watching the moon's slow ascent until its mesmerizing glow began to lull him to sleep. He left to his rooms and there before sinking to bed, as he wondered why he was allowing himself to walk down a road that would end up nowhere.
He knew Rachel must have realized his attraction to her, but they both knew it would not end up well—so why was he still trying?
“Lord, what fools do these mortals be…” he sighed.
***
Warm sunlight streamed through the thin, unadorned curtains while Rachel finished breakfast with her mother. A long narration of what the priest had said the night before had almost put her to sleep, and now that she was ready to leave, her mother wiped her mouth.
“We have a few things to discuss about the ball,” Lady Mary said.
Rachel held back a groan. “I do not think you need me for help, Mother. What is there for me to discuss with you?”
“Mind your tone,” her mother nearly snapped. “This is not something for you to dismiss. Three lords are going to be in attendance, and they are men your father and I think are best for you.”
