TURNING PAGE | ❝I surrender who I've been for who you are.❞
After the loss of her husband, Winifred Erstwhile must come to terms with her new life amidst her grief. In a world where society views her through the lens of marriage, the widow slow...
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1807.
IT IS A PERFECT DAY TO GET MARRIED. The churchyard in the village is brightened by the sunshine of late May, birds singing in the cloudless sky above while there is barely a breeze to disturb the proceedings. White blossom petals have showered the path from the hawthorn tree leaning over it, all leading up to the door of the chapel.
The bride is a picture of purity. Her white muslin dress has a similarly pristine veil draped over her bonnet, which has pale flowers decorated around the band. In her hands, which are encased in delicate, lacy white gloves, she holds a small bouquet of daffodils, picked from her own home. Winifred passes the bouquet between each hand with nerves as she waits outside the church door with her father. She knows her husband-to-be is waiting inside — she is hardly having second thoughts, but suddenly this all feels so overwhelming.
Her father seems just as withdrawn with anxiety as she is. He keeps checking his pocket watch and taking his top hat on and off. Finally, Charles clears his throat, his gloves pawing at his cravat.
"The weather has certainly co-operated today, has it not? It is glorious..." he mumbles.
Winifred gazes up through the thin sheen of her veil. "Yes, it is, indeed."
A beat passes between them both. What is there to say? Winifred can hardly find the words for what she wishes to express to her father. She will always be his daughter, in her heart, but simultaneously when she reaches the end of that aisle, she will no longer be his. Today, she stops being Winifred Seymour, the daughter of a gentleman — she becomes Winifred Erstwhile, the wife of a dashing soldier.
"How are you feeling?" Charles finally asks, tentatively.
"I just... I cannot believe it is finally here," Winifred swallows thickly. She feels a mixture of apprehension and relief.
Perhaps he senses his daughter's nerves, because he suddenly turns reminiscent. "On my wedding day, I was a nervous wreck waiting to say our vows. I kept fretting over them for days and days beforehand..."
"And then?"
"And then, I saw your mother walk down the aisle, and all of the doubts simply washed away. I suppose... I knew that I was ready to be hers." Charles lets a gentle, fond smile take over at the memory; his eyes overfill with a quiet awe at Octavia, even after all these years, when she is not even stood before him. "Joseph is a good man," he adds. "He will make a good husband."
