Page 59 of His Abandoned Duchess

For what joy could there be found in having that which you love stripped from you?

Sighing, Amelia opened the patio door at the back of the ballroom. It was pleasant enough outside, though gray darkened the clouds in the distance, foretelling rain. A storm sounded appropriate to Amelia, but she shook her head at herself. She could not stay a crosspatch for the remaining years of her life. The garden’s uplifting sight had better do its duty in cheering her up.

Sure enough, as Amelia walked across the large marble structure of the exterior patio and down the steps that led to the estate’s lavish greenery and flora, light did return to the darkness that had consumed her. Amelia loved the gardens, the plants she helped to tend whenever she could. They were as dear a friend to her as Charlotte or Selina or Ethel.

“It is Amelia come to see you again. I have missed you.”

She took the first step down into the lawn, her shoes sinking into the earth slightly as it remained soggy from the morning’s condensation. The smell of damp earth and fragrant leaves and flowers filled her nose, easing some of the tension in her chest.

Down from the steps, a straight path shot forward into the acres of land behind Heartwick. On either side, nature appeared to grow unchecked and untamed, the glorious buds of spring blooming with fantastic splashes of color that warmed Amelia’s cold chest. There were taller trees set to the sides along with bushes both bursting this way and that and those sculpted into spheres.

During her walks, Amelia had a set route through the gardens that she would take. It started on the left and navigated through the grounds so that she might see each of her favorite features—the fountain, the brick arches, the pond, and the private alcove created by the massive draping branches of the wisteria tree.

Today was no different, and Amelia turned left, taking the narrow path that led down another set of steps to the fountain below. The melodic sounds of water flowing into the stone basin filled the air, backed by the sunny songs of morning birds.

“To be a bird…” she sighed. “It would be truly wonderful.”

There was a bench near the fountain. Amelia had exchanged many a secret with Charlotte there. Still, she did not stop to sit today, choosing to press on toward the pond. She ducked beneath the hanging blooms of the vining plants that grew along the bricks of the archway, dusting her fingers through them.

A splash exploded with sound and movement as a frog jumped into the pond upon her approach, and the fish kept in the water darted beneath the dark liquid. More seating was scattered oneither side of the water feature, but again, Amelia did not stop there. She had one location in mind, the furthest from the house.

The path wound around, circling back toward the center walkway through the gardens. Amelia followed it, cutting across the middle for the other side. With each step, her soul felt less troubled, the simple beauty of the flowers calming the torrent within her. Come what may, these silent companions remained. No matter what might drag her down, the sun would always rise again.

An annoyance or comfort, depending on my mood, I suppose.

Right this moment, it was becoming less of a stinging thought. The sun would rise. Life would go on. And so would she.

The pale gray bricks of the pathway she needed started up as she crossed behind a massive oak tree. Bright green shoots of grass stuck up between the pavers and just past another smaller fountain, this one with a small table set up nearby for meals in the garden, was the section that led beneath the enormous canopy of wisteria branches. They grew over an unseen trellis, and just at the end was a single white bench.

“Ah,” she sighed happily, “there you are.”

Smiling just a hair, Amelia walked down the narrow path to the bench, a thick hedge of green sitting behind it. The hedge was part of a little maze, which had apparently been a staple of Heartwick since its founding. It was steady and quiet as she satdown, and Amelia turned her face up to the dappled sunlight that streamed through the hanging purple flowers.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the fragrant air and letting out everything that she was keeping locked within her.

I am heartbroken, flowers. I am sorrow made flesh. And I want to hate Richard with everything I have, and still, I cannot.

A single tear slipped free from her eye and dripped down her cheek. Amelia let it sit there, feeling the coolness as a breeze washed over her. Her breathing was shaky, but it steadied as she just let herselfbe.

Snap.

Startling, Amelia sat up on the bench, and her eyes flew open. She looked around herself, not seeing anything out of place. Perhaps it was just a small critter attempting to sneak away. Amelia sat back against the bench again, closing her eyes once more.

Snap.

The noise was closer, and she abruptly stood up off the bench, her pulse flickering in her neck uncomfortably.

“H-Hello?”

The nervous stutter barely broke the air, and Amelia took a few steps away from the bench. She still couldn’t see anyone. God, was she just being paranoid?

Her tension slowly receded as nothing more than a gentle breeze stirred the empty space around her. Amelia sighed, dropping her head as she sucked in a breath to settle her nerves. What a fantastic time her mind had chosen to start unraveling. She was a trifle curse, it seemed.

But as she looked up and lifted her foot to start her walk back, Amelia was seized around the waist. A rough hand holding a cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. She fought the need to breathe, knowing that foul work was at play. She trashed and struggled to pull herself free, but it was no use.

At once, a firm fist was launched into her side, and she gasped on reflex, taking in the fumes that wafted off the handkerchief. In moments, her head was filled with cotton—spinning as her vision went blurry. Amelia could no longer stand on her own, and as she toppled to the side, the person responsible caught her. She searched their faces, trying to piece together the mess of clues her unfocused eyes offered. But she could not make out what she was looking at, too jumbled from the strange concoction entering her blood.

As she began to fade into the blackness surrounding her, she whispered against the wind. “Richard…”

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