She joined Mother and the other house guests for tea in the drawing room, where conversation centered around Mother’s garden plans and the upcoming harvest festival. Eden smiled dutifully, but her gaze strayed to the window, where she imagined Gabriel’s figure riding home through the fields. A faint scent of horses and smoke lingered in the air from her morning walk—a fragrance that reminded her achingly of him.
The memory hit her with such force that her fingers curled against the delicate china cup in her hand. She blinked, willing herself not to drift into the ache of yesterday, but it clung to her like mist, silent and persistent. A familiar tightness bloomed in her chest that stirred both longing and guilt. She ached to see him again, even as uncertainty shadowed the edges of her heart.
Alas, it was not to be. Leastwise, not anytime soon.
Thomas, along with several other gentlemen, strode into the parlor. Mother gazed up at Thomas, a welcoming smile on her face. “Will Lord Blackstone be joining us for the afternoon?” She asked.
“I am afraid not,” Thomas said, taking a seat near Mother. “It seems he has been called to London.”
Eden’s heart sank. She forced a nonchalant curve of her lips. “How unfortunate. When will the marquess depart?” She asked, clenching her hands to stop them from shaking.
“I believe he already has.” Thomas reached for a biscuit.
Eden sat back against the settee, her gaze roaming to the window as Mother turned the conversation back to her garden plans. How could Gabriel leave her again? And after what they had shared. The scoundrel could have at least apprised her of his plans.
* * *
A sennight later, Eden received a letter that lifted her spirits. Julian Price, ever attentive, had written with an invitation. An invitation to ride at his nearby estate. He spoke of lakeside canters, sunshine, and refreshments under ancient oaks. Eden hesitated only a moment before accepting—anything to fill her mind with new delights.
“I should not,” she admitted to her reflection in the ornate mirror, adjusting her dark brown curls. Her fingers stilled as a vision flickered behind her eyes, Julian at her side in a sun-drenched drawing room, her laughter practiced, her smile brittle beneath the weight of duty. She imagined a life shaped by polite conversation, seasonal garden parties, and an endless performance of contentment. And then she imagined Gabriel’s hand brushing hers, his kiss stealing her breath, the fire in his eyes igniting something uncontainable within her. The contrast was stark. Safety versus passion. Predictability versus the terrifying, beautiful unknown. Her throat tightened. “Yet I need something to distract me,” she murmured, even as a part of her recoiled from the very thought. Her fingers paused mid-motion, lingering in a coil that refused to stay pinned. The echo of Gabriel’s kiss still tingled on her lips, a ghost of warmth that both comforted and tormented her. But what else could she do? She was adrift in uncertainty, and Julian’s invitation, though innocuous, promised structure. Something familiar to hold on to while her heart floundered in unknown seas.
She penned a swift reply, agreeing to Julian’s invitation. Then she dressed in a riding habit of deep green wool, the color flattering her hazel eyes. Mother noticed the bustle of activity.
“My dear, what are you about?” Mother asked as she smoothed Eden’s skirt.
“An invitation from Mr. Price, Mother. To ride at the Price estate.”
Mother’s lips curved in delighted approval. “How splendid, darling. Enjoy yourself, but do return by luncheon and take two footmen along.”
“I will, Mother.” Eden offered a bright smile, though she did not truly feel it.
A short time later, she met Julian in the stable yard, where two sleek bays waited for them. Julian greeted her with practiced courtesy, charming words falling easily from his lips as he helped her into the saddle.
“You look radiant, Lady Eden,” he said, bowing low.
“Thank you, Mr. Price,” Eden replied, her voice bright despite the flutter in her chest. “Shall we?”
“Indeed,” he said, then mounted his horse.
They set off along shady lanes, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves harmonizing with birdsong. Dappled morning light slipped through the canopy of tall oaks, flecking the path in shifting gold and shadow. Eden felt a sense of calm washing through her as she urged her mare to a gentle trot.
Julian led her to a broader avenue that wound through fields of barley, its pale gold swaying softly in the morning breeze. He pointed out landmarks—an ancient stone bridge, the distant spire of a country church, a thatched cottage where villagers paused to wave.
Eden offered occasional laughter at Julian’s witty asides. One about a mischievous pony and a ruined garden drew a faint smile, but the mirth never quite reached her eyes. Her thoughts remained elsewhere, her laughter more habit than delight. She found herself glancing back toward the distant horizon, imagining Gabriel returning from London, his gaze searching for her as she had for him.
Julian noticed her glance. “You seem…distracted, Lady Eden. Is everything all right?”
She hesitated, heart fluttering. “I am well. Just…lost in thought.”
Julian nodded. “If it is due to me, Lady Eden, I hope I am not in error.”
She forced a smile. “No, Mr. Price. Please, tell me more about your estate.”
They rode on in companionable silence for a time. Julian described the new dovecote he planned to build, the improvements to the walled garden, and the dreamy prospect of lily blooms that summer seeds would soon bring. Eden listened politely, nodding as he spoke, but her thoughts wandered. The vision he painted was picturesque, almost too perfect—neatly contained, peaceful, predictable. She found herself wondering whether she could ever feel truly alive within such careful borders.
She remembered the way Gabriel had pulled her close in the hunting lodge. The storm had raged outside, but inside, there had been only his whispered words, the weight of his gaze. That moment had changed everything. It awakened something in her that defied logic, something wild and free. No amount of polite conversation or quiet propriety could erase what had passed between them. It was as though the storm had torn through her composure, leaving behind a fierce yearning that no manicured garden or genteel conversation could ever soothe. The memory of his breath against her neck, the raw honesty in his gaze. It all shimmered like a beacon beside the quiet predictability Julian offered. Gabriel’s world, chaotic though it was, stirred something fierce and yearning within her that begged to be acknowledged.
Was she meant for quiet gardens or storm-tossed passion? The question clung to her like the scent of wild roses carried on the wind.
