A Bloom in Winter by T. J. Brown

Aunt Charlotte had gone on calls, Aunt Charlotte had taken a strange interest in Rowena, at times treating her as she treated Elaine. Rowena and Elaine puzzled over this, but neither was sure what to make of it, only that her ladyship had something up her sleeve and they should both be on their guard.
    But out here, Aunt Charlotte ceased to exist. In fact, everything ceased to exist. It was the closest Rowena had been to happiness since her father died. Except for when she was flying with Jon, or when he kissed her on the frozen pond. But at those moments, she hadn’t been close to happy, she had actually been happy. No, happy didn’t quite describe it. She’d been euphoric.
    But that had been weeks ago. She still searched the sky every day, but the only wings she spotted were those of the crows, whose caws mocked her pain.
    So today she was taking matters into her own hands and riding to the Wells Manor, which lay just to the southeast of theirown home. Long before, a Wells had saved the life of a Buxton heir and had been given a manor home along with a sizable portion of Buxton land. The friendship had been lost over the years until recent history turned the age-old friends into enemies, but surely that had nothing to do with Jon and her, did it?
    Rowena slowed her horse to a walk, her mind spinning. Every time she convinced herself that Buxton family history had no bearing on her future, doubt kicked in. Of course it affected them. How could Jon introduce her to his mother? Mother, I know this is the beloved niece of the man who stole our land and drove your husband, my father, to his grave . . . but I love her .
    Love? Rowena jerked on the reins in surprise and her horse snorted. Where had that come from? Did she want him to love her? Her mind answered with speed so blinding she wondered why she had not seen it before. Yes. Of course she wanted his love. The world had felt so cold and gray in the months since her father’s death and Prudence’s departure, the thought that someone could love her gave her a sense of warmth and comfort. But she couldn’t help but wonder whether that meant that she truly loved him?
    She thought of the strawberry blond of his hair, the clear blue of his eyes, and the keen way he had of seeing and weighing everything. His bravery and persistence when he was testing airplanes over and over again, even with memories of recent—and nearly fatal—crashes fresh in his mind.
    She certainly preferred him to any man she had ever known, but love ? And why would she want him to love her if she didn’t love him back? Perhaps she was far more of a coquette than she’d thought she was. Or maybe she was allowing her fondness for flying, which she loved unabashedly, to influence her feelings for the handsome pilot.
    She was used to missing her father—the pain stayed with her day and night—but suddenly an older, softer ache surfaced, and it was her mother she longed for. Someone she could talk to about young men. Someone to help her figure all of this out.
    The path turned onto a road with a broken wooden fence and she knew she had arrived at the Wells family manor, left neglected and run-down because of her uncle’s greed.
    Swallowing, she turned her horse through the fence, wondering again what she had hoped to accomplish in coming here. Perhaps if she could just speak with him. He had asked her to fly with him again and had yet to make good on his offer. Yes. That was what she would say.
    Feeling more confident, she nudged her horse into a trot and continued down the frozen track. She rounded a corner and inhaled when she saw the home. It was small compared to what she was used to, and it looked older and mellower than Summerset, though it obviously had been built during the same era, as the basic design and stone were the same. But whereas everything at Summerset Abbey was created to inspire awe, Wells Manor was built to be as comfortable and as useful as possible. The kitchen garden,