"What you need to have in your mind is your progeny, Weston. You have way too much responsibility now to keep pining over your lost love."
Weston thought of his father and what he would say if he were alive today. He didn't know his father for long, but he knew he was a proud man who also bothered himself with posterity. He knew his father would support his mother without hesitation. Perhaps it was a good thing he only had to deal with one overbearing parent instead of two.
"Your mother may seem controlling at times, but you know she comes from a place of love, don't you?" Charles asked once the dust had settled a little. "I know this is a difficult conversation to have, but it is necessary. Not just for your good but for Estfield Manor."
Charles wasn't wrong. The pressure to produce an heir was heavier on him, now more than ever. Before the fate of the manor depended on him, his cousin, Richard, had been the one who had to worry about all of this. When the news of Richard's death reached him in his house one cold night, he felt all kinds of shivers run through him. Richard had died without an heir, which meant he was next in line. Not only did he come into even more responsibility, he had to deal with the never-ending rants of his mother. Beatrice never shied away from bringing up Richard in any conversation with her son, no matter how minute.
"Richard died without an heir. If you do not want to suffer the same fate, I suggest you start to look for a wife. One that'll give you lots of children."
Every time he had this talk with his mother, he would try to end it as fast as possible without having it turn into a full-blown altercation. He couldn't tell her he was nursing the wound Eliza had left in his heart, the wound he wasn't sure was going to heal anytime soon.
Right after the death of his father when he was fourteen, Weston had to forcefully mature into a man as early as possible. Childlike wonders didn't do him any good anymore. He couldn't find joy in the smallest things like the leaves, the sky, or the sun like he usually did. For a while, he became a shell of himself. Eliza had been the one who was able to breathe new life into him. She had been the only one who could get him to open up and enjoy life once again. The joys of life peaked with her. After her death, Weston knew nothing would be able to bring him back to life anymore. Not the vast acres of land he'd inherited, not the title of Marquess, not even the value that came with being the new owner of a manor.
"You know the social season is only a few days ahead. Who knows? Perhaps you may find someone this time around. Someone whose heart matches yours. Someone who wants you for what's in your mind and not your estate."
Weston smiled. "The sun has a higher chance of freezing."
"I'm sure there's some lady in another part of the country right now thinking the same thing." Charles replied.
Weston said nothing in reply. He'd been through several seasons, and yet he couldn't bother to pay attention to any woman for longer than thirty seconds. They were all vain andhaughty. They weren't ready to pay attention to whatever he had to say either. They weren't engaging in conversations.
They weren't Eliza.
"It is getting late." Charles whispered. Grabbing the rope one more time. "Unless you want to receive another lecture from your mother over dinner, we should head back."
Weston didn't argue. He'd had his daily fill of the outdoors anyway. He might as well retire into his room and pore over his books until the night fell.
As they rode back to the manor, Weston couldn't help but wonder if Charles was right. Could this season be the one he finds someone for himself? Someone who could make him happy like Eliza did?
Almost as soon as it came, the thought disappeared. Like he'd said earlier, the sun had a better chance of freezing over.
Chapter Two
Breakfast at the Willowbrook Manor was a grand affair. The table was usually filled with all sorts of baked and roasted foods. Fruit like grapes and figs hung from corners of the table, and space was barely left for each family member to have a spot to eat.
This morning was no different. While there were only five people surrounding the table, the food available was enough to feed an entire village for a day. Juliet made a mental note to appease the ladies in charge of the kitchen. The silence around the dining table was palpable and was so thick it could be cut with a butter knife. Spoons clinked against fine china, and full mouths gently chewed. Juliet's eyes scanned every other member of the dining table for a minute. Right before her, on the other end of the table, was her father, Lord Peter Fairmont, whose face was completely buried in his breakfast. On her left was her half-brother, Adam, and his wife, Camilla, feeding him grapes and bits of roasted pork. As Adam took in another grape from his wife, he gently leaned closer to her and playfully bit her cheek. She laughed and gently pressed her face into his arm, a wave of red betraying her cheeks. Juliet tried as much as possible not to grimace. She decided to look the other way instead, and her eyes settled on the last member of the dining table, Aunt Grace, who was busy looking around the table aswell. When their eyes met, Juliet tried to return to her food as much as possible.
"Juliet. I heard you sent for the dressmaker." Aunt Grace started, and Juliet forcefully closed her eyes, hoping whatever was about to happen would go by very fast. "That means you're preparing for the new Season. Are you going to try and make an effort this year?"
Juliet cut a piece of chicken skin off her bone and grabbed a fork. "I don't know. Will the gentlemen of the up-coming season still possess the same lack of wit as the predecessors?"
Grace sighed. "You're going to have to settle on a husband one of these days, Juliet. You're not growing any younger."
Juliet noticed her father was no longer paying attention to his food. From her periphery, she could tell he was staring straight at her.
"Perhaps I shall continue to tend to the garden until I find one good enough for me." Juliet replied.
"Juliet, no man is going to want you in a few years. You'll be too old for them." Adam chipped in, his voice sleek and meandering.
"Perhaps that is for the best." Juliet said, a tiny retort etched into her voice. She didn't like Adam very much, and her dislike for him began to rise again.
"That's enough." Her father growled, his hands slowly beating the table.
Juliet grew silent. Arguing with Aunt Grace or Adam was one thing. Arguing with her father was practically a death sentence. Peter threw her a long, cold stare, and for a moment, Juliet wondered what hell her father was about to unleash on her. Then he turned to Adam and Camila.
"Camilla, You shall be in charge of the gardens from tomorrow."
Juliet's ears stilled. "What?"
