Episode 16
1160 Words
Chapter 16
The Name He Tried to Bury
The next morning arrived cloaked in silver fog. It swallowed the manor grounds like a breath withheld too long. The servants moved quietly. Even the birds seemed cautious.
Hyacinth stood before her mirror, tightening the last ribbon of her gown. She had barely slept. Her mind replayed Edger’s words—“That name is dead.” But she could no longer ignore the pull in her chest or the shadows in his eyes. Something powerful was buried beneath that name.
And she was going to dig it out.
Patricia helped her pin her hair. “You’re leaving the estate this morning?”
“Yes,” Hyacinth said. “Tell anyone who asks I’ve gone for a stroll. Nothing more.”
Patricia raised a brow but didn’t press.
“Just be careful, my lady.”
Hyacinth left with a cloak drawn over her shoulders and determination in her steps.
By midday, she had reached the outer part of town. It was quieter here—less polished, more human. The homes were smaller. The air tasted of iron and moss. But here lived people who remembered.
And one of them was Mrs. Althea Hemsworth-Rowe—a distant cousin of the Hemsworth bloodline and one of the last known connections to the family’s fall from grace.
She lived in a stone manor surrounded by neglected rose bushes. Time had swallowed the house in ivy, but something about it made Hyacinth's skin prickle.
A maid let her in after much convincing. She waited in a musty drawing room lined with portraits of sharp-cheeked men and severe-looking women.
At last, a frail but piercingly alert woman in lavender silk entered the room.
“Your grace,” the woman said, voice crisp. “To what do I owe this unannounced visit?”
Hyacinth stood. “I believe you once knew Laurence Hemsworth. Duke Adrian’s son.”
“I knew the whole cursed line,” Althea replied, sitting slowly. “They buried themselves long before the public did.”
Hyacinth hesitated, then stepped forward. “I’m married to Edger. His son.”
Althea blinked. “That poor boy,” she muttered. “Didn’t inherit the cruelty, thank the heavens. But he inherited the silence. The self-destruction.”
“What happened?” Hyacinth asked. “Why was Laurence disinherited?”
Althea’s lips thinned. “He was accused of forging documents to claim land that belonged to another cousin. It caused a rift. Fists were thrown. Blood spilled. The scandal would’ve ruined us all. The family paid off the courts, erased records, and gave him a new name.”
“Thompson,” Hyacinth whispered.
“Exactly,” Althea said. “The shame was meant to die with him. But his son… your husband… he carries the wound like a badge.”
Hyacinth rose. “He deserves to know the truth. The full truth.”
“He probably already does,” Althea replied coolly. “What he doesn’t know is how much of his pain wasn’t his fault.”
That afternoon, a royal summons arrived.
Hyacinth had barely stepped foot back into the estate when the butler handed her the envelope—thick, wax-sealed, and bearing the Queen’s crest.
“You are requested at the palace,” it read, “for a luncheon with Her Majesty.”
The palace shimmered like a dream. Towering columns and chandeliers taller than trees greeted her at every turn. When she entered the Queen’s private garden, she found a long table of polished ivory wood set beneath an arched glass pavilion.
The Queen stood at the head, dressed in emerald silk and dripping in pearls.
“Your grace,” the Queen greeted with a knowing smile. “You look flushed. Have you been running from something… or toward something?”
Hyacinth curtsied low. “Perhaps both, Your Majesty.”
The Queen’s gaze lingered with unnerving precision. “Do sit. I’ve been curious about the Duchess of Hemsworth. The mystery wife who stole our most unattainable duke.”
Hyacinth smiled politely. “I’m still figuring him out myself.”
They ate quietly for a while—berries, delicate sandwiches, wine the color of rosewater.
Then the Queen spoke again. “You do know who you married, don’t you?”
Hyacinth’s fork paused midair. “A man with a difficult past.”
“That’s a delicate way to phrase it,” the Queen said, her tone darkening. “You see, Duchess, some bloodlines never truly die. They just change names.”
Hyacinth set her fork down. “And is that what this is? A warning?”
“A caution,” the Queen replied. “This court has long memories. And the Hemsworth scandal never fully left its mark. Should your husband ever seek to revive it, the nobles will not forget.”
“Shouldn’t the truth matter more than reputation?”
The Queen smiled softly. “Truth rarely serves those who speak it. It only serves those in power.”
That evening, Edger returned.
Hyacinth met him at the stairs.
He looked tired. But not the same kind of tired from before. This time, it was weariness built from knowing something was catching up to him.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
“In the study.”
Inside, she handed him the burgundy leather book.
“I know,” she said simply. “About your name. About the Hemsworths. About your father.”
Edger stared at the book. Then at her.
“I didn’t want you involved.”
“I am involved,” she repeated, voice steady. “And I think the Queen suspects we’re digging.”
He moved to the fireplace, resting his hand against the mantle.
“There’s more,” he admitted. “My father… he used to speak in his sleep. Rant about the cousin he ruined. The cousin who should’ve inherited it all. I thought he was mad until I saw the writ.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because that name—Hemsworth—it’s cursed. Tainted by his greed. I didn’t want it touching you.”
Hyacinth walked to him. “Maybe it’s time you reclaim it. Not for power. But for truth.”
He looked at her like she was the only light in the dark.
“You always see what I don’t.”
“And I always will.”
Later that night, as Edger paced the hallway alone, a figure stepped from the shadows.
“Quite the performance she gave at the palace,” said a voice.
It was Lord Tavington, a sneering baron and longtime rival of the Thompson family.
“You should tread carefully, Duke,” he added. “Your wife’s curiosity could start fires best left cold.”
Edger said nothing. Just stared.
Tavington smirked. “The truth is like oil in water, Edger. Always floats to the top. And when it does…”
He stepped closer.
“We’ll all be watching.”
- Writer
