*
On a particularly bright December morning, as she sat by the large bay window in the morning room and watched the flurry of snowflakes fall from the sky, Elizabeth looked back at everything that had happened during this last year and took stock of her life nowadays. As her mind wandered, her hands toyed with the vial Mary had given her that morning.
“What is this?” Elizabeth had asked, nodding at the parcel in Mary’s hands as she was arranging her long braid into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
“Your husband instructed me to give it to you.”
“Is he trying to buy my forgiveness with trinkets? I do not need anything from him,” her upper lip had curled in disdain, but her friend looked excited as she began unwrapping the gift.
“What are you wearing?” Mary had asked with a frown. “I remember setting out a different dress for you.”
“I didn’t like it, so I chose this one.”
“You thought plain brown wool was the better choice?” Mary had asked doubtfully, but was thrown off course when her eyes beheld the contents of the parcel. “Far be it from me to defend the duke, but this seems to be a great present. I’ve heard of thisplace; it takes them months to distil a fragrance! I’m certain he ordered this a long time ago.”
She’d handed Elizabeth a small bottle that resembled a glass egg, covered in what could only be described as lace made from pure gold. Lizzie had cradled it inside her palm, and it fit perfectly.
She now glanced at the label again.Floris.
She’d pocketed the vial but had refused to let herself smell it. Colin’s perfume was so intoxicating and unique, and she couldn’t stop wondering what he had ordered for her.
Many times (Mainly in bed, she added to herself, unnecessarily, like she’d ever be able to forget where these events had taken place) her husband had burrowed into her hair (and, sometimes, other places on her body) and had talked about the floral scents she was partial to, all the while sniffing and breathing her in.
Once, Mary had washed her hair with chamomile, and Colin had loved the sweet smell but had told her it was deceptive.You are sharper than you are sweet, my kitten with hidden claws,he’d whispered in her ear. Elizabeth shuddered at the visceral feeling the memory of his nose tracing her skin elicited from her body.
She stroked the note in her pocket, another unopened item from the parcel.
Had the note been written when he made the order? What would it say?
This was, in a way, the first note her husband had ever sent her. She had long ago decided that she’d rather forget the letter in which he (impersonally and coldly) informed her they “were to be wed”, but she still remembered his perfect penmanship, as unyielding and proud as its owner.
She inwardly mocked herself for her cowardice.
It is but a note, Elizabeth, do you think it holds a grand declaration of love?
And indeed it didn’t.
Dearest wife,
The perfumer asked me to describe you and your character in great detail so that they could try and capture your essence. I told them that it would not be possible for them to accomplish such a thing, but that they were welcome to try.
I hope you shall attribute any dislike you might have for the fragrance to the perfumer’s lack of skill instead of your husband’s powers of observation and description.
Yours,
C.T.
Despite herself, Elizabeth smiled.
What had Colin told the faceless perfumer about me? I have to know,she decided and unplugged the bottle.
Years later, Elizabeth would realise that, although the letter hadn’t contained a grand declaration of love, the ornate glass vial certainly had.
The first thing that her mind conjured when she inhaled was the memory of waking up last summer with all the windows in their Norwich bedroom opened, and instantly smelling the jasmine that was diligently climbing up the trellis on that side of the manor.
Then, it suddenly felt as if the sun had warmed the earth and the grass and all the plants while Mrs. Clark was showing her the garden, and Lizzie’s hands smelled like tomato stems and thepear she’d eaten earlier as she brought a glass of lemonade to her mouth.
Another memory came to her, of a day when it had rained the night before, when she first felt the smell of what she later recognised as the sea in the distance. It was delicate and well-concealed, but it was there, the salt that she had tasted in Cromer.
