The Art of turning heart

21 |

The next morning, I found myself seated comfortably in the parlor, sharing a pot of tea with Violet. Despite the calm surroundings and the warm steam rising from our cups, my mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the events of the previous evening. Violet's keen eyes soon noticed my distraction.

"Isabella, you seem quite preoccupied this morning," Violet remarked gently, her tone laced with concern. "Are you feeling unwell, or is something troubling you?"

I stirred my tea absentmindedly, attempting to gather my thoughts. "Oh, it is nothing, Violet. Just a restless night," I replied, forcing a faint smile.

Violet's eyes narrowed with perceptive intuition. "I do not wish to pry, but I cannot help but notice that your thoughts seem far removed from our conversation. Could it be that Edward is unwell? I have seldom seen him in such a state of disarray."

Her observation struck a chord within me. "Edward, ill?" I echoed, somewhat incredulous. "Edward is always the picture of health and vigor. Surely, you jest."

Violet shook her head, her expression serious. "I am not jesting, Isabella. It is merely that his recent demeanor suggests he might be struggling with something beyond mere fatigue. You must be mindful of the signs, for even those who appear invincible can be beset by ailments we cannot immediately discern."

Her words lingered in the air, and I considered them with a newfound gravity. Perhaps Violet's insight held a kernel of truth. I had been so focused on Edward's apparent withdrawal that I had neglected to consider the possibility of his actual illness.

"Thank you for your concern, Violet," I said thoughtfully. "I shall make it a point to observe him more closely and ensure that he receives the attention he may need."

Violet offered a reassuring smile. "Of course, Isabella. Sometimes, a little care and attention can uncover what lies beneath the surface."

As the conversation moved on, I resolved to address Edward's well-being with a fresh perspective, hoping that my growing apprehension would lead to a clearer understanding of his troubles.

After two long weeks of separation, a sense of trepidation welled up within me as I prepared to face Edward once more. Despite my desire to confront him regarding the wedding preparations, a lingering unease clouded my thoughts. The day of our meeting arrived, and I made my way to his residence with a heart full of apprehension.

Upon my arrival, the valet answered the door and led me through the dimly lit corridors of the house. The atmosphere was noticeably somber compared to the lively surroundings I had previously encountered. As we approached Edward's study, the sound of the piano playing softly filtered through the air.

The valet knocked on the door, and Edward's voice, though faint, called out from within. "What is it?" he asked.

The valet responded, "Miss Whitmore has arrived."

A moment of silence followed, and Edward's voice came again, carrying a tone of reluctance. "I am not presentable at the moment. Please inform her that I am unavailable."

I interjected, my resolve firm. "I do not care if you are presentable or not, Edward. I am coming in."

Edward's resistance was clear, but I refused to be deterred. After another moment of silence, he relented and gave his consent. "Very well, let her enter."

As I entered the room, I was struck by the heavy darkness that pervaded the space. The room was shrouded in an unusual gloom, its curtains drawn tightly against the light. The piano had fallen silent.