The Art of turning heart

7 |

As I rejoined Violet, who had been waiting anxiously by the edge of the garden, I couldn't help but share the tumultuous experience I had just endured.

"Violet," I began, trying to catch my breath, "you will not believe what just happened. Edward and I were caught in the rain."

Her eyes widened with curiosity. "Oh, do tell! Was it as dramatic as it sounds?"

"It was worse," I said, shaking my head. "He made some comment about discussing wedding plans, which was infuriating. And then, when we were alone, he kept getting closer. His gaze... it was unbearable."

Violet's brows knitted together. "His gaze? What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath, feeling a flush rising to my cheeks. "He looked at me in such a manner... it was as if he could see right through me. And then he actually complimented me, in the middle of all that. I don't know why, but it made my heart race."

Violet's eyes sparkled with surprise. "You actually felt something? That's quite a revelation. You never mentioned feeling this way before."

"Yes," I admitted, surprising myself with the candidness of my response. "I'm not sure why, but he gets under my skin. I can't stop thinking about him."

Violet's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Well, it seems the great Edward Hawthorn has managed to penetrate that icy exterior of yours. How delightful!"

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Stop it. I'm not about to admit that he's gotten to me. I'm simply... confused."

She laughed softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Confused, or perhaps just intrigued. Either way, it seems you're not entirely immune to his charms."

"Perhaps," I said, my tone growing more serious. "But that doesn't mean I'll allow him to think he has any influence over me."

As our conversation drew to a close, we exchanged our farewells. I climbed into my calèche, the soft cushions offering little solace as I sank into my thoughts. Violet's teasing remarks echoed in my mind, and I found myself staring vacantly out the window, the evening's events replaying in my thoughts.

A few moments later, my mother joined me in the calèche, her presence offering a semblance of normalcy. She greeted me with a warm, maternal smile that I struggled to return. I plastered a smile onto my face, despite the turmoil raging within.

"How was the evening, dear?" she inquired, her tone gentle.

"It was... eventful," I replied, my voice lacking enthusiasm.

She patted my hand comfortingly. "I'm glad you had the opportunity to mingle. It's important for you to engage with society."

As the calèche rolled through the night, my mind wandered back to Edward. His gaze, his touch, and the way he managed to unsettle me despite my best efforts to remain composed—why did he continue to occupy my thoughts so insistently?

"Why can't I stop thinking about him?" I murmured to myself, the question hanging in the air as the familiar streets of the city passed by in a blur.

The following morning, driven by a restless spirit, I sneaked out to the stables, determined to escape my thoughts and the oppressive confines of society. I selected a swift mare and mounted her with practiced ease. As we burst forth from the stables, the world around me seemed to blur, and the wind whipped my lavender gown into a fluttering cascade of fabric.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves was a balm to my frayed nerves, the adrenaline of the ride liberating me from the previous day's entanglements. My gown streamed behind me like a silken banner, and for a moment, I felt as though I could leave all my troubles behind.