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He furrowed his brow, unsatisfied with the answer. “I do not know that any dream can be considered foolish. I should like to hear of these dreams, regardless of their possibility, if you would be willing to tell me.”
After all, you do not know if there is a way that I might help them become a reality…He kept that to himself, just in case she had lofty ambitions of becoming a Spanish Queen or something of that ilk.
She sighed softly behind him, her fingertips tightening around his as they wound through the last few yards to their final destination. “I adore attire and fashions from all across the world.”
“You do?” he encouraged, eager to hear more.
“I have since I was a child when I would admire all of the beautiful fabrics that came from my father’s cargo,” she answered shyly. “He used to give me the scraps, and I used to design and sew my own garments. I still made sketches and alterations to my own dresses and observed all of the fine ladies in their gowns, even after my father lost his business and fortune. I’d listen to the chatter of the fashion houses to find out what was new and sought after on the Continent and beyond.” She paused. “But that would require the comfort of my old life to make it come true, so… as I said, it’s foolish.”
Dorian struggled to think of encouraging words to say, his mind working far slower than his heart, which was already thinking of a thousand ways in which he could aid her. Fortunately, the woodland came to an end at that moment, giving him a brief reprieve to dwell upon what he might say.
Ahead lay a beautiful meadow, unspoiled and blossoming with summer wildflowers, all of the vivid daylight colors turned pastel and silvery in the moonlight, adding an ethereal touch to the wonder of this place. A rabbit stopped on a sloping expanse of soft green grass and observed them for a minute before hopping away.
“Look!” Rose whispered, her eyes saucer-wide with amazement.
“What?” he whispered back, not quite knowing why he had to use a hushed tone.
Rose pointed up to the very top of the meadow, where the grass and the wildflowers bled back into more woodland. Dorian followed the line of her gesture. His breath caught in his throat as he witnessed a spectral creature standing proud, its majestically antlered head turned toward them, like a king surveying his subjects.
“The stag…” Dorian gasped, for the creature only seemed to appear these days whenever Rose was near. And the beast had never looked more like a spiritual messenger, as its white hide turned silver beneath the moon’s metallic caress. It stayed where it was for a few minutes more before it turned around and disappeared back into the forest.
“What is this place? I’ve never been anywhere so wonderful!” Rose let go of his hand and ran off into the meadow like a giddy child, scooping up handfuls of the dainty, sweet-scented wildflowers with delirious abandon. He watched her with a smile upon his lips, marveling at her ability to find joy in the smallest of things, even after the challenges that life had hurled at her. Every so often, she turned back to him with the widest grin, her laughter shimmering up into the night’s sky to join the twinkling constellations.
You are remarkable, Rose.He blinked as unexpected tears came to his eyes. He had avoided women as best he could for the last twelve years, and those whom he had encountered had not garnered so much as a second look from him. And those were the ones who did not dare to look into his demonic, mismatched eyes in the first place. Yet here he was, unable to take his gaze away from this spirited, fierce, perpetually surprising young woman, who had no qualms whatsoever about looking into his eyes for as long as she pleased.
“What have you done to me,” he whispered, as she merrily danced in circles among the flowers, creating a bouquet with each twirl: tufts of corncockles, with their upturned purple cups; fluffy white fronds of ramsons; robust, bright blue cornflowers with their spiky petals; rich red poppies with black centers; purplish harebells and darker bluebells; the daisy-like blooms of the wood anemones; and the taller stems of fuzzy white cow parsley, interspersed with the sunshine yellow of kingcups and buttercups. She finished off with a few pyramidal orchids, with their tiny pink flowers, before brandishing the posy in his direction.
“This is like another world, My Lord!” she cried with glee. “I never want to leave it!”
Neither do I, Rose… Neither do I.For as he looked at her spinning around and around in the meadow, with that bouquet clasped to her chest, her skirts flying out around her like her dervish, revealing shapely calves that wore no stockings, he understood why he had brought her here, despite the gardener’s words.
“I am falling in love with you,” he murmured. And nothing had ever terrified him more.
