Sunlight-Colored Roses

“The menu is planned in the morning,” Melinda told me as she preceded me through the vast kitchen. Enticing aromas punctuated the air: cinnamon and other spices, simmering roast, freshly-baked bread. I savored the smells, my imagination sparking as to what delicious meals I could plan.

“The cook requires time to prepare the dinner courses, so lunch is a more moderate meal of soups and sandwiches.”

Melinda opened the pantry to reveal shelves of preserves, jams and dry goods, the former two labeled and dated in handwriting. I looked at both familiar and exotic offerings, intrigued by the names of fruits I had never heard.

“The wine cellar is below stairs, but we have a list on-hand of our vintages, so you don’t need to go down there.”

Melinda handed me a large ring of keys, some of which were old and rusted, and preceded me to the kitchen entrance. She gave me a sympathetic smile. “His lordship will arrive today,” she said. “I will leave you time to freshen up.”

I went to Mina’s room, where I found her tucked in the windowsill, braiding her long, black hair and gazing out to see.

“Come with me,” I said. “I need to change my clothes. “Lord de Courtenay is coming soon, and I must wear something besides this.” I gestured to the plain dark dress I had worn for my lessons with Melinda in the kitchen.

Mina bounded up from the windowsill eagerly. “How exciting. What will you wear today?”

In my room, the scent of roses permeated my senses. As I had fallen asleep the night before, their perfume had comforted me, the soft blossoms like beacons in the moonlight.

But now I felt no comfort. My heart beat erratically as I felt the anticipation of Lord de Courtenay’s arrival.

Mina lifted a gown from my wardrobe. “This one, I believe, is your finest.”

The gown was a pale blue satin, with a quilted bodice. The stiff bodice and generous sleeves was inspired by Renaissance-era clothing; in particular, the mode of art popularized by the Pre-Raphaelite artists, who had re-popularized English lore and legends for the increasingly urbanized public.

It was my finest dress in cut and color, but it was simple, and meant for an afternoon social, rather than the ballroom.

The portrait neckline revealed my white shoulders and throat.

I reached into my jewelry box, where I found a golden locket, which was different than my other jewelry, which was fine and new. The heart-shaped locket was delicate, but tarnished and worn. There was a pair of golden earrings to match it.

I extended the necklace to Mina to clasp around my throat. She combed my hair but left it down, pulling it away from my face with golden combs. My hair swept beneath my waist, the color of burnished wood.

I stared at my sensual, unfamiliar appearance in the mirror. Then I saw Mina sprinkle perfume on my shoulders. Before I could protest, she winked. “Don’t look so frightened, Miss Katrina. You look beautiful. His lordship will be very pleased.”

When I looked at my reflection, I saw that my cheeks were as white as the roses on my dressing table.

I reached for Mina’s hand and pressed it. “Thank you,” I said, my voice tight.

She smoothed my hair and looked at me wistfully, in her ethereal mood. “I will be in my room waiting if you need me,” she said before she left.

As I descended the stairs to the main room, I half-expected to find another note in the parlor from Lord de Courtenay, apologizing again for his absence. It was easy to imagine my life becoming this way: dressing up and parading around, waiting for my unseen bridegroom. It was a dreary thought.

I stepped into the parlor, and my breath froze in my throat, as I met the dark eyes of a man across the room, a tall, slender man obscured by the light of the window.

My heart began hammering, because I had not really expected him to be here.

“Miss Mellor.” He smiled as I looked at him, and he bowed from the waist, a slight gesture with a sense of sardonic humor.

I stood rigid, clinging to the door frame with one hand. “How do you do?” I asked. My eyes dropped from his as I curtseyed, then stepped forward.

He strode toward me, and I looked at him. His face was lean and tan, his hair black and his eyes large and molten-brown. I was relieved that he was not ogreish in appearance, nor a great deal older than me.

He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. I was not wearing gloves, and startled at the feeling of his lips on my hand.

“You look very beautiful,” he said, savoring my appearance; the details I had attended: my gown, hair, jewelry. “Step into the light. I would like a better look at you.”

He drew me to the window, and the heat rose in my face as he observed me more closely. I could feel my face stiffening because I was unhappy in being scrutinized.

“I hope you are pleased with the mansion,” he said. I heard a trace of arrogance in his void.

“It is very beautiful. I have wanted for nothing since my arrival.”

Lord de Courtenay noted the discontent in my voice but made no comment, only intensifying his silent study of my face. I looked into his eyes, and he saw the coldness there. To placate me, he took my hand, and I stiffened, breaking his gaze.

“It will be a great adjustment for you,” he observed.

I withdrew my hand. “To be sure, I am not used to your ways. I am a plain person.”

“I know. It is why I chose you.”

I looked at the garden through the window, which was wild and unlike other manor gardens. The plants received more sun and water on the island and they grew lush and unrestrained. Flowers were everywhere, on shrubs and over vines, and sprinkled in the field with the sea grasses.

“You do not know me. Perhaps you have made a mistake.” I began fingering the locket, trying to open it, but it was rusted shut. Frustrated, I dropped my hand.

I stiffened as he touched my shoulder.

“Katrina,” he said. “May I call you that? I know you are frightened. We come from different backgrounds, and all of this is unfamiliar to you. I will give you a complete tour of the island. We have this entire week to get to know each other.”

I nodded in agreement, but his smooth, sardonic manner was not completely unknown to me. I sensed that he would retain this veneer and remain unknowable to me, in the short spans of time he would be at home.

My life had been dull and rural. Isolated, but without expectation of more. I had been happy taking care of sheep and reading books. As a noble wife, I was meant to remain idle and indoors, a different kind of isolation. A treasure on his shelf, waiting for him. Which I would be, because now I had no one else. But I was not a porcelain bric-a-brac. I had feelings.

I met his eyes, which were the color of honey. Warm, melting eyes, but I realized all too quickly that I wanted more in my husband than a handsome facade. I had been obsessed with fears that he had wanted me instead of a noteworthy bride because he was somehow unworthy of the public eye. I had not considered that he might lack the depth and affection that most aristocratic men seemed.

“Would you like to walk in the garden?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

“The parlor has only been recently opened. Most of the rooms have remained closed in my absence. However, now that you are here I will have them all opened.”

“I don’t need so many rooms. Just one in which to sleep, and one for my day’s use. The chambers that I have now are adequate.”

“Those rooms are only for your temporary use,” he said. “When you are my wife, you will share my room.” His voice was cool and dispassionate, and I wanted to object to both his words and inflection. But I sensed it was too soon to voice objections, and I would have to play more carefully.

How quickly this was becoming a game, because I knew that I was being manipulated, and I was too overpowered to fight with directness and transparency.

I walked ahead of him, taking in steadying breaths of fresh air. My insides trembled, because my fears had been realized: not as I had expected, but more subversively. He seemed too shallow to be capable of a true relationship. While he might be handsome, there would be no depth to our encounters, and my heart would not take pleasure in him. What a disastrous, unforeseen mistake. However, I was too inexperienced to know what I wished. I was at a time when a poor possibility was only known to me once I was committed. I did not know enough of life to foresee long-term problems, and life was moving too quickly. This was not fair.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

“You know I had no choice in this. I accepted you for my father’s sake: to make him comfortable.”

He noticed the flush on my face and smiled, which angered me more. His behaviors only confirmed my conjectures that he was arrogant and shallow. In a way I had known since I had first seen the manor that this life was constructed of shallow facades.

“Forgive me if I have offended you,” he said, “but I find I must be forward to crack the wall of ice that surrounds you.”

I glared at him with disbelief. “I… a wall. If you want to reach me, you may do so with evidence of respect, or an overture of friendship. You have treated me like a trinket, another flower in your garden, that thrives in a shallow life without need for treatment of its soul.”

“I did not ask you to dress this way. You could dress very plainly, and you would still be very beautiful.”

“That is not my point.” I swept past him, hearing his mocking laughter.

I turned a corner in the garden and followed a narrow path, then another. I realized I was running away from him. I heard the rustle of leaves and knew that he followed me.

I lifted my skirts and began to run through a shadowed corridor of trees, then through an overgrown maze of box hedges. Tree limbs covered the path, making it difficult to move quickly.

He was still laughing, but he sounded further away. There were statues of nymphs and satyrs playing in the garden, half-obscured with vines. I crouched behind the base of the statue of a nymph, breathing heavily.

I was embarrassed by my behavior, and that my feelings had gotten the better of me.

After a moment, my heart stopped racing. I moved the grasses away from the nymph’s pedestal and read the Greek letters: agapae.

I knew that it meant love, and that the inscription on another nymph’s base, chara i, meant joy. I wanted the sentiments in my life to be real, not carved into ornaments.

With a sigh, I stood, feeling better, when a shadow fell over me.

Lord de Courtenay was shadowed against the sun. I raised my hand against the brightness and turned away. He laughed and came to me.

“I hope you won’t always be this way,” he said. “I did not choose you for my bride only to have to chase you down when I wish for your company.”

I found myself pressed back against the statue. His hand was on my arm, as though he expected me to run away again.

“I hope your flighty ways can be cured,” he said with a slight frown. I could hear steel in his voice despite the lightness of the gesture.

“Or you will have to keep me under lock and key.”

He laughed, and turned me toward the mansion. “Do you see that tower?” he asked, gesturing to a darkened dome on the edge of the building. “That is where my ancestors kept their disobedient wives. We will go and see it together tonight.”

I could not tell if he was joking, because despite his sardonic tone, I heard the steel undertone.

His hands smoothed the heavy sleeves of my gown and he came behind me, close to my throat. “You chose a beautiful gown,” he said, his gaze moving to my breasts, which were more exposed to his viewing angle than was usual.

“I wore it for you, of course,” I said, conveying my indifference with my coldness.

He brushed the loose hair from my shoulder and fingered it. “You please me, Katrina,” he said. He kissed my neck at the base of my hair, and I froze.

I did not pull away from him. I remained where I was, while he caressed me, his hands moving from my shoulders to the top of my breasts. For a moment I felt myself drowning in unfamiliar sensations, and my body craved his touch. As I arched against him, a cry rang out across the garden.

“Lord de Courtenay, are you there? An urgent letter has arrived for you.” I recognized Melinda’s voice.

Lord de Courtenay released me with a muttered curse. His eyes glowed angrily as he stormed across the courtyard. I did not follow him. I sank down against the statue, with no wish to move. My body felt feverish and unfamiliar to me.

Gradually the lethargic, dreamlike sensation left me, and I stood and returned to the mansion. I fingered the streaks of grass that had marred my sleeves.