Where Shadows Bloom by Catherine Bakewell

Author:Catherine Bakewell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2024-11-22T00:00:00+00:00

17

Ofelia

My head was pounding when I woke, and sunlight burned bright against my eyelids. I pried my head from my pillow. The rose petals had fallen from my hair and lay scattered about my sheets. Somehow, I’d managed to fall asleep in my gown.

“Lope?” I asked groggily. “Gods, I’m a mess. Can you—”

I paused. The daybed was empty, neatly made. A sigh loosed from my lips. I loathed the feeling that there was something invisible and amiss between us. Like a story left unfinished. Even though she was the one being so stubborn and gloomy. All I wanted was to embrace her and to hear her whisper, All is well.

I slipped out of my luxurious, soft bed. One of my feet was bare, and the other was covered in a yellow stocking, the garter still tied above my knee.

I glanced to the nightstand, where a small piece of paper had been folded up. An elaborate O was scrawled on the top. I quirked an eyebrow as I flipped open the note.

Good morning—I did not wish to wake you.

I am in the library all day. Please visit me when you have a moment. There is much I long to tell you.

Forgive me. I was cold toward you last night. The truth is that I have difficulty finding words when I’m in front of you. My mind is a tangled web, as you know.

You asked for it, so it is yours—something sweet:

The light in your eyes puts the stars to shame.

Lope

It was as if all the strength I’d lost last night had returned, as if I were a dying plant, suddenly revived by cool rain. I pressed the note to my heart and twirled around the room. Those were the same sort of words she’d written about the girl she’d loved. The words I had prayed were about me.

I would keep my own love locked safe in my chest, for now—it wasn’t fair of me, a noblewoman, the daughter of her employer, to make such a declaration to her. I wanted her to feel no obligation to me. She would be the one to lead our dance, when she felt safe and confident enough to unlatch her heart and let me see within.

I could picture it so clearly.

Lope would confess her love to me in the rose garden, and we’d spend nights exploring the palace, experiencing all its wonders. Then, on quiet nights, we would read side by side in the library, nestled by a hearth fire.

I stood in front of a mirror, a little warped but still finer than any I’d seen in my life. My curls were in a haphazard pile on my head, sagging on one side, and my rouge had been smudged away. But I looked at my brown eyes the way she did. They put the stars to shame.

Those were not the words of someone uncaring.

Father had been wrong. Hers were the words of a girl with a tender heart, a heart tender with love.

Elation bubbled through me.

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