Ashes of Devotion

Where did he go?

The grand estate of the Winchesters stood like an unyielding fortress on the outskirts of London. Its towering gates of wrought iron creaked faintly in the winter wind, the sound a faint echo of the rigid control that governed Emilia’s life. Inside, the manor hummed with the faint murmurs of servants and the clinking of china in the drawing room. For all its opulence, the house felt like a cage to seventeen-year-old Emilia.

She stood at the edge of the garden, her slender fingers clutching the lace shawl draped around her shoulders. Her gaze lingered on the frost-covered roses that lined the pathway, their beauty muted but resilient against the bitter chill. It reminded her of him, Thomas Grayson. The stable boy with the sunlit hair and hands calloused from honest work.

Thomas had arrived at the estate two summers ago, his demeanor polite but unpolished, his smile quick and easy. While other boys in the village sought Emilia’s attention with rehearsed compliments and carefully polished shoes, Thomas didn’t need to try. He spoke to her like she was just another person, not the heiress of a sprawling fortune. It was his simplicity that had captured her heart.

That winter, they had stolen moments beneath the old willow tree at the edge of the grounds, where her father’s sharp gaze could not reach. Thomas had brought her wildflowers when the frost allowed, slipping them into her hand with a grin that could melt the coldest night. In his presence, Emilia felt alive, free, and unburdened by the expectations that suffocated her.

But her father had noticed the changes in her. Lord Winchester was a man of rigid principles, unyielding as the stone walls of their estate. He believed in lineage, propriety, and maintaining the pristine reputation of the family name. Emilia’s growing fondness for Thomas did not escape him, nor did it please him.

“Emilia,” her mother’s voice, clipped and proper, broke through her reverie. Lady Winchester stood on the veranda, her fur-lined coat wrapped tightly around her. “Come inside. The air is far too cold for such idleness.”

“I’m not idle, Mother,” Emilia replied with a forced smile. “Just thinking.”

Her mother’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “Well, think indoors. Your father will be displeased if you catch a chill.”

Emilia nodded, turning reluctantly from the garden. As she ascended the steps, she caught sight of Thomas near the stables, his form a shadow against the snow-dusted fields. Their eyes met briefly, and a surge of longing rushed through her. She clutched the railing tightly, her heart aching with the weight of unspoken words.

Later that evening, Emilia overheard a conversation that sent a chill through her soul. Seated just beyond the drawing room, she heard her father’s stern voice.

“That boy is a problem,” he said, his tone laced with disdain. “I won’t have my daughter’s reputation tarnished by some farmhand’s ambition.”

“Perhaps we should let him go,” her mother suggested delicately. “Dismiss him quietly.”

Lord Winchester’s voice darkened. “Dismissal is not enough. He knows too much. If we send him away, he could stir trouble. No, he must disappear.”

The words clanged in Emilia’s ears like a death knell. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her chest heaving with silent sobs. Thomas was no troublemaker, he had done nothing to deserve her father’s ire, nothing but love her. But Emilia knew her father’s will was as implacable as the frost that coated the gardens. Once he made a decision, there was no undoing it.

The following week, Thomas vanished.

Emilia waited by the willow tree every evening, her breath visible in the frigid air as she scanned the horizon for his figure. Days turned into weeks, and the ache in her chest grew unbearable. When she finally mustered the courage to ask one of the servants, the answer she received was both simple and devastating.

“Gone to another city,” the stable hand said gruffly, avoiding her gaze. “Said he wanted a fresh start.”

The words didn’t sit right with Emilia. Thomas had made no mention of leaving; he had promised her he wouldn’t. But without any evidence to the contrary, she had no choice but to believe it.

Years later, the memory of Thomas still haunted her. Every Valentine’s Day, she would catch herself looking at wildflowers and thinking of him. She would trace the petals with trembling fingers, imagining his hands placing them in hers. Even as she grew older and fell in love again, a part of her heart remained tethered to the boy who had vanished without a goodbye.

What Emilia didn’t know, what she might never know, was the truth. Thomas hadn’t left of his own accord. He had been dragged from his quarters one icy night, a sack thrown over his head and his cries muffled by the relentless wind. Lord Winchester had arranged for his disappearance, ensuring that the boy who dared to love his daughter would never return.

Thomas’s body lay buried in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of the estate, the wildflowers growing above him a silent tribute to a love that had been snuffed out too soon.

For Emilia, the question remained unanswered: Where did he go? In the quiet moments of her life, when the world slowed and the weight of expectation receded, she still found herself asking. In her heart, she held onto the hope that Thomas was out there somewhere, alive and thriving, far from the cold grasp of her father’s will. It was a hope that gave her strength, even as the truth lay buried beneath the frost-covered roses of her past.