Perfectly Imperfect

38

     Elias followed his wife in the garden, trailing behind her as she ran about the different bushes. He could not prevent himself from smiling, even as the grey clouds rolled overhead. It was nice in a way, saving them from the beating sun of the end of summer but bringing just a slightly cool breeze wafting through the air. Aera was so busy smelling, touching, and looking at the flowers and other plants that she didn't even notice the weather beginning to change. Not until the cool breeze hit her, and she shuddered a little.

     "Hamidall is ours. Yours. You have your garden," and suddenly, nothing mattered more to him than making her happy, "Anything you want them to plant, they will. To make it your very own," they had been planting the same flowers for decades with no one to steer them in a new direction. While beautiful, the roses and carnations could be seen as just a tad dated.

      She turned to look at Elias, smiling fondly when he told her she could make the garden her very own. She already had ideas for what she'd do, for what flowers she'd plant where, how it'd look, but... It didn't quite feel like her place. "Was it not meant to be Genevieve's? She is with child now, and if she has a daughter, it ought to be hers, no?" Aera loved this place, truly; she wished she could stay here instead of going back to the ton. But it wasn't hers. Genevieve's mother had left it for her, and while she might not have wanted it then, it didn't mean she didn't want it now or that she didn't want it for her children.

     Elias shrugged, "I told you. She said she did not want it. That means it falls to me, as Baron. And to you as my Baroness, my wife," my everything, but he had stopped himself. It was the hormones, the lust, that damn dress! This was Aera, his sister's friend; he did not love her. This was Aera, his very own wife, and he very well might... The battle was incessant.

    "Well, I think you should ask her again." Aera pointed out, smiling at how sweet the scent of the flower was, "She must have been asked this after your mother's death; is that not so? She was young and hurting. Perhaps her answer has changed."

     She gazed back over the entirety of the garden as if, for a moment, it would be her own instead of the Viscountess's, "I think it is quite beautiful as it is now. Was it your mother's idea for all of these?" She gestured at the flowers around them before making her way over to yet another flower and smelling it. The last thing she'd want to do is erase any part of his mother.

     Elias looked to the flowers, swearing that he had felt a drip of rain on the top of his head-- must have been the wind. "To my knowledge. Though, to be fair, it could very well have been her mother's, and she simply continued it on. I don't think any of us ever thought to ask her, or my father for that matter. I am sure we could ask the gardener, wherever he is." He walked closer to his wife across the pathway, and a large droplet struck his shoulder, and there was a wet spot to coincide with it. This was certainly a drizzle. Yet, it did not look too heavy-- there was time yet.

     Just as he approached, she looked up at the sky, having felt something hit her as well. Was it going to rain? Where had the sun gone? Aera nodded, letting her gaze drop back to her husband. "I think we should ask the gardener. I would like to know. If any of this was your mother's idea, I would like to preserve it. At least some of it. It was hers; it should not be replaced," she'd give anything to have these sorts of bits and pieces left from her mother. Perhaps she was projecting a little, but so be it. "Do you have a favorite flower?" She asked with a small smile, trying to seem casual about it.

     Elias took her hand and strolled along the gravel. He listened to the crunch of the rocks underfoot as he thought about his answer. He knew more about flowers than his usual male counterparts... not by choice. His younger sister had drilled into his head what good and bad flowers were, and if she were to receive 'bad flowers' from a suitor, she would not marry them. "Dahlias," he nodded in affirmation. There were none in this garden, "The pink ones. It's the way that the center blends in with the petals and makes it look like a big petaly ball." There were a few consistent drops every ten or so seconds now. Whatever was coming was coming.