The sky was covered with snow, with clouds scattering their delicate white flakes on the cold streets of London, covering the heads hidden by their round hats, and the icy breeze knew what would fall coquettishly on faces described as a gentle blush.
"Not today, Harold."
Harold nodded with displeasure that settled on his face before he left the pet shop with sluggish steps born of the disappointment that accompanied him for two consecutive days.
The roads of London were not crowded, and the afternoon was almost over. He was walking aimlessly, his eyes frustrated by a sinful look that bit his heart for two nights. He was unable to extricate himself from the gaze of the little child of the beautiful woman with whom fate had led him to meet two days ago
He hoped to see them again. Perhaps to atone for a sin that still troubled him, or to stock up on what he had sought at the first station. It was never his nature to flirt with a married woman, especially one who was holding a small child by the hand.
But she never looked like a married woman. Perhaps she was a widow. God, how he wished she were, with her sharpness and the sternness of her words, the coldness of which he could still feel firmly in his face. How difficult she was to deal with, so utterly captivating.
He sighed sadly and raised his head, crossing the road to the other side, when he felt every cell in his body shudder with longing. There she was. In her blue velvet dress and her hair curled softly beneath her pretty round hat, he could never have missed her, even though he had only seen her one night
He rushed across the road, following her as she walked the few steps between her cart and the elegant knitting and fabric shop that was next to the flower shop. He stood in front of it for a few minutes, catching his breath after she entered La Marcheille, famous for its dazzling feminine clothes.
Harold picked up a lilac from a vase between the flower and fabric shops, while a wandering smile crept across his lips as he headed to La Marcheille, feeling his heart pounding eagerly .
The jingle of the shop bell after he pushed through the door was enough to draw the eyes of the women who stood looking at the luxurious dresses towards him, and he tensed. His smile dissipated with a confused glance as he scanned the faces, unable to find the one he was looking for... to worry.
"Harold?"
His path was blocked by the shadow of a young lady who tied her flowing hair back with a nice blue ribbon that matched her bright eyes with their neat freckles, and she smiled.
"Mr. Harold Sigrid. What a lovely opportunity to meet you again."
She looked happy, and he didn't dare disappoint her by revealing that he didn't know who she was. He smiled awkwardly, keeping his eyes from daring around the corners in search of the person who had stolen his attention for a second. "Thank you, miss. It's also wonderful to meet you."
"What are you doing here?" The young girl looked at him questioningly, so he remained silent. Was he telling her that here, in a women's store, he was looking for a woman whose name he didn't even know? This wasn't strange to him anyway.
"I'm looking for something. Would you excuse me?"
He quickly bowed to her and withdrew deep into the women, his impudent eyes touching each one's face with almost dying hope. He put down the lilac that shared his disappointment and stopped behind a woman who knelt in front of a buttonhole, sewing it and clearing her throat.
"Excuse me, madam. I'm looking for the last woman who came in here. She was wearing a blue dress." He didn't think much of his bold question as he watched the store employee turn to him, her brows knitted, and his face brightened with delight. "There you are!"
She had removed her blue robe to reveal the white of her beautiful gown and had lifted her hood from her curled brown hair to reveal her scowling features, tinged with a sarcastic look that inflamed him. "Mr. Sigrid. What do you think you're doing here?"
"Wow. You remember my name." He grinned mischievously, leaning against one of the mannequins, his luscious greens bouncing off her glossy physiques with indignation that exploded in her whisper. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, mister, but this isn't the place for it. This is a workplace!"
"I know. And maybe my presence is causing you problems with the employer here, but I've been looking for you for a long time, and I'm not leaving now that I've finally found you."
She was angry. She bristled at his evasive replies and his wandering smile, and every moment her eyes darted back to the anxiously preoccupied ladies, one of whom might have deliberately stuck her ear between them
"And why are you looking for me, Herr Sigrid?" She held her tone with forced calm, looking up into his face, which beamed with delight as she kept up the conversation. He looked amused, which irritated her. "I wanted to make sure you'd forgiven me for my completely impudent act the other day in the Animal Shop. It worries me greatly."
"I've already told you that your apology is accepted!"
"Then why didn't you tell me your name?" Harold looked at her eagerly, a rage rising again in her eyes, which sparkled like honeyed tea leaves on a snowy winter's night. How they fascinated him.
"Because I don't tell strangers my name. Particularly a man as bold and stubborn as you, Herr Sigrid." Her tone hardened with a hint of contempt that didn't shatter his pleasure from their conversation, whatever it might have been
"Then it would be a pleasure to no longer be a stranger to you. If you would only tell me your name." He murmured softly, his eyelids drifting dreamily. "I'm absolutely sure he'll be as beautiful as you."
"Those attempts won't work with me." She grimaced, roughly picking up the tape measure from the mannequin. "I'm not oblivious to you, Lord Sigrid. A young, brash, and reckless lord known for his honeyed tongue and famous flirting, your reputation preceded your shadow here, Lord Harold. So every movement you make and every word you utter is no more new to you than it is to me. So tell me without hesitation what it is you want from me?"
For the second time, he felt the slap of her firm words against his gently wrinkled face. He licked his lips slowly, trying for the first time in his life to arrange his letters so as not to anger a furious Yrkana who remained before him, even though that call had made her look behind him for a moment.
"If you please, Lady Martial!"
"Marcelle! Is that your name?" he said enthusiastically and cheerfully, his eyes fixed on hers, her lips pursed in annoyance as she gave the lady a small nod, before turning stiffly to him. "There you have it. Now leave, please."
A sideways smile graced his lips gently. He leaned forward a few inches, freeing the lilac rose with its alluring redness between her fingers, which clenched around it with annoyed surprise evident on her face.
"That's fine for a start, Mrs. Marcelle." He blinked his right eye at her very gently, causing her to frown in disapproval as he watched her over his shoulder with his steady smile as he left the store, feeling as if his past hours of anxiety had quietly passed
Harold crossed the road to the other side, where an English café was open. He comfortably took one of the outdoor seats. He drew a deep breath before looking at the bright shop sign on the opposite side with a gleam in his eye that melted into a flash.
"La Marcheille."
He arranged the letters on his lips in a whispered French accent and smiled .
It was as if the sun weren't real that day in Ilkan's sky. It was as if it were a lamp that witnessed the tyranny of snow for the first time in days over the flowering fields, tucking it in among the melting flakes with extreme depth, a sad, trembling cold.
"Hand me another basket, Rashdan!" Louie swept the snow with effort from in front of the door, listening to the shouts of Albert the gardener, who rushed toward the cherry field where the latter was harvesting the ripe red fruits amidst the snow.
He stole a fifth glance between the two minutes at the hill that had swept away snow that he could see bearing down on the strawberry farm below, and sighed heavily. He was against Albert's urging him to go inside and rest, where he had found in the snow a refuge where he could banish the disturbances of his mind
"It's almost noon and Mrs. Pallum hasn't arrived. Isn't that strange?" His insistent question couldn't be suppressed as he put down the shovel and approached the hill, taking a closer look at the closed house where no foot had set foot since morning.
How strange.
"We're not asking her to come, Louie. She comes whenever she wants." Albert's constant answer, responding to his every question with a sideways glance, was unwavering. Louie's anxiety was not spared the sarcasm of his uncle and his garden, nor their mutual, baseless comments.
He was simply surprised that she hadn't arrived, or even been seen painting as usual in front of her house. The place downstairs was haunted by ghosts, and the spirit of silence dwindled miserably, which was unusual. During yesterday's random conversation, she had told him that she didn't know when she would return to the city. It was impossible that she had left suddenly in the dead of night .
Dusk was melancholy with its crimson colors that spread, tinged with winter's rays that covered the body with a harsh shiver like the stinging winds that swept through every corner of the rural town with its fruitful farms.
The giant clock in the corner of the house set its five hands in a monotonous sound that harmonized with the sound of the hot tea pouring from the luxurious pot like an antique masterpiece, followed by the two sugar cubes sliding into the cup that Louis picked up from his uncle, absentmindedly.
"So..." Albert spoke in a high tone that startled him and made him pay attention to him with a question. The former dispelled his knowing smile at the reason for his distraction with a serious, expectant look. "You told me last night that you wanted to talk to me about something important. What was it?"
Louis pursed his lips in recollection
His mind could barely recall the main reason he had come to Ilgan in the first place. And now, almost four days after his arrival, he only now remembered his uncle's conversation.
What a dull mind he had.
"About this..." Louis took a very deep breath, before letting his tongue run wild, listing all the problems he had faced since his first night back in London. He told him about his father's insane debts and the mortgage of his house to the greedy horseman Zain Haroun, without neglecting the advice of his grandmother, Councilor Cornelius, or Harold's brilliant counsel.
When he reached Harold's final advice on marriage, his tongue was briefly slow to narrate, feeling an unpleasant pang playing with his gut along with a prolonged chill he did not like
"...and he said marriage would solve all my problems." He sighed heavily, a sad conclusion to a sad dilemma, and Albert raised his eyebrows, revealing a small smile behind his teacup. Not a bad idea. But not a fair one, either .
"That's what I told him. I wouldn't marry a woman just for her money!"
But he wouldn't shut up. He went wild, making suggestions about who might make an ideal wife. It was very annoying. Louis paused for a moment, before slowly licking his lips. "He was adamant that Sigyn Palom was the perfect choice for the matter. Money and beauty in one woman, he said."
"Not a particularly good suggestion." Albert smiled faintly, noting Louis's inexplicable, ever-changing impression of the blonde woman. The latter merely licked his lips, sipping his tea in silence for a moment. "Maybe."
Albert raised an eyebrow at his hesitant comment, which contained so many vague thoughts, and Louis sighed. "It's just that she's a bit unusual and strange. I can't imagine having a wife like her."
Albert nodded in understanding, which Louis met with a distracted look, his mind almost returning to its wandering shrine once more, and he put down his mug curtly. "Anyway, I'm sure she thinks I'm a weirdo right now."
"Why would you say that? It's not true." Albert shrugged. He looked at Louis with a resigned sneer, his final expression furiously revealing the source of his annoyance that crowned his troubled thoughts. "I always act weird and am the most flustered person around her! I don't know what's wrong with me."
He was so angry with himself.
"That's because you haven't dealt with a woman in your life after your grandmother." Louis' eyelids widened in disapproval at his uncle's sarcastic comment, which was followed by a laugh on his protesting face. "It's not true! I've been in a lot of relationships and I know very well how to deal with women."
"Well, well. Maybe that's what happens... because you like it." Albert glanced at him from behind his cup of tea, watching his face flatten with a look of disapproval filling his eyes .
Louis couldn't believe that assumption was even a single percent true. He hadn't even decided whether it was a good idea to develop a relationship with this woman and whether it would last until they returned to the city. He couldn't even imagine how his grandmother would react if she knew about all these developments.
"This is ridiculous," he commented after a while, facing Albert's sideways smirk that made him roll his eyes in annoyance. "This isn't love at first sight, Albert. I can't fall in love with someone in just two days. Especially not a woman I can't understand like Seven Palom."
"Love at first sight is often the only true love you'll ever meet. With the most unexpected people." Albert smiled sadly, and Louis fluttered, his patience shrinking.
"I'm not fond of Seven Palom, Albert. And please continue our conversation because I don't like where this conversation has drifted."
"Don't get worked up. I was just messing with you." Albert gestured for him to calm down, laughing as he put his empty mug aside and his serious face returned. "This problem is very complicated, Louis. I don't know what's wrong with Mark that he would do something like this. Did he leave anything that could be sold?"
"No. Not a single thing." Louis exhaled in utter despair, turning his eyes to the window piled high with winter flakes they shared. "And the mortgage is coming up, and Zain Haroun won't negotiate at all. And I've got nothing else to do. Whatever I do, I won't be able to raise the money before the deadline."
A sterile silence reigned.
Albert couldn't say anything that might console his nephew; he wouldn't succeed anyway. His features twisted in dismay as he watched the sadness flood Louis's withering blue eyes, before his shoulders suddenly slumped back .
"Wait here!"
Louis couldn't utter a word as Albert rushed out under his puzzled gaze, listening to his footsteps follow him upwards. He disappeared for several minutes, his incomprehension overwhelming him.
He fiddled with his fingers silently, his uncle's movements touching his ears every now and then, until he returned with a wide smile adorning his lips and his hand holding a blue velvet box in front of Louis's astonished gaze. "What is this?"
"Open it."
Albert took his seat again, and followed him, examining the box in confusion before opening it, revealing a diamond ring with a blue sapphire stone that glinted against his astonished lookalikes. "Is this..."
"Anna's wedding ring," Albert finished with a dreamy smile, glancing at the antique ring for a moment. "It belonged to my mother and my grandmother before her. It was supposed to belong to Joanna, your mother, but when you decided to marry Anna and the family refused to help me, Joanna gave it to me to propose to her. It's a valuable heirloom. If you sell it, it'll bring in a handsome sum that will help you pay your debt to Aaron." The farmer finished with a small, affectionate smile, though Louie didn't move. He looked at his uncle for a moment and the diamond band for another, and sighed.
"I can't have that ring," he stated quietly, putting the box aside and his uncle hurrying over before he could object. "It belongs to Anna, Albert! I can't take something that's bound you two together for years to solve a problem of my own! I just wanted to share what's been bothering me, and I'm sure I'll find a solution to this situation."
Albert didn't respond for a moment. A faint smile appeared on his lips as he looked at Louis with a warm, elusive gaze. "You're still as poetic as you are, Louis."
"It seems to be in my blood."
Albert laughed lightly, matching Louis's slightly displeased smile as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded, returning to the still lake of his reverie.
Like a pillar of the cold night, the moon hid shyly behind a thick cloud, depositing its icy tears on the pages of the book he opened under a lamp hanging near the tangled jasmine trees, where he lay down very relaxed.
Although he preferred the spring weather that most of the time dominated the town, that winter night reminded him of the foggy features of the city, stirring thorns of longing in his heart, which was almost filled with sorrow.
He had thought that a week in the fields of Ilgan would help him clear his mind and give him some ideas for getting rid of what his father had gotten him into, but he had hardly even reached that point. He had been dull-minded and preoccupied since his first night here
Louis lifted his torso from his lying position, stretching his limbs with half an eye that cast a searching glance down the hill, his features opening up with attention. The lamp glowed below, casting its light on the house whose door he had opened and the shadow that moved so quietly between the jasmine trees.
This was the first time the mysterious blonde woman had left her house that day, as far as he could tell. It was surprising that she hadn't even thought of visiting Albert, as she had in the past few days.
"Mr. Legrent." Rashdan's inviting voice from beside him startled Louis, craning his neck from Seven Pallum's distant silhouette to the gardener questioningly. "Dinner is ready. Mr. Wilson is expecting you."
He nodded absently, his eyes stealing glances once more at the wandering inhabitant of the strawberry farm as he slowly rose to his feet. "Mrs. Palom left her house. I thought she'd left when she didn't come here today."
"She never leaves without saying goodbye to Mr. Wilson." Rashdan informed him, joining in his eyeing the woman in the distance, before the gardener smiled weakly. "You should go and talk to her. She might be sick or need something."
Louis's gaze was filled with wonder as he glanced at Rashdan in surprise, before he caught his breath hesitantly. "Do you think so?"
"That's just a suggestion."
Louis didn't comment for a moment, wavering. He couldn't decide if it was a good suggestion or not. What if it wasn't a good time? What if she didn't want to see him right now?
"Yes. Albert would definitely want to check on her." He blinked uneasily. He felt Rashdan snatch his book from his grasp, sending him an encouraging smile. "I'll tell Mr. Wilson to wait a little while."
He didn't say a word as the gardener walked away, leaving him in a turbulent whirlpool. He knew that Rashdan's behavior stemmed from what Albert kept implying. The latter misinterpreted Louis' interest in this woman.
He didn't overlook her dubious reputation, her uncomfortable actions, or her extreme thinking. She was like a window through which he looked out onto a new and strange world, different from the one in which he grew up. This was what led his curiosity to her, and nothing else.
Taking another sluggish step, he approached the garden, which seemed in a strange state of chaos. Jasmine petals filled the folds of the grass, and the shadows of the trees reflected in the light of the lamp, which distracted the blonde from the narrow scope of her field .
There was something different about her. He was surprised when she wore a dress as usual. He saw the wide pants that sculpted her figure, along with a loose shirt that allowed him to detail her body from below, as she did without the corset, which he never believed any woman could do without.
He knew that this style of clothing for women was common in France, but he didn't imagine that any English woman would wear it. But then again, the woman before him was not like any other English woman.
He watched her pick jasmine flowers from their branches, petal by petal, into her basket. Her long hair was not styled, but rather scattered lightly, wrapped around the tie of her blue scarf, which she never did without, despite all the changes she had adopted.
He couldn't imagine her appearing in such a form somewhere in London. Banna would never be safe from the women's gossip, and worse, their repulsive, angry looks would never spare her
"Good evening, Mrs. Palom." He sniffed gently, pulling her neck towards him so that the lamp's flame would bounce off a very tired face that surprised him, with her hoarse voice, as if she had spent the day shouting nonstop. "Hello, Mr. Legrent."
She had barely finished her lukewarm welcome before she went on with whatever she was doing with the flowers, leaving him standing there like a fool, perplexed by her shifting balance.
"You didn't come today, so Albert was a little worried and suggested I check on you to see if anything was wrong." He arranged his words hesitantly, watching her loose locks (with her scarf) slide lightly to her side, creating a charming look that attracted him.
He couldn't deny her beauty in this picture, despite her vague exhaustion and coded anger. She looked attractive in this French style that tore apart all tyrannical English restrictions
"I'm fine." What a tone, as cold as snowflakes on the back of his neck. He wished he had argued with Rashdan about his suggestion and hadn't come to her to be in such a bad mood on such a harsh night .
He watched her lift her basket full of scattered jasmine petals and trace her steps toward her door on a path of loose grass between the snow and roses. He felt confused, and worried.
"Is everything all right, Mrs. Palom?"
"Yes." Was all that came out of her briefly, before she closed the door of the house without adding anything. He stood there amidst a tragic picture, obliterated by winter's melancholy touch, staring at the traces of her footsteps far from him, his chest burning with a burning anger.
He wasn't even interested in strengthening his relationship with her or anything like that. It was noble of him to come and wonder about her absence, not that he really cared. He was only doing it for Albert.
He entered the ajar door, his brow furrowed and his features downcast, lost in a sky of indignation and pride, trembling with humiliation for the second time because of her, to meet Albert at the dining table, smiling broadly
"So how did it go?"
Like someone waiting to hear a single word... only to explode with fury.
"She... she's a crazy woman! It was my fault for thinking she's not who everyone says she is! She's completely crazy and I won't even think about speaking to her again!"
And he meant every word he said in his moment of anger .