Windswept

Windswept | Chapter 1

The orange glow of sunlight cascaded down Willow's body as she lay on the soft blades of grass; each strand tickled her bare toes as she basked in the warmth. Her golden hair intertwined with daisy chains and reached down to the sapphire ribbon tied around her waist. The edge of her ivory dress was tainted with dried mud from her morning walk around the riverbank, but none of that mattered; nothing could interrupt her peace of mind—

"Willow!" She followed the frantic voice from across the grounds until her eyes landed on her sister, Celeste. Her silk dress clung to her legs as she ran over to Willow, clutching a piece of paper adorned with silver swirls. "This letter arrived for you."

Celeste's face gleamed with excitement as Willow rose to her feet and brushed her finger across the page, careful not to smudge the ebony ink. Her heart beat faster as she scanned the cursive words luring her into a twisted fate.

Dearest Willow,

I'm writing to inform you that our families have accepted my blessing, and I will arrive at your father's estate no later than Sunday. Although we have not seen each other in many summers, he has arranged for us to marry. Please know I eagerly await our reunion, and hopefully, you can find solace in our marriage if you wish to accept.

~ Gabriel

"Gabriel has asked for my hand in marriage." A faint whisper passed Willow's lips, but it sounded more like a painful whimper. The letter slipped from her weak fingers and fell into the air like a dandelion in the wind.

Celeste couldn't contain herself and wrapped her arms around Willow, her crystal eyes swirling with joy and green envy. "I can't believe you are to marry a Duke! Father will be so proud, Martha will be jealous, but it doesn't matter what she thinks—you must have caught Gabriel's attention."

A part of Willow wished she could be as ecstatic as her sister, but a part of her screamed for freedom, not to be exchanged for a life of marriage and misery.

Celeste picked the remaining daisies out of Willow's hair and softened the creases of her corset with her palm. She may have appeared a caring sister, but to Willow, it was Celeste's way of trying to make her look more presentable in the eyes of the Duke. Ever since their mother died, Celeste became more responsible for her younger sisters, distracting them from grief as they hid their pain behind pretty dresses and dreamed of proposals from princes. When Willow came of age, she knew she wanted more than that life—a chance of adventure.

Celeste gently intertwined her arm with Willow's and guided her back to the stone path toward their blue-brick house, away from the blissful spot she had once nestled in. Willow had lived in this house ever since she could remember; it was all she'd ever known. Each memory danced through Willow's mind, from when she learned to waltz with her two sisters on the ivy-riddled porch to when she caught her breath in the crisp air after escaping another societal ball hosted by her family. Though some luxuries came with being the daughter of a nobleman, it wasn't all good. After her mother passed, like clockwork, she would find her father drinking himself to nothing on the porch swing; whiskey in one hand and his broken heart in the other—he was never the same again.

It felt isolating sometimes, as though she didn't belong in this world. Nevertheless, she bit her tongue and hoped things would be different. As they approached the stained-glass door, their other sister, Martha, peered out of the parlour window and ushered them inside with her hand, making them quicken their pace up the steps.

They both rushed through the hallway into an endless maze of emerald walls adorned with sepia photographs trapped within intricate gold frames leading to the parlour door. The girls pushed ajar its elegant blue frame to see Martha in the same place she was just a moment ago, dressed in her usual walking attire of a burgundy coat lined with gold buttons and a pair of fur-lined gloves to keep her fingers warm. Martha was always a beauty just like their mother, with her eyes a forget-me-not blue and honey-brown tresses that travelled to her shoulders. It was always Father's wish for Martha to be married off by now, but she was always one to rebel and preferred many suitors over a settled life.