Chapter One

Lady Juliet's palms continued to redden as she inspected the flowers in the garden. Fragrances of fresh roses and all forms of sweet leaves wafted through the air, and her nostrils welcomed all of them. Her shiny dress dragged on with her as she walked across the garden, feeling her shoes dig into the soft soil. She reached for her corset and loosened it a little, letting out a tight exhale in the process. One of the extravagant characteristics of the Willowbrook Estate was the pruned bushes that lined its gardens. Over the years, it had become a place of solace for Juliet herself. A place she could escape to, while running from the roars of the public, from her father, who would waste no opportunity to let her know her social period was coming to an end and hasten her resolve to find a man she would call her husband, or her half-brother, who would all but sing the same tune. In the Willowbrook gardens, she could let herself get lost in the roses, clear her head, and loosen her dress as little or as much as she could.

"Lady Juliet?" The familiar voice of her maid called from the garden's entrance. Juliet turned to look at her, at her gently folded hands and long white gown. Her maid was just as old as she was, maybe a few months older, and had grown to become one of her closest confidants over the years.

"Estelle, is there any reason you decided to tighten my corset even harder this morning?" Juliet asked, reaching for the string one more time. She could barely breathe and trusted Estelle well enough to be herself. While she grew a bit comfortable, she couldn't help but look forward to the next time she would be able to take off the whole thing, the next time she would be able to fully breathe.

"I apologise, milady. I didn't intend to—"

"It's alright." Juliet said, turning back to the flowers. "They look beautiful, don't you agree?"

"They do." Estelle's voice was louder. She had entered the garden.

"You know, I still remember walking across these flowers with my mother." Juliet continued, her fingertips grazing the flowers, triggering the floodgates of her memories. "Nothing gave her as much joy as the garden did."

"She must have been a happy woman." Estelle mentioned, her voice even closer.

"The happiest." Juliet responded, leaning forward to sniff a rose. Vivid images of her mother crept through her mind. She could see her, smiling heartily as the cool afternoon breeze wove through her hair. The happy memories do not come without consequences. The memories of her mother laughing in the gardens as her face glowed from the sun will always be followed by the ones where she died on a harsh winter night, only a few days later. Tears formed around Juliet's eyes. She couldn't hold back the reminiscence. She had never been able to. She remembered her mother's last days, how she struggled to eat, drink and retain her weight.

How she struggled to laugh.

"Milady, perhaps you need to stay away from the garden for a while." Estelle offered, knowing Juliet stopping all of a sudden could only mean one thing.

"And do what, Estelle?" Juliet asked.

A brief pause ensued between them and in that moment, all that could be heard was the rustle of nearby leaves gently being tugged by the wind.

"The new season is upon us." Estelle continued, a new form of excitement laden in her voice. "Shall I send for the dressmaker? We might trade in a few choices and see what she comes up with this year?"

Juliet scoffed. "You should know by now, just how little the seasons mean to me. They've always been a way for my father to have me paraded around the halls like one of his paintings. This year is not going to be any different."

"You never know, milady."

"Oh, don't tell me you're this blind." Juliet said, heading down towards her maid. "None of these men ever want to marry Lady Juliet, the woman who is not afraid to speak her mind. They want Lady Juliet, daughter of Lord Willowbrook. They want the dowry. It's all they've ever been after. If you think this season is going to be any different, you're even more naive than I thought."

Estelle lowered her head, interlacing her fingers nervously. "Yes, milady."

Juliet sighed. "Look, I did not mean to cause you any sadness. I am just tired of everything. You know how it always happens, Estelle. The Estate gets riddled with men who are nothing but sycophants and social climbers. For once in my entire lifetime on this miserable earth, can I find a man who wants me for my heart and not what my father has to offer? Is that too much to ask?"

"What about Lord Neville? He never wanted you for your money, if I could remember." Estelle asked. Lord Neville had been one of her potential suitors the previous season.

"I had one dance with him and he spent the entire time glaring at my chest." Juliet replied.

Estelle grew silent and Juliet turned to the bushes one more time, her gown dragging the flecks of the dark soil along with it.

"Do you think it was also this hard for my mother to find a husband? Did she have to wait this long?" Juliet asked.

Estelle drew a sigh, contemplating the question. "I cannot be sure. What I know is that if Lady Celia were alive today, she would want you to marry someone who truly knows your heart, not your dowry."

A wave of a slight smile swept across Juliet's face. She stretched out her hand and let it gently run through the roses. She dreaded new seasons. They only brought her fresh heartbreak and a growing hatred for the men in her town, but she knew better than to avoid it. Like all of her problems, she also had to face this one with her head high.

"Send for the dressmaker." She finally said, feeling the soft petals around her fingers. "I have a few ideas for this season and I must know if she can bring them to life or not."

"Yes, milady." Estelle nodded and her voice grew fainter. Juliet didn't need to turn to know her maid had left the garden.

***

Weston's idea of life started and died with Eliza. For over six years, nothing had come close to summoning his spirit back to life again. He had been living through life instead of in it. He walked around like a ghost, spoke to acquaintances like a ghost, and even riding felt empty to him.

As he skipped across the green fields of his recently owned manor, he couldn't feel any joy from it. The harsh wind blowing through his hair as his white stallion galloped through the fields, the enormous view of the faraway mountains and the misty valleys, and even the loud chants of his friend who was only a few yards behind did nothing to trigger any happiness in him. He was floating through life, and as far as he was concerned, he was fine with it.

Soon, he slowed down and let his friend catch up with him, ready to listen to an earful.

"Well, thank the heavens you stopped. For a while, I thought you were going to ride into the sunset and never turn back." His friend started, his voice rising with each word.

Weston scoffed. It wasn't like the idea never occurred to him in the first place.

"It is not my fault that the horse you ride is weak, Charles." Weston replied, gently tugging on the rope wrapped around his stallion.

"Indeed? Do you truly believe the issue lies with the steed?" Charles asked, the discontent in his face masked by the rumbles of both horses.

"Well, what else could it possibly be?" Weston asked.

"I could think of many reasons, just off the top of my head." Charles replied, the heat in his voice still evident.

Weston rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

The sun started dipping into the sky and cast the most glorious shade of hue onto the Estfield manor. Like most of the estates on the outskirts of London, the Estfield Manor witnessed the brightest and the harshest sides of nature, depending on the season. A few miles later, Weston got off his horse and started to lead it across the fields, his legs grazing past the overgrown leaves.

"We should start to prepare for the season." Weston started. "It is closer than we think."

"And are you going to entertain any of the festivities this time around?" Charles asked.

"I always entertain the festivities."

"No one is here but us and the horses, Weston. You don't have to put up the facade. The horses aren't going to tell your mother." Charles replied, dragging the rope alongside Weston.

"I do not know what you're talking about." Weston replied, wondering just how long he could feign ignorance.

Silence ensued between them for a few moments. They both continued to walk their horses with nothing but the warm sun shining on their faces.

"Very well, then." Charles replied.

Weston drew a sigh. Charles had been his closest friend for as long as he could remember, and he knew his friend wouldn't let this go easily. Perhaps it might do him some good if he shared the weight on his heart with someone else.

"It is the day after tomorrow." He started.

Charles turned to look at him. "What?"

"The day after tomorrow. It'll be six years since Eliza—" He paused. Six years, and he still couldn't bring himself to say the word. Six years, and he was still hoping it was all a dream. A nasty nightmare he would wake up from soon enough.

"Oh." Charles whispered, a wave of understanding crashing into him. "Do you plan to visit her resting place then?"

"Yes." Weston replied as if it wasn't the kind of question that needed consideration. Of course, he was going to visit her grave. He always did, even when it wasn't an anniversary.

"I shall come with you." Charles said, his voice firm.

"Charles. It is a long way away. I don't want you to—"

"I am not asking for your permission." Charles replied, the air of finality in his voice palpable.

Weston nodded, grateful. While he had become disillusioned with the world, it wasn't lost on him that Charles had been nothing but a good friend to him over the years. As he led his horse to the closest shade, he wondered how he would've survived the past six years if Charles hadn't been there, acting as the voice of reason and giving him the needed advice.

"I take it Lady Beatrice doesn't know the details of your journey? Or that you plan to go on one at all?" Charles asked once they stopped under a giant oak tree.

Weston scoffed. "And what good will come of that?"

The last thing he needed was for his mother getting wind of the fact that he was going to visit Eliza's grave. He could almost picture her, eyes wide and her throatily angry voice yelling at him.

"What you need to have in your mind is your progeny, Weston. You have way too much responsibility now to keep pining over your lost love."

Weston thought of his father and what he would say if he were alive today. He didn't know his father for long, but he knew he was a proud man who also bothered himself with posterity. He knew his father would support his mother without hesitation. Perhaps it was a good thing he only had to deal with one overbearing parent instead of two.

"Your mother may seem controlling at times, but you know she comes from a place of love, don't you?" Charles asked once the dust had settled a little. "I know this is a difficult conversation to have, but it is necessary. Not just for your good but for Estfield Manor."

Charles wasn't wrong. The pressure to produce an heir was heavier on him, now more than ever. Before the fate of the manor depended on him, his cousin, Richard, had been the one who had to worry about all of this. When the news of Richard's death reached him in his house one cold night, he felt all kinds of shivers run through him. Richard had died without an heir, which meant he was next in line. Not only did he come into even more responsibility, he had to deal with the never-ending rants of his mother. Beatrice never shied away from bringing up Richard in any conversation with her son, no matter how minute.

"Richard died without an heir. If you do not want to suffer the same fate, I suggest you start to look for a wife. One that'll give you lots of children."

Every time he had this talk with his mother, he would try to end it as fast as possible without having it turn into a full-blown altercation. He couldn't tell her he was nursing the wound Eliza had left in his heart, the wound he wasn't sure was going to heal anytime soon.

Right after the death of his father when he was fourteen, Weston had to forcefully mature into a man as early as possible. Childlike wonders didn't do him any good anymore. He couldn't find joy in the smallest things like the leaves, the sky, or the sun like he usually did. For a while, he became a shell of himself. Eliza had been the one who was able to breathe new life into him. She had been the only one who could get him to open up and enjoy life once again. The joys of life peaked with her. After her death, Weston knew nothing would be able to bring him back to life anymore. Not the vast acres of land he'd inherited, not the title of Marquess, not even the value that came with being the new owner of a manor.

"You know the social season is only a few days ahead. Who knows? Perhaps you may find someone this time around. Someone whose heart matches yours. Someone who wants you for what's in your mind and not your estate."

Weston smiled. "The sun has a higher chance of freezing."

"I'm sure there's some lady in another part of the country right now thinking the same thing." Charles replied.

Weston said nothing in reply. He'd been through several seasons, and yet he couldn't bother to pay attention to any woman for longer than thirty seconds. They were all vain and haughty. They weren't ready to pay attention to whatever he had to say either. They weren't engaging in conversations.

They weren't Eliza.

"It is getting late." Charles whispered. Grabbing the rope one more time. "Unless you want to receive another lecture from your mother over dinner, we should head back."

Weston didn't argue. He'd had his daily fill of the outdoors anyway. He might as well retire into his room and pore over his books until the night fell.

As they rode back to the manor, Weston couldn't help but wonder if Charles was right. Could this season be the one he finds someone for himself? Someone who could make him happy like Eliza did?

Almost as soon as it came, the thought disappeared. Like he'd said earlier, the sun had a better chance of freezing over.