Chapter Twenty-Four

Weston couldn't believe his ears when he heard his wife had left the manor.

"And what? You just let her leave?" He screamed, confronting one of the footmen at the entrance. "You were supposed to keep her in here!"

"We—we didn't know that, my lord." The frightened footman replied, his face draining of color.

Weston sighed. He wasn't wrong. There never was any order to stop Juliet from leaving whenever she wanted. He did not know this would be the thing that sent her away from him. He thought of returning to the drawing room to confront his mother instead. This was all her fault. If she hadn't been perpetually disdainful towards his wife, she would still be here. He headed to their bedroom, mouthing a prayer as his feet sped across the hallway's shiny floors. If this were what he was thinking, he would have a bigger problem on his hands. He pushed the doors open, and the state of the room not only confirmed his fears but made his heart drop in shock. All of Juliet's dresses were gone from the wardrobe. Only a few heavier ones lay on the bed. Her jewels were gone from her dresser as well. He walked in, feeling dejection slowly take over his body. He was never going to recover from this. How long had she been gone? Did she go back to Willowbrook? Was she ever planning on coming back? He knelt on the floor and felt his eyes heat up with tears. He had managed to live through the past six years guarded and aloof. No one had managed to penetrate the walls around his heart.

Except her. She managed to not only break through the walls but also obliterate them. She owned his heart now, despite his failed attempts to keep it from happening.

Now she was gone, and he was again back to his roots. The second time he had to open his heart to someone, he had gotten disappointed again.

He rose from the floor and wiped the tears from his eyes. He would know where she was at the very least a day later. He just needed to wait. He walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, across the halls, and towards the doors. His feet seemed to be leading him for some reason. It didn't surprise him when he realized they were leading him to the walls, towards the garden. It was the only place he could feel connected to her, even if she wasn't around him.

The fragrance of the roses attached itself to his nose the instant he stepped into the garden. He could feel her presence in here. It was like she was in every rose, every lily, and every freshly cut leaf around. His hands grazed past the flowers, memories of all the conversations they'd had filling his brain. How she had laughed whenever he had made jest of someone, how she had gently admonished him regarding other matters. The more he remembered, the more he realized he couldn't live without her.

"My lord?" A frantic male voice called from the entrance.

He frowned. The servants knew better than to get this close to the garden. Whatever he had to say had to be important. Weston appeared before the servant, who had the most worried expression fixed on his face.

"What is the matter?" Weston asked, the same quizzical look still lingering on his face.

"It's terrible." The servant replied. "It is Lady Juliet."

"What happened to her? Has she been found already?"

"Yes." The servant replied, the fervent worry lacing his voice now more than ever. "It appears she might have gotten in an accident on her way into town."

Weston's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"They say her carriage crashed in the woods. They do not know if she is alive or not."

Weston swallowed hard in fear, feeling his knees almost betray him.

"Get my horse." He struggled hard to prevent his voice from shaking.

"My lord—"

"I said, Get my horse!"

Without hesitation, the servant headed towards the stables at full speed. Weston stepped out of the garden, feeling utter coldness swim down his body. He started to mumble another prayer, one stronger than the previous one. He hoped to death that the news wasn't accurate. He hoped this wasn't happening again. He hoped the love of his life was not about to lose her life.

Not again.

He rode with volition. This was the first time he was riding without feeling at peace. His hands trembled on the saddle as the horse galloped across the rough pathways. He continued to hope the worst wouldn't have happened before he got there. Flashes of Eliza falling off her horse disrupted his brain as he continued to speed through the rocky road. The memories began to grow even more vivid that they messed with his line of vision. He had to shut his eyes tight and open them to eliminate the disturbing reminiscence. His heart pounded hard in his chest as he tightened his grip on his horse. He wanted to get there as soon as possible. He wanted to have her in his hands and feel her hot breath against his knuckles. He wanted to see her live.

The servant who had delivered the news to him was not far behind, galloping along on a black stallion as well. Soon, they crossed over into the woods, leaving slight civilization behind. Weston pushed the horse to go even faster, and soon, he started to skip across dead logs and dried leaves. The fallen carriage appeared ahead of him. He could see the horses with their sides on the floor. The carriage had been completely dismantled. He could see a figure lying on the floor and another one leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. The closer he got, the clearer the figures became. Estelle held on to a low-hanging branch, breathing for her life. He could see her hand smeared with blood, and his heart pumped even faster in fear. He did not doubt it anymore that Juliet was the one on the floor, unmoving. Lifeless.

He could not stop his horse fast enough. He jumped down and raced to his wife. He fell to the ground and wrapped his arms around her.

"Juliet." He called, softly, feeling his eyes start to burn again. "Juliet please—" His voice cracked. He held her face and inspected it. Her eyes were closed, and her forehead had a stretched-out cut on it. The blood on the cut had been smeared across her entire forehead. He looked back at Estelle and the blood on her hands.

It must have been Juliet's blood.

"Juliet. Please." He called again, ignoring how vulnerable he looked. "Please. Look at me. Just open your eyes and look—" He trailed off, feeling his tears cut off his voice. He rested his head on her chest and sobbed, a huge weight of guilt descending on him.

He looked up a few minutes later and got up, lifting Juliet off the floor. He turned to his servant, using his other hand to wipe his face.

"Go get Irene. Run. Beat the horse if you have to. Bring her to the manor and ask her to bring her things."

The servant nodded, climbing back on his horse.

"Run like your life depends on it. Do you hear me? Because it does. Now go. Go!"

The servant turned his horse back towards the direction they had come from and started to gallop ahead, leaving a giant trail of dust in his wake. Weston turned to a weak and tear-filled Estelle.

"We need to get back. Now."

***

When Weston rode into the manor with an unconscious Juliet, the mood turned gray almost instantly. Beatrice and Anne stood near the door, their hands clamped over their mouths as Weston carried his wife across the cobblestones and past them.

"Weston—" Lady Beatrice called, trying to reach for her son as he walked through the doors.

"Do not touch me, Mother." Weston replied. His voice was low but laced with immense anger. Beatrice withdrew almost immediately.

"This would not have happened if you—" Weston started to say but froze again as his voice began to croak.

"Leave me be. Please."

He carried Juliet to their bedroom and laid her to bed as gently as possible. Even unconscious, she looked incredibly elegant. Weston pushed stray strands of her hair away from her face and gently cradled it. Fate had to be playing with him to cause him a tragedy this big.

Irene arrived a few moments later, her right hand tightly holding onto a small pouch of items. She was in a grey cloak this time around, one without a hood. Her silver hair shone bright as she moved across the foyer and into the drawing room. Weston led her to the bedroom. He watched her kneel beside Juliet and start to examine her.

"You have to leave, my lord." Irene said a few minutes later, looking up at Weston, who paced relentlessly across the doorway.

"No. I am not leaving her side."

"She is not going to wake up with you doing that. Looking at her like this is only going to keep hurting you. Please. Go out and let me do my work properly."

Weston swallowed. He wanted to contest again, but he started to see the sense in Irene's words. It wouldn't help him or Juliet if he remained in the room. He ran his hand through his hair, not minding the fact that it would become disheveled.

"Alright. I shall remain outside." He said. He moved closer to Irene, a desperate earnestness in his eyes. "Please. Do all you can. She is all I have. She can't die. I don't know what I'm going to do if she does. She can't—"

"I will do all I can, my lord. I promise."

Weston nodded and headed outside, not bothering to look back for once. He walked down the stairs, ignoring his mother's anticipatory looks of worry. He walked to the drawing room and lowered himself onto the chair nearest to the entrance. He untucked his shirt and sank into the chair, shutting his eyes hard.

He would not survive it if Juliet died. It would break him harder than anything ever did. He opened his eyes again and saw his mother and sister both gently trail in. He did not look at them. He stared into space instead. Beatrice and Anne also found their seats on other chairs. No one said anything to the other. No one knew what to say.

At that moment, an understandably solemn silence settled between them. They all remained in that position for hours. When the sun began to dip into the sky, Weston heard the doors to Juliet's room creak open. His sleepy eyes widened almost instantly, and he rose from the chair like a shocked cat. He left the drawing room and walked towards their bedroom, watching Irene approach him.

"She isn't dead." Irene started, her words acting like Weston's closest source of comfort. From the corner of his eye, he could see Beatrice and Anne approach him as well, their eyes sullen and their lips pursed with anxiety.

"But she isn't alive yet either." Irene continued. "I have done all I can, but the rest is left to her. She has to wake up on her own. All we can do is wait."

Weston ran his hand through his hair again. "There's nothing else?"

"I'm afraid not." Irene replied. "I am deeply sorry for the pain you are going through right now, my lord. All we can do is keep an eye on her. The next few days will determine if she will wake up from this slumber or not."

Weston swallowed and nodded. "Thank you, Irene."

Irene walked past Weston and reached for Beatrice's gloved hands. "Accept my greetings too, my lady. It is not easy going through this."

Beatrice stared hard into Irene's eyes, her face coated with immense regret. When she realized the physician wouldn't leave her alone until she replied, she nodded subtly.

Weston threw his mother a stern glare as Irene headed towards the doors.

"This is all your fault." He whispered. "I hope you can live with yourself if she dies."

Before Beatrice could mouth a reply, he turned away from her and headed to Juliet's room. She was in the same position as he had left her, her hands placed gently on her abdomen, her eyes shut gently. He could not bear to see her in that state for longer, so he closed the door behind him.

"Weston—" Beatrice called as he walked past her to the doors.

He could tell his mother was filled with regrets because she hadn't made a snarky retort since he returned with his wife in his arms. He just wasn't ready to give her the audience. He walked out of the manor and towards the walls. The garden would become his only source of comfort until Juliet woke up. He realized, as he entered the garden, that it smelled exactly like his wife. He didn't know whether it was Juliet who smelled like the garden or the other way round, but he didn't waste time trying to decide. He found his familiar bench and sank into it, letting the several fragrances slowly take over his senses. He slowly drifted off in the garden's warm embrace, feeling Juliet's presence in every part of his memories. He could feel her soft hands whenever they touched, her naturally curious eyes whenever he spoke about his past or his experience of the day, her loud, cheery laugh whenever he said a funny sentence, and her sympathetic voice whenever she tried to reassure him.

"Weston?" His mother's gentle voice broke into his memories, causing them to disappear. He opened his eyes and found his mother staring down at him. Her eyes were filled with the utmost sadness, and her hands held each other tightly.

"Can I?" She asked, gesturing towards the empty space on the bench beside him. The space Juliet would always occupy whenever she stopped working. He nodded and watched his mother make her way to his side. For a moment, nothing could be heard except their shallow, anxious breaths.

"You love her, don't you?" Beatrice asked. Weston gave no reply, but Beatrice continued to speak nonetheless.

"At first, I thought you were only trying to fulfill your duty. Up until this morning, I thought that was what you did. But I must have missed it, when you grew closer and your union turned into friendship and then love."

Again, Weston said nothing.

"It was right there in my face but I was too busy trying to get you to see that you could've gotten married to someone else, to notice."

The tears started to slowly form again behind Weston's eyes. Even he didn't know how much he had fallen in love with Juliet until the accident.

"I am deeply— deeply sorry, son. I have been trying to open your heart to other women ever since Eliza. I didn't know Juliet managed to do it, and I continued to make her uncomfortable at every turn."

The tears filled his eyes even more than before.

"I should have known when my son truly fell in love with someone else. A mother always knows these things, and I would've if I'd just watched. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for all I've done to you and her."

Weston turned to look at his mother, the anger in his eyes completely gone. All that remained was fear. Fear and tears.

"I haven't even told her about how I felt. She has no idea."

It was Beatrice's turn to say nothing.

"She still thinks I'm being her husband out of duty."

Beatrice nodded.

"She cannot die, mother."

"I know."

"I do not know what I am going to do with myself if she dies. This cannot happen again." His voice cracked.

Beatrice moved closer and pulled him to herself. Weston leaned against his mother's chest and let the tears and the screams flow freely. Beatrice wrapped her arms tight together, wishing she could pull away some of his pain just like that.

"I cannot lose Juliet." He said, amidst the sobs.

Beatrice patted her son's back gently, letting him release all his pent-up emotions. The last time he had cried like this was the day Eliza died. She couldn't afford to see him in this state. She shut her eyes tightly and also started to mouth a prayer.

Juliet had to survive this. She had to pull through.