Episode 5
1193 Words
A Stitch and a Secret
The tailor’s shop sat nestled between a bookbindery and a perfumery. The scent of pressed linen and rose starch clung to the air. Hyacinth stepped inside, staring at the bolts of fabric stacked like colorful scrolls. Her fingers brushed a navy-blue velvet roll, soft as a whisper.
“I’ve never been to a place like this,” she murmured.
“Then you’re in for a proper introduction,” Edger said, standing close—too close. He leaned near her ear. “Pick anything you like. We’ll have it fitted to perfection.”
His voice sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She took a step away, pretending to inspect a bolt of silk.
“Stop that,” she said under her breath, cheeks flushed.
“Stop what?” he asked, amused. “I’m merely being a gentleman. Nothing more… unless you’d prefer something less restrained?”
She narrowed her eyes, and he smirked before nodding to the tailor, who ushered her behind a divider for measuring.
Hyacinth stepped out again, and Edger’s gaze traveled over her with a slow precision that made her breath hitch.
“Perfect,” he said, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary.
“Your Grace,” Patricia interrupted playfully, arms folded. “Shall we send your ladyship off in one piece, or will we need a scandal before lunch?”
Edger chuckled. “I have matters to attend to. The farm. There’s been trouble with the boundary lines again.”
“You’re leaving me?” Hyacinth asked.
“Just for a few hours,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Try not to fall in love with anyone else while I’m gone.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled faintly.
The sun lit the cobblestones golden as Hyacinth and Patricia strolled through the town. Hyacinth’s eyes widened with every shop, every cart, every noisy hag hawking ribbons or candied apples. She was discovering color and noise and life all at once.
“This is… overwhelming.”
“It’s just a street,” Patricia said, laughing.
“I know. But it’s outside.”
They passed a music store and a flower stall before stopping in front of a pastry shop. It smelled like cinnamon and honey, the air sweet and warm. The bell above the door jingled as they entered.
“Well, if it isn’t my mystery lady from the ball,” said a voice.
Hyacinth turned—and there he was. David. Still wearing that same easy smile, now behind a counter dusted with powdered sugar.
“You own this place?” she asked, surprised.
“And a bar just two blocks down. This is my sweet side,” he joked.
David handed them warm pastries on the house and pulled up a chair. He spoke casually, but his eyes kept flicking to her face, searching.
“New clothes, new status… but still the same Hyacinth underneath?” he asked.
“Mostly,” she replied, biting into a flaky lemon tart.
They laughed, and for a moment, Hyacinth forgot who she was supposed to be.
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Dinner at the estate was quiet. Too quiet. Edger barely spoke until the plates were cleared. Then he rose and looked at her.
“Come to my chambers.”
It wasn’t a command. It was a request. A quiet, private invitation. She hesitated, then followed.
His room was dark wood and blue velvet—so different from her own pink prison.
“I hate my room,” she said suddenly.
He raised a brow.
“Why?”
“It’s pink. Soft, girlish. I’m not a rose petal.”
“I’ll have it redone,” he said.
She looked at him skeptically.
“I’m serious.”
He walked closer and reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered along her jaw. She didn’t move.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Touching my wife,” he answered.
Their lips met—not urgent, but curious. Exploring. His hand slid down to her waist, pulling her gently to him. Her fingers gripped his shirt, breath shaky. They moved toward the bed, stopping just short. Her heart raced.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered.
“I know.”
He kissed her neck, slow and warm. Then her collarbone. Her breath caught. But before anything more could happen, he stopped.
“Goodnight, Hyacinth.”
She blinked. “Good…night?”
“I plan on sleeping beside you,” he said, smiling lazily. “No rush. We have time.”
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Morning After
The morning sun crept through the curtains, warming the edge of the bed. Hyacinth stirred, reaching out instinctively.
Empty.
Edger was gone.
She frowned, running her hand across the cool side of the mattress. No note. No scent. Just silence.
Slipping out of bed, she wrapped herself in her robe and began humming softly as she walked down the hallway, bare feet tapping gently against the wood. The house was unusually quiet, save for her voice echoing in soft melodies.
A maid emerged from the corner, bowing quickly.
“Your Grace,” the young girl said, wide-eyed. “There’s… a woman waiting for you downstairs. Says her name is Adelaide.”
Hyacinth paused mid-step.
“Adelaide?”
“Yes, my lady. She asked for you personally. She said she’s… an old friend of the Duke’s.”
Hyacinth’s humming stopped. Her heart thudded in her chest like a warning drum.
A woman stood in her doorway. Tall, striking, with lips painted deep red and eyes sharp as daggers.
“You must be Hyacinth.”
“I am.”
“I’m Adelaide. Edger’s former lover. I was with him the day you arrived—thought you’d like to know why he wasn’t there to greet you.”
Hyacinth’s throat went dry.
“He loves me, not you,” Adelaide continued smoothly. “He always will.”
Before Hyacinth could reply, Adelaide turned and disappeared down the hall.
That evening, Edger returned.
“Who is Adelaide?” she asked.
He paused while removing his gloves.
“She’s someone I used to know. A long time ago.”
“That’s it?”
He walked to her, kissed her forehead, and said, “I’m leaving for France tomorrow. Just a few days.”
He gave no further answers.
Two days later, wrapped in a brown cloak and bonnet, Hyacinth slipped out. She found David at the pastry shop.
“You look like a thief,” he said, amused.
“I need information.”
He listened as she asked questions. About Adelaide. About Edger. About their history.
“Everyone knew they were in love,” David admitted. “But no one knows why he didn’t marry her.”
That night, back at the estate, Hyacinth searched for a misplaced hairpin. In Edger’s room, her fingers brushed against something in his desk drawer.
Sketches.
Drawings.
One of them… was Adelaide.
Hyacinth stared. Beautiful, detailed, shaded with care.
He could draw?
He had drawn her?
She clutched the papers, heart pounding. Anger and sadness welled up together.
What am I to you, Edger? Just a replacement? Or something else entirely?
- Writer
