The Orchids of Ashthorne Hall by Rebecca Anderson

Author:Rebecca Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shadow Mountain Publishing
Published: 2024-03-26T19:00:56+00:00

Lament

There is much to regret and much that I miss.

But the notion that is now and forever outside my reach,

The feeling I can never recover,

The most lost thing

Is

Hope.

Chapter 10

Hyacinth closed her bedroom door and leaned against it, imagining that Lucas stood opposite, his heart and hers beating in unison through the heavy wooden door. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the residual heat on her skin and reveling in the blissful memory of that sweet and surprising kiss.

How could it be that only a week ago, there was no Lucas Harding in her life? Every time she stepped into the greenhouse, she moved with the anticipation of when he would appear. Not only that, but with the expectation that he would be as delighted to see her as she was to see him.

Unfastening her skirt and changing it for a nightgown was the work of a few moments. She hung her working clothes in the wardrobe, pausing to run her hand over the soft, silky fabric of the one pretty dress she had brought with her to Ashthorne.

She pictured herself, hair shining and piled into a magnificent creation atop her head, looking lovely in a blue dinner dress that complemented her eyes, sitting across from Lucas at the enormous dining table in the great hall. In her fantasy, candles burned atop every available surface. Far more candles than would ever be called for. An absolute abundance of candles. And the table laden with platters of roast fowl, joints of meat, berries, jewel-bright carrots and beetroot, loaves in every shade of brown, pies, pastries, and cake after cake after cake.

She even thought she could hear the tinkling melody of a song played on a pianoforte accompanying the meal. What a delight to have such an imagination on nights like this. Was it imagination? It seemed she actually could hear the sound. But piano music . . . now? So late in the evening? Her mind must be swept away by her dream.

Well, nothing for it but to give in to the dream. More candlelight. More glances across the table. More music.

The idea of Mrs. Carter supplying and serving every last morsel of this imaginary feast marred the pleasure of the image, so Hyacinth simply conjured up a full kitchen and serving staff to go along with the sumptuous, fanciful meal. She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes closed, trying to bring scents to her mind to match the images. The pleasure of such imaginings was so great it felt practically painful.

Finally, she realized the pain was real, and she was, in fact, hungry. She sighed and pulled a wrapper around her shoulders. She would go into the kitchen and find something to eat. She took the taper out of its holder on her bedside table and made her way downstairs.

The hallway, vast and dark, felt different in the nighttime hours, more unnerving, more uncanny. And never more than tonight, when thought of strangers wandered through her imagination.

What

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