such extraordinarily beautiful creatures
could be so gratingly vocal, especially in the early hours of the
morning.
It was late morning by the
time she tired of meandering the grounds and inspecting the gardens
to the south. She was on her way back to the house when the smaller
structure captured her notice.
The carriage house proved to
be delightful, owning of a cot, small dresser, and a two-seater
carriage, the design of which told her it was definitely of the
last century, although to look at it, she could not find a scratch
or worn spot.
The white-washed walls of
the opened room sported all sorts of harnesses, whips, and reins.
She took down one of the whips and gingerly tested it. She couldn't
imagine anyone actually using such a thing on a horse. It felt
heavy in her hand. Almost sinister. But as she flexed her fingers
on the leather-bound handle, she felt a thrill of power. Daringly,
she gave a firm snap of her wrist. The tip of the lash cracked
ominously close to her chin.
Replacing it on its hook,
she chose instead to run her fingertips over the other
items.
The musky smell of leather
filled her nostrils. Inhaling deeply, she made a slow appraisal of
the room then headed out the double doors.
She looked up at the cry of
a peacock. Perched on the highest peak, it looked down at her and
ruffled its feathers. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
Then she sighed as she glanced at the front door of the main house.
There was so little to do to pass away the time more quickly.
Certainly not housework. Everything in the place was spotless. The
gardens were weed-free. Perfection. She wasn't used to being idle,
not after eight years of catering to her mother's every need. Then,
there had hardly been time to curl up and read a book. Always so
much to do.
A pensive frown creasing her
brow, she strolled to the east side of the property, where the
largest of the rose gardens created a low-walled maze. Bees zipped
from flower to flower, their seemingly over-zealous buzzing giving
her pause to get too close. Until one particular section zoomed in
on her awareness.
Pale purple
roses.
Folding her legs beneath
her, she settled comfortably on the ground.
Memories
surfaced.
Shortly before her mother's
death, Beth had planted a row of similar rose bushes along the
fenceline across from her mother's bedroom window. The roses,
Rita's favorite flower, had been intended for her to enjoy. But she
had died before the first blossom had opened.
“Life never goes as we
expect it to,” Beth said sadly, running a finger along the edge of
one of the soft petals. “I wish....” Tears welled up in her eyes,
but she fought them back. “You didn't deserve to suffer, Ma. I did
everything I could. But it wasn't enough, was it?”
Her chin
quivered.
“As many times as I wanted
to end your pain, I couldn't bring myself to.... The anger and
frustration I read in your eyes will always haunt me. Forgive me.
Please, forgive me.”
In place of her heart, an
enormous ache thrummed and, despite the control she'd mastered over
the years, a sob escaped her.
A movement close by gave her
a start.
She looked up. The heaviness
that had been building in her chest waned at the sight of Lachlan
sitting alongside her.
“Good morning,” she managed
with a halfhearted smile.
“Tis a heart-wrenchin’ sound
you make, Beth. Wha's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I've a broad shoulder to
cry on.”
A strained laugh escaped
her. “Why would anyone wish to cry on such a beautiful
morning?”
“Hmm. Somethin' tells me
you've held in yer feelin's too long.”
Choosing not to respond to
his uncanny ability to delve into her psyche, she gazed absently at
the purple roses.
“Did you manage to
sleep?”
“Yes.” Drawing in a
fortifying breath, she added, “The bed is very
comfortable.”
“Hmm. And here I thought I'd
detected shadows beneath yer eyes.”
Beth swiped the side of a
hand above her cheeks. “It's probably a residue
could be so gratingly vocal, especially in the early hours of the
morning.
It was late morning by the
time she tired of meandering the grounds and inspecting the gardens
to the south. She was on her way back to the house when the smaller
structure captured her notice.
The carriage house proved to
be delightful, owning of a cot, small dresser, and a two-seater
carriage, the design of which told her it was definitely of the
last century, although to look at it, she could not find a scratch
or worn spot.
The white-washed walls of
the opened room sported all sorts of harnesses, whips, and reins.
She took down one of the whips and gingerly tested it. She couldn't
imagine anyone actually using such a thing on a horse. It felt
heavy in her hand. Almost sinister. But as she flexed her fingers
on the leather-bound handle, she felt a thrill of power. Daringly,
she gave a firm snap of her wrist. The tip of the lash cracked
ominously close to her chin.
Replacing it on its hook,
she chose instead to run her fingertips over the other
items.
The musky smell of leather
filled her nostrils. Inhaling deeply, she made a slow appraisal of
the room then headed out the double doors.
She looked up at the cry of
a peacock. Perched on the highest peak, it looked down at her and
ruffled its feathers. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
Then she sighed as she glanced at the front door of the main house.
There was so little to do to pass away the time more quickly.
Certainly not housework. Everything in the place was spotless. The
gardens were weed-free. Perfection. She wasn't used to being idle,
not after eight years of catering to her mother's every need. Then,
there had hardly been time to curl up and read a book. Always so
much to do.
A pensive frown creasing her
brow, she strolled to the east side of the property, where the
largest of the rose gardens created a low-walled maze. Bees zipped
from flower to flower, their seemingly over-zealous buzzing giving
her pause to get too close. Until one particular section zoomed in
on her awareness.
Pale purple
roses.
Folding her legs beneath
her, she settled comfortably on the ground.
Memories
surfaced.
Shortly before her mother's
death, Beth had planted a row of similar rose bushes along the
fenceline across from her mother's bedroom window. The roses,
Rita's favorite flower, had been intended for her to enjoy. But she
had died before the first blossom had opened.
“Life never goes as we
expect it to,” Beth said sadly, running a finger along the edge of
one of the soft petals. “I wish....” Tears welled up in her eyes,
but she fought them back. “You didn't deserve to suffer, Ma. I did
everything I could. But it wasn't enough, was it?”
Her chin
quivered.
“As many times as I wanted
to end your pain, I couldn't bring myself to.... The anger and
frustration I read in your eyes will always haunt me. Forgive me.
Please, forgive me.”
In place of her heart, an
enormous ache thrummed and, despite the control she'd mastered over
the years, a sob escaped her.
A movement close by gave her
a start.
She looked up. The heaviness
that had been building in her chest waned at the sight of Lachlan
sitting alongside her.
“Good morning,” she managed
with a halfhearted smile.
“Tis a heart-wrenchin’ sound
you make, Beth. Wha's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I've a broad shoulder to
cry on.”
A strained laugh escaped
her. “Why would anyone wish to cry on such a beautiful
morning?”
“Hmm. Somethin' tells me
you've held in yer feelin's too long.”
Choosing not to respond to
his uncanny ability to delve into her psyche, she gazed absently at
the purple roses.
“Did you manage to
sleep?”
“Yes.” Drawing in a
fortifying breath, she added, “The bed is very
comfortable.”
“Hmm. And here I thought I'd
detected shadows beneath yer eyes.”
Beth swiped the side of a
hand above her cheeks. “It's probably a residue
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