A Broken Promise

01 Heart Ache

As twilight settled over a quiet summer evening in 19th-century London, Cornelia sat beneath an ancient oak tree, the delicate scent of wildflowers hanging in the air, tinged with the bittersweet essence of longing.

In her hands was a tear-stained letter—one she had read a thousand times before. The words were now etched into her memory, yet the pain they carried never dulled. Her beloved, the one who brought light to her life, had departed on a military ship bound for distant shores, seeking to aid the king's forces in a conflict that had cast a shadow over the realm. As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the meadow in a warm, golden light, Cornelia's thoughts were consumed by an overwhelming sense of longing and uncertainty.

With trembling fingers, she traced the fading ink, her mind drifting to memories of their shared hopes and dreams, their last embrace, and the tender words that had passed between them. Each recollection tugged at her heart, threatening to unravel the fragile composure she struggled to maintain.

"May I join you, madam?" A voice interrupted her reverie. Startled, Cornelia looked up to find a man standing before her, his features strikingly handsome. His eyes, a rich shade of brown, bore a striking resemblance to the oak leaves overhead, and his hair was as dark as the crows that often lingered around the old church cemetery.

"Yes," Cornelia replied hesitantly, her voice trembling slightly, though she maintained an air of polite composure. The man seated himself beside her, carefully laying his waistcoat on the ground before doing so.

"Tear-stricken?" he inquired softly.

Caught off guard, Cornelia could only respond with a gentle nod.

"A past love, I assume," he continued, his tone sympathetic.

Cornelia's eyes widened in surprise. Who was this man, and why was he so invested in the affairs of a stranger?

"I don't mean to pry," he added quickly. "However, I cannot in good conscience allow a woman as lovely as yourself to succumb to despair."

Lovely? The word echoed in Cornelia's mind, and she felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks at the unexpected compliment.

"Despair? That seems unlikely," she replied, her words betraying her denial. "Besides, who are you to interfere in matters that do not concern you?" Her tone grew more defensive, her gaze narrowing slightly as she assessed the man beside her.

"Please accept my apologies, madam. My name is Montague Hynnesworth."

Cornelia's breath caught in her throat. Could it be? Had she truly just spoken so bluntly to the Lord Hynnesworth? Perhaps she had misheard.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Did you say Hamsworth?"

The man raised an eyebrow slightly. "No, m'lady. Hynnesworth. H-Y-double-N-E-S-worth."

Cornelia felt mortification wash over her. Not only had she inadvertently mocked his curiosity, but now he might think her slow-witted as well.

"My sincerest apologies, Lord Hynnesworth. Had I known—"

He interrupted her with a gentle smile. "Had you known what, Ms. Cornelia? That you would not have chastised me for intruding?" He chuckled softly. "But, wait... How do you know my name? I don't recall introducing myself yet," she gasped, her voice tinged with a mix of confusion and concern. "My lord, have you been following me?"

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, she feared the worst.

"No, no, that's not.. I know of your fa—" he began, but Cornelia, panicked, rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her dress as she prepared to flee. In her haste, she managed only a few steps before stumbling, her hand loosening its grip on the letter. The wind seized the opportunity, lifting the precious missive into the air. Perhaps the gods thought they were offering her solace, but instead, they enacted her deepest fear.