They spent those days walking through the garden. Ideas were given, rejected, and agreed upon. Timelines made. Pricessettled. And slowly, with painstaking detail, Ophelia’s garden came to life.
Well, not exactly. It would be many months before it was finished. And she was only in the planning stage. But it was exciting, nonetheless!
“Mr. Watley.” She found the butler in his office early one evening, exactly five days after the project had begun. “Have you seen the list of materials that the landscaper put together? The order for tomorrow’s delivery?”
He looked up and blinked. “Oh, yes, I…”
“What is it?” She asked, noting the hesitation.
“It is with His Grace,” he said. “I know this is your project, but he did ask to be kept abreast. And where finances are concerned, I thought it best if he ran his eyes over it first.”
“Oh yes…” She clicked her tongue, burying her slight frustration because Mr. Watley spoke sense. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Was there something you needed?”
“I wanted to check on something…” She considered the situation and came to a decision. Perhaps not the smartest one, but a decision, nonetheless. This was, after all, her home, and she had every right. “Never mind, it can wait.”
“I will let you know when he returns it, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mr. Watley,” she said as she closed the door behind her.
From there, Ophelia hurried through the manor, up the stairs, and in the direction of Adrian’s office. She had seen him a few moments earlier, in the library, and she guessed that he would remain there for some hours. With that in mind, it would not be so hard for her to duck quickly into his office and collect the list of supplies for herself.
And it is not as if I am doing anything wrong… surely not.
Ophelia repeated that thought as she came to Adrian’s closed office door. Technically, she had every right to take what was hers, and he had given her full rein over this project. But to step into his office alone… she knew it was wrong.
Nonetheless, determined to prove that this was her home too, Ophelia took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The office was dully lit, just a single lamp in the corner. It was colder than she expected… or maybe that was her? Nerves spiking, she hurried to the desk and swept her eyes over it in search.
The document was not there.
“It must be somewhere…” She glanced at the door, listened as if she might have been able to hear something, and then started to rifle through the desk’s drawers.
Her intention was to be quick about it. Open. Glance. Close. She would recognize the document immediately, so there was no chance that she might see something she was not supposed to. Or so she thought…
She opened the bottom drawer, the largest by far, saw no hint of the document and was about to close it when she paused. The light hardly reached the drawer, so its contents were not clear, but the longer she stared, the more she… “What is that?”
Slowly, she reached into the drawer. Her fingers touched something cold and hard and sharp. She gasped, was about to snatch her hand out, but ended up bringing whatever it was that she had touched with her.
It was a piece of broken porcelain!
In fact, when she looked back inside the drawer, she saw dozens of similar pieces. They were each broken, all of different shapes and sizes, but undoubtedly from the same broken item.
Mr. Watley’s story came back to her…is this what he does with the broken vases that he finds? But why?
Without even realizing that she was doing it, Ophelia started to lift each broken shard from the drawer so that she could lay iton the desk. Her mind raced as she tried to puzzle through what she was seeing, because she could not comprehend why on earth Adrian would waste time with –
“What are you doing?” The voice was like a clap of thunder.
Ophelia's eyes widened; she looked up, saw Adrian standing by the open doorway, and she stumbled back in fright.
“Adrian!” she cried. “I… I…” She stammered as her pulse quickened, searching for an excuse, but unable to come up with one that made sense. “I was just looking for –”
“You should not be here.” He strode into the office, each step shaking the floorboards. If she thought the office had been cold before, it turned freezing, and she found herself rubbing her arms.
“I did not mean to be,” she tried.
