Episode 8
667 Words
:Her Eyes Were Never Still
Hyacinth had never cared much for empty rooms, but today hers felt particularly loud. The walls, the silence, the stillness—everything seemed to conspire against her. The bed was far too big without Edger, and the corners far too dark.
Patricia was fluffing the pillows behind her, humming something cheerful. Hyacinth sat before the mirror, brushing her hair with long, unhurried strokes.
“Your grace,” Patricia started softly, “how about we go into town again today?”
Hyacinth paused, her brush mid-air.
“Not the pastry shop again,” she replied, forcing a smile. “David will start charging us rent.”
“Well,” Patricia teased, “he wouldn’t mind, judging by how often he lights up when you walk in.”
Hyacinth gave her a sharp look.
“He’s just kind,” she muttered.
But even she didn’t sound convinced.
She had been visiting David’s shop more than usual. Not just for the pastries—but for the company. For the quiet, judgment-free laughter. For the chance to be seen not as a duchess or a wife, but just… Hyacinth.
The pastry shop was unusually quiet that morning. David had his apron tied half-heartedly, flour in his hair again.
“I made too many lemon buns,” he said, placing a plate in front of her. “Eat enough and you’ll forget you’re married to someone who disappears for days.”
Hyacinth tried to hide her smile. “That obvious?”
David shrugged. “You hum when you’re irritated.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
She took a bite, chewing slower than usual.
David leaned against the counter. “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said. “But I will anyway.”
She placed her fork down.
“A woman came to see me. Said she was with him on the day I arrived. Said they used to be in love.” Her tone was casual, but her fingers twisted the napkin until it tore.
David’s eyes darkened.
“Did she say her name?”
“Adelaide.”
David’s posture stiffened just slightly.
“I remember her,” he said, after a beat. “From back when I still sold brandy more than sugar. She was always around. Sharp tongue, sharper wardrobe.”
“And Edger?”
He hesitated.
“They were… known. She didn’t hide her affection. Neither did he.”
Hyacinth pressed her lips together. “Everyone in town knew, then?”
“Everyone who mattered.”
She felt it again—that quiet sting. She didn’t know if it was betrayal, jealousy, or simply the ache of being left in the dark.
David leaned closer.
“Don’t let her win,” he said, voice low. “Women like her only come crawling back when they see you shining.”
Hyacinth stood, wiping her hands on her gloves.
“I’m not shining, David. I’m surviving.”
Later that evening, she sat alone in the garden with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The breeze was calm. The stars slowly gathered like gossiping housemaids. And still, she couldn't stop thinking about the way Adelaide had spoken.
So certain. So smug. Like love was a leash and Edger was still hers to pull.
If it were truly over… why didn’t he say so himself?
Patricia joined her minutes later with a steaming cup of mint tea.
“I bumped into Harold’s wife, Prisca, at the market,” she said, handing over the tea.
“Oh?”
“She said they might visit tomorrow.”
Hyacinth nodded slowly. Maybe Harold would talk. Maybe someone would finally say something that didn’t leave her spinning.
“Patricia,” Hyacinth said softly, “when Edger returns… if he acts like nothing happened, should I pretend too?”
Patricia looked at her with the kind of pity Hyacinth hated.
“No, my lady. Pretending only works for people with nothing left to lose.”
- Writer
