Becoming Rose Belle

The Gardens

The gardens stretched endlessly before them—acres of lush greenery kissed by sunlight. Hand in hand, they walked a familiar path, their silence broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath their feet. They weaved through rows of perfectly manicured box hedges, passing soft pink peonies, bright purple tulips and brilliant white lilies. The robins sang their sweetest song, welcoming the women into their sanctuary.

Rhea stole a glance at her daughter – Annabelle's bright green eyes sparkled like emeralds as she took in the surrounding beauty; her sadness melted away under the sun's radiance, replaced by an unmistakable peace. Rhea couldn't help but smile.

The pair slowed as they reached the magnificent garden fountain. White marble cherubs danced in delight beneath a cascading spray. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby rosebush, misting the air with their sweet scent. Annabelle gently caressed one of the soft petals – so delicate and beautiful. She stooped to pick up a fallen rose. As she tucked it behind her ear, the worries of an uncertain future drifted to the back of her mind. Deep in the gardens, hidden from society's disapproving gaze, she always felt free.

Rhea watched unabashedly, delighted that her daughter's mood had improved. She reminisced on days long passed when Annabelle played happily among the flowers, imagination flowing freely; she was queen of her own world and nothing was impossible. As the years passed, societal pressure tamed her wild heart. She'd become a young woman well-groomed for marriage – replacing imagination and frivolity with needlepoint and piano fortes. Outside of this sanctuary she was a shell of her former self. But here in the gardens, Rhea saw her daughter as she once was - untouched by fear, unburdened by duty, full of life. Rhea brushed a tear from her cheek; if only it could be this way always.

The sun cast a golden glow over the hedge-lined paths, turning the world soft and dreamlike.

Then the dream shattered.

"ANNABELLE!"

The voice cracked through the air like a whip. Rhea stiffened, instincts snapping into place. Her heart pounded. That voice—cold, commanding—could only belong to one man.

John.

Rhea immediately stepped between her daughter and the path. She reached for Annabelle's hand and squeezed gently, a silent assurance that all would be well, though she only halfheartedly believed it herself. She scanned the hedges, and there he was—emerging from the shadows like a storm, dark eyes blazing.

"How long have you been out here?!" he demanded. "Lord Ravenswood is expected at any moment, and she's out here behaving like a common girl with no duties? No discipline?"

Annabelle faltered, stepping back. "Sir...?"

"Don't speak!" he snapped. The rage in his voice made the birds go silent.

Rhea lifted her chin, voice steady. "John, it was my idea. I thought the walk might clear her mind before—"

"You thought?" He took a step forward. "You don't think, Rhea. You follow. That's what you do. That is what you're here for."

Annabelle's breath caught in her throat. She looked between them, uncertain.

John's attention turned to her, gaze sharp and full of cruel intent.

"You are to accept Lord Ravenswood's proposal this evening without question. Do you understand me? You will be obedient, presentable, and silent."

Annabelle's heart dropped to her feet. Her lips parted in protest. "But—"

His hand moved fast.

Crack.

The slap echoed across the courtyard. Annabelle stumbled, the rose behind her ear falling to the ground like a wounded butterfly.

"YOU DARE DEFY ME?" her father roared.

Annabelle lowered her eyes to stare at the ground, a gesture of submission she'd perfected many years ago.

"John..." Rhea gasped, one hand covering her mouth in shock, the other reaching out as if to prevent what had already happened.

He turned to her, raising a warning hand. She froze, but her body trembled with fury.

John leaned in close to Annabelle, voice a hiss. "You will not embarrass me again. Go inside. Clean yourself up. And be ready."

Her lips quivered slightly but did not part - even as the tears rolled silently down her throbbing cheek, her arms remained glued to her sides like a soldier awaiting the next order. The one word command was issued with unrivaled authority - "GO!"

Annabelle nodded, eyes still downcast, fearful that if she met her father's unrelenting gaze he may strike her again. Her body obeyed, but her heart screamed.

Rhea caught her hand gently. Their eyes met for a brief second—silent, aching understanding.

John watched them both. He knew something was unraveling. But he couldn't yet see the thread.