Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

Mrs. Rosier

The Rosier Family Estate (England).

Late Autumn, 1967.

Wesley's completely shocked when he crosses paths with Toinette three days after the night they met in the greenhouse.

He'd thought - quite reasonably, in his mind at least - that she was nothing more than a party guest who'd wandered off and ended up in the greenhouses.

And when they'd shared the tea together, they'd only really talked about him, at least only him in any meaningful sort of way. After all, being as visibly distraught as she was, and in need of a friendly and comforting distraction, his natural instinct was to let her guide the conversation. And when she'd discovered he was muggle-born, she was so unbelievably curious.

"I've never met a muggle-born ..."

Her exact words, whispered disbelievingly as she stared at him wide eyed, her steaming mug of tea momentarily forgotten as she held it cupped between her two hands. All this as the two of them sat across from one another at the small onyx cast patio table in the moonlit conservatory they'd wandered into together after preparing their cups.

"Never ... met ..."

"Never."

Wesley, shaking his head incredulously as he fought back the urge to chuckle at how adorably serious she looked in this moment, leaned forward and set his own mug down on the table, "Surely you have. Perhaps you just didn't realise it?"

... Because just how impossibly sheltered would someone have to be to not - to not -

"No!" 

At this, she was completely adamant, her blue eyes locking on his brown ones, "On my life, never ever."

Apparently not, as she then proceeded to ask him question after question about his life, his family, everything.

And Wesley, though naturally a shy, quiet man, found himself effortlessly conversational in her presence. Her, this absolutely breathtaking woman sat across from him wearing the oversized sack coat he'd lent her to keep her warm given the chill of the night. Quite a vision, her in that coat with her grey couture gown peaking out just beneath. But no vision quite compared to the warmth of the smile that flitted across her face as she'd thanked him for it ...

And so, you see, he'd never gotten around to asking her about herself ...

And now, as he watches her make her way down the long gravel lane through the gardens with Achille Rosier at her side, he rises up from the dirt and nearly drops his trowel out of shock and surprise.

At first, his mind stalls as he struggles to put it together. Make no mistake - he's as sharp a man as any - but seeing her here, so unexpectedly, has caused his mind to fog up, to freeze. And so, for a brief moment, he wonders if perhaps she's come back to visit the family once more.

Perhaps a very close friend of the family, yes?

But then ...

Why's she alone in the company of the husband? 

Bit ... unusual, to say the least.

She hasn't spotted him; not yet, though she will in just a moment's time. At present, she's busy whispering something to Mr. Rosier, her face drawn up into a stressed frown. And he, walking at her side, shakes his head vigorously before guiding her to a stop, hand gripped possessively on her elbow as he leans forward and whispers back to her.

As Wesley casts the trowel to the side and reaches down for the nearby shovel, he frowns at the sight of her with him.

Not quite sure what to make of it all -

The two of them, together like this ...

Unless -

... Unless ...

He's openly staring now, but luckily for him, no one seems to notice. The other gardening staff, off in the distance, far too busy puttering around. And Toinette and Mr. Rosier, presently occupied as they continue to stare intently at one another.

But ...

She's so much younger than him -

When they finally turn away from one another and resume walking down the lane, that's when her eyes find Wesley's. And at the way her expression shifts, at the way she nearly stops short again in a display of self-conscious shock, Wesley finally puts it all together:

Mrs. Rosier.

She's Mrs. Rosier.

She's the Lady of the Estate.