Aconite Eyes

Chapter One

England, 1823

With the arrival of spring, a noticeable liveliness swept through the inhabitants of Preston and the entire county of Cheshire. While winter had been a time of stagnation and widespread lethargy, the first rays of sunshine seemed to restore everything to its natural state. The dull creaking and incessant cawing of crows were replaced by the soft tapping of footsteps and the gentle chirping of birds. Spring was a time of rebirth, not just in nature, but also in society. It heralded, among other things, many trips to Warrington, especially by young women hopeful for advantageous engagements. It was common knowledge that wealthy bachelors—and even married men—frequented Warrington, London, and other major cities, trying to blend into the lifestyle there. Every one of them had to participate in the cultural life of their community, a requirement in a world of social divisions to appease public opinion.

As Eleanor Wilson watched the low-born girls in their finest dresses, their eyes scanning for every eligible bachelor and smiling coquettishly at the mention of their yearly earnings, she couldn't help but ponder what extremes the desire for status and possession could drive people to.

It was the sunniest Monday in April. The oak trees were slowly donning their green crowns, and the grass swayed lazily in the breeze as if the warm, gentle gust gave it unspeakable pleasure. The cheerful calm had a particularly pleasant scent of jasmine, which grew abundantly on the Wilson family estate. These flowers filled Mrs. Wilson's heart with the purest love, sometimes even maternal affection, whereas Mr. Wilson regarded them as mere unnecessary decoration. However, despite their opposing views, the flowers remained untouched in their rightful place until the death of the last family members.

The family was among the wealthiest in the county, which gave them a pretext to host frequent balls, primarily to secure the friendship of more prominent families. This was more a matter of vanity than necessity, given that their substantial fortune was secured by their eldest son. Yet, Rozalie and William had expectations for their children that needed to be fulfilled.

Marriage was essential for status, wealth, and public opinion. Love, often relegated to the background, was said to grow over time—a comforting thought for those ladies forced to marry someone who did not suit their tastes. Christopher, as the eldest son, was expected to marry a girl of equal or higher standing, which did not trouble or dismay him. He was, after all, a man of agreeable nature, willing to accept the established order and avoid conflict with both his parents and society. However, for his younger sisters, particularly Eleanor, the idea of a loveless marriage was a nightmare that loomed ever closer with each passing day.

"I truly don't see the necessity of Father visiting Mr. Edevane," Eleanor said bitterly to her mother during breakfast, as the conversation about embroidery techniques and gowns shifted to the new neighbor. For several days now, he had been residing near Preston and was the talk of the town due to his wealth and demeanor, which many considered "worthy of his position," whatever that might mean. Rumor had it that he was seeking a husband for his younger sister, which caused quite a stir, including in Rozalie’s heart, who was eager to persuade her husband to pay him a visit. Christopher had no objections, but for some reason, the girls found the idea unappealing. Experience had taught them that any new family acquaintance quickly turned into a potential suitor.

"My dear, I'm not forcing you to marry the man," Rozalie replied, a warning gleam in her emerald eyes as she smiled slightly at her daughter. She recognized in Eleanor the same youthful stubbornness she herself once had, which made it easier to forgive her difficult nature. However, she could not allow it to stand in the way of her vision for a perfect life. Rozalie wanted her daughters to climb high in the social hierarchy. Their current position satisfied her, but it did not fulfill her ambitions. "Your brother doesn't seem to mind this new acquaintance, and your sisters will only benefit from it. I see no reason for your reluctance. What do you say, Rose? Are you also opposed to meeting this gentleman?"

The eldest daughter looked uncertainly at her father, then at Eleanor, seeking help. Her shyness often prevented her from expressing her opinions, making her an easy target in such situations, a fact her mother never failed to exploit.

Lost in thought, Rose brushed aside a brown curl that had fallen into her eyes, carefully weighing her words, aware that what she said next could determine the outcome of this discussion—a discussion that could easily turn into an argument, something she could not bear.

"If it is your will, who am I to stand in your way?" she responded slowly and quietly, avoiding her sisters' eyes at all costs. She could feel their disbelief, which did little to comfort her. Eleanor, sitting beside her, lightly kicked her under the table. Though she was older in age, Rose did not possess the strength of character to assert herself over her sisters. While others viewed her gentle nature as a virtue, she longed for courage and strength instead. But no one knew this.

Embarrassed, Rose took a small sip of wine, fixing her gaze on her plate. This allowed her to miss the triumphant expression on her mother's face and the mocking smile of her brother. Her brown curls fell over her face like a curtain, shielding her from unwanted glances, something she accepted with immense relief. Meals were never enjoyable for her because of the potential for situations like this. If she could, she would have locked herself in her room, playing every possible symphony on the piano, forgetting about the world.

"I still believe that such an acquaintance might harm us, especially if Mr. Edevane is unmarried," Eleanor spoke again, glancing at her father to gauge his reaction. She wasn’t ready to give up so easily, even if the matter seemed already decided. Her father, however, was too absorbed in his own thoughts to respond appropriately to this witty remark. The youngest sister, however, let out a quiet giggle, appreciating Eleanor's humor, but quickly stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth when she noticed their mother's disapproving look, nearly choking in the process.

"Nonsense. How could the bachelorhood of this gentleman harm you?" their mother chided.

"Our dear daughter likely meant," Mr. Wilson interjected in a booming voice, seeing that Eleanor was about to say something sarcastic, determined to prolong the delicate subject, "that she would not want this gentleman as a husband, but if Christopher were to propose to his sister, she would welcome him into the family with the greatest pleasure. Isn't that right?"

He looked at her with a stern expression that brooked no dissent. Just as she was about to shift her strategy and plead for the abandonment of this new acquaintance, the sound of the door opening interrupted her. A short man in a neat red frock coat entered the dining room, holding an aged envelope in his hands as though it were a precious treasure. His amber eyes rested on the surprised faces, his own lighting up in a wide smile. After more than fifteen years of service in this household, he was used to the family's reactions to news.

"A letter has arrived for Mr. Wilson from London," the servant said calmly, interrupting the entire discussion. Everyone fell silent, staring at the envelope with barely concealed curiosity.

"Thank you, Jonathan," Mr. Wilson nodded, and the servant left, still smiling broadly. As soon as the door closed behind him, excited voices filled the room.

"I'm sure it's from Aunt Maria," the youngest exclaimed with undisguised joy. "She promised to write, asking us to visit! I’m absolutely certain—it’s been almost a month now…"

"Don’t be silly, Lauren," her mother scolded, causing the girl to lower her head sadly. "It's most likely the Smiths. Well, Mr. Wilson, open that letter or I shall do it myself!"

Her husband sighed in resignation. After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, he pulled a tiny silver letter opener from the pocket of his maroon waistcoat and carefully opened the envelope. The letter was two pages long, written in elegant script.

"So, it’s not our dear Aunt," Eleanor whispered to the youngest, glancing at the slanted, graceful handwriting. Lauren looked at her, half reproachful, half amused. "Oh, we know how Aunt Maria writes her letters!"

"And what news from the world?" Mrs. Wilson urged impatiently, ignoring her giggling daughters.

"Unfortunately, your intuition did not fail you, my dearest," William spoke after a moment, his voice heavy with regret. "Indeed, the letter is from Leonard Smith. Its contents may bring you joy, but I doubt our daughters will share your enthusiasm. Incidentally, there’s no need for me to visit Mr. Edevane."

"What do you mean by that, Father?" Christopher asked, clearly intrigued, casting a sly grin at his sisters, whose amusement had quickly vanished.

Mr. Wilson glanced carefully at his daughters, then at his son, and finally, his gaze rested on his wife. He smiled to himself, anticipating the stir his words would cause.

"We have been invited to a ball at the Smiths' estate. According to the letter, we can expect to meet the gentleman mentioned earlier at this table. Leonard Smith wishes to introduce us to his sister and friend. It seems we won’t be avoiding this acquaintance after all."

"You see, dear Eleanor," Mrs. Wilson said, laughing as she looked at her daughter, whose steel-gray eyes seemed to shoot daggers. "Fate has taken a particular liking to you. Don’t make that face—perhaps Mr. Edevane will turn out to be quite agreeable."

"Just like Mr. Wichman," Lauren interjected sarcastically, unable to hold her tongue, "or Mr. Loughty, for that matter. And let's not forget Mr. Gastrell and the two dozen others."

"Maybe this Mr. Edevane won't have as loud a voice as that unfortunate man from last week, and we won't lose our hearing while talking to him," Rose muttered to herself, but loudly enough for everyone to hear. The siblings burst into laughter, while Rozalia Wilson glanced at her husband, seeking support. He simply gave her a warm smile, hoping it would suffice. It did, as it always had in such situations over the past fifteen years.

"Father, does that mean we will be staying with the Smiths for longer than a week?" the clearly excited boy asked, awaiting an answer. He adored the Smith family, and their son Theodore was his dearest friend. His friend's family treated him like one of their own, making him feel very welcome.

"No!" all three girls cried out in unison, horrified. The prospect of staying at the Smiths' for so long brought with it the possibility of their mother attempting to match one of them with the Smiths' son, which they could not bear. The boy, a little older than their brother, lacked manners and humility, and had failed to win the favor of any of the girls. However, Rozalia had adored him from the moment they met and was determined that he would become her son-in-law.

"Please, Father, let's stay with Aunt Mari," Lauren pleaded, her eyes begging her father. "You promised us we would visit her at her estate!"

"And you never break your promises," Eleanor supported her younger sister.

"Oh, come on, Lean. Ever since Aunt mentioned the possibility of us visiting her estate, you’ve wanted nothing to do with it," the boy snapped, angry and determined not to let his sisters have their way. He didn't like Aunt Mari at all. For reasons unknown to him, she openly disliked him, constantly criticizing his posture, manners, and behavior during her visits. She scolded him for the smallest mistakes, never listening to his explanations. She forbade him from attending village dances and forced him to wear terribly uncomfortable vests. Her unfriendliness was reserved only for him, which made him feel all the more resentful.

"Aunt’s company is far better than that of your friend Theodore," Lauren retorted proudly, losing her appetite at the mere mention of the boy with hazel eyes and freckled skin. "Frankly, any company is better..."

"Mind your words, dear," Mrs. Wilson said, clearly offended by her daughter’s harsh opinion. "One day you may realize there are far worse men than the one you’ve chosen to scorn. Don’t be so quick to pass such harsh judgments."

A silence followed her words, interrupted only by the occasional clinking of cutlery and the chirping of birds outside the window.

The dining room was not the largest of rooms, but it certainly had its charm. On the contrary, it was quite cozy. Delicately carved wooden cabinets perfectly complemented the room's warm atmosphere. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and beneath it, in the center of the room, stood a simple wooden table covered with a crocheted tablecloth. Plants adorned every possible corner, even on the piano, as Mrs. Wilson’s passion was gardening, and Rose’s was singing and playing music. The white walls reflected the sunlight that streamed in, giving everything a deeper, almost indescribable meaning. It seemed as if time had slowed down, even the dust drifting through the air moved more lazily than usual.

Everything had a modest appearance, but that wasn’t important. From the beginning of the estate’s construction, it had been Mrs. Wilson’s wish that the dining room, where they would spend time together as a family, be cozy and free from unnecessary adornments. And since William Wilson would move heaven and earth for his beloved, her wish was fulfilled, despite protests from his snobbish mother.

The unassuming room had won the affection of all the household members, but it was Mr. and Mrs. Wilson who cherished it the most. For the couple, it was a reminder of those first idyllic years of marriage, when their love blossomed, nourished by their shared desires and feelings. The dining room had become something important, a foundation upon which their successful fifteen-year marriage had been built. It was here that they held discussions on a wide range of topics, from the weather to the far reaches of the world. It was the witness to their heated arguments and even more passionate reconciliations. It was in this room that Mr. Wilson noticed how his wife’s emerald eyes contrasted beautifully against her reddish-blonde hair against the snowy white walls, further convincing him that Rozalia was the most beautiful woman in the world. And it was in this room that Rozalia realized how fortunate she was when she saw the pure adoration in her husband’s eyes. Here, too, they had learned they would become a real family. The modest room, unremarkable to outsiders, was a treasure for the household.

"Father, will you write the letter?" Lauren’s voice pulled everyone out of their momentary reverie. Breakfast had come to an end. The silver platters held remnants of bread, ham, cheese, and other appropriate morning items, leaving them no choice but to tend to their own affairs. Christopher didn’t wait long, and after taking the last sip of his wine, he left for a walk. No one knew the purpose of his stroll. Rose also decided to find something more engaging to do, and without waiting for permission, slipped away to her small room, intending to immerse herself in painting.

"Ah, would you be referring to the letter to Mr. Smith?" Mr. Wilson teased his daughter, smiling widely at the sight of her nose scrunching in anger. "My dear Lauren, believe me, the last thing I want is to cause you any distress. So, I’ll honor your request and write to my sister, informing her that we plan to stay with her for a while. Does that satisfy you?"

"Entirely, Father," the girl replied with a broad smile. She adjusted her unruly brown curls and kissed her father on the cheek before leaving the room, intending to go shopping in town. She wanted to buy a gift for her aunt, whom she loved like a second mother, and wouldn’t dream of arriving at her estate without a tasteful present.

"In that case, Eleanor, you can relax," her mother said, looking disapprovingly at her blonde daughter, clearly unhappy with her husband’s decision but not daring to protest. "Everything seems to be going your way."

"As you put it, Mother," Eleanor rose from the table, smiling gently at her surprised mother, "if destiny is so in love with me, I fear nothing will go my way. I can only hope."

With that, she excused herself and disappeared through the door, leaving her parents in shock.