The luxurious black carriage, bearing the trident coat-of-arms on its door, was speeding swiftly under the midday sun, like an arrow loosed from the bow of fate. The sound echoed on the barren, gravel-strewn road, each rotation a heavy, pressing beat of time, drawing Ariana closer to the grey stone prison she called home.
Ariana sat near the window, watching the scenery rush past with a sense of weariness. In her mind, she secretly wished that by simply closing her eyes, counting from one to one hundred, and reversing the clock she held in her left hand, she could return to the past, just like the plot of the novel "The Time-Turning Table" she had read last year.
And she actually did it. Of course, no magic happened.
The three weeks at her Aunt Clarissa's Willow Creek estate felt to Ariana like the happiest period of freedom she had ever experienced. This was not only thanks to their warmth and hospitality but also due to the novel experiences she had never known before.
Every crisp morning, as the drowsy dawn light swept across the window, the mischievous twins, Edward and Lily, would rush into Ariana's room, waking her up with a full repertoire of pranks.
Edward, with his messy brown hair and toothy grin, would start by humming the most off-key melodies he knew, gradually increasing the volume. Immediately after, Lily, the girl with the cunning blue eyes, would charge in, yanking the soft silk blanket off her, or bouncing vigorously on the comfortable mattress, making the whole room shake to her improvised rhythm. Their giggles blended with Ariana's feigned grumbles of annoyance, creating a symphony of joy and life, utterly different from the silence and constraint of Blackwood Manor.
After a simple breakfast of crispy toast, strawberry jam, orange juice, and milk, the three siblings would quickly rush outside, immersing themselves in the life of the English countryside.
Sometimes they would ride horses together along the winding forest trail. Edward and Lily, on their trained ponies, would constantly challenge each other to see who could gallop faster, leaving Ariana behind in their laughter. And in the midday sun, they would carry baskets and books, walking for miles across the lush green fields to pick mushrooms or find wild berries along the roadside, happily recounting fairy tales or local legends to each other.
Occasionally, they would paddle a boat on the small, clear creek that ran through the estate, competing to see who could make the biggest splash with a thrown stone, or sit fishing by the riverbank, waiting for small fish to bite. When the sun climbed high, they would bring a large blanket and a basket of food, find the base of a huge old tree for a picnic, lying sprawled on the green grass, reading books or simply watching the clouds drift across the sky.
Those were the moments when Ariana truly felt free, alive, and loved.
But now, leaning back against the plush velvet cushion of the carriage, her mind found no rest. It was spinning, heavy. In Ariana's hand was a letter, neatly folded and sealed with red wax, carrying the familiar scent of her mother's lavender, yet heavy as a verdict written in invisible ink. She had read it over at least three times, every word and phrase like small knives cutting into her nascent desire for freedom, turning it into despair.
Lady Eleanor's elegant, uniform handwriting, like a distant echo from the manor's silent corridors, was distinctly clear on the page.
My dear daughter, Ariana.
I pray this letter finds you in stable health and cheerful spirits at your Aunt Clarissa's estate. I know you have enjoyed your period of repose in that peaceful countryside, a necessary respite from the demands of society, and I trust that the fresh air and your aunt's hospitality have brought good things to your soul.
However, my darling girl, the time has come for you to return. Your father and I have had a discussion of utmost importance regarding your future, a future that, by right and God's decree, we believe will secure your safety, honor, and rightful status in society, as well as the enduring strength of our family.
As you must know, Sir Percival Witherbottom is a gentleman of considerable respect, who holds a solid position and substantial wealth within London's business circles. He has always expressed a sincere and earnest interest in you, which your father and I both acknowledge and appreciate. The Witherbottom family, in all respects, is an ideal alliance for our illustrious Blackwood lineage.
Therefore, after much careful consideration, your father and I have reached the decision that your sacred wedding to Sir Percival will be set for next year. Your presence is essential to commence the preparations, from meeting the designer to finalize the wedding gown to arranging the formal social teas where both families and the upper echelon can officially establish and welcome this relationship. You will find countless details that require your personal oversight.
I trust that you, with the intellect and understanding of a Blackwood lady, will grasp the importance of this decision. It is a noble duty that the women of our line must bear for the stability, reputation, and prosperous development of the patrimony our ancestors painstakingly built.
Kindly make arrangements to return as soon as possible, my daughter. Your father is also very much looking forward to seeing you again.
My child, always remember that duty comes with privilege, and the smallest sacrifice sometimes leads to the most fulfilling and respected life.
With all my love and faith in your wisdom,
Your Mother, Eleanor Blackwood
Blackwood Manor, London, September 23rd, 1888.
Ariana folded the letter, her fingers gently stroking the old crease. A sigh escaped her chest, light as a dry leaf falling from a branch.
She looked out the carriage window. And Blackwood Manor was slowly coming into view, a colossal and magnificent Gothic Revival structure that compelled any passerby to look up. In front of the manor gates stood silent rows of ancient maple trees, their auburn foliage dropping dry leaves all over the driveway.
In daylight, Blackwood donned a cloak of luxury and nobility. Its façade was built from meticulously carved blocks of grey granite. The sharp, towering vaulted roof touched the sky, resembling the spires of an ancient, majestic church. Rose-shaped stained-glass windows refracted light into myriad mystical hues, like sparkling eyes observing the outside world.
Beneath each window, meticulously crafted bas-reliefs of laurel leaves and aristocratic mythical creatures adorned the walls, adding to the manor's elegance. The main door of heavy, solid black oak was deeply carved with the Blackwood family crest: a trident piercing the heart of a goat-headed beast.
Dark green ivy, neatly trimmed, clung gracefully to the stone walls, enhancing its antique and romantic appearance. The entrance was a grand portico with sturdy Doric columns, leading up to a flawless white marble staircase, inviting important guests to visit.
The rear garden, meticulously cared for by professional gardeners, featured lush green lawns and flowerbeds bursting with vibrant colors, creating a peaceful and admirable landscape. This manor, in the sunlight, was a living symbol of a powerful and arrogant family.
The carriage slowed to a stop before the heavy iron gate, the squeak of its hinges echoing. Immediately, a thin man with a gaunt face and neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair emerged from the main door. It was Elias Thorne, the Blackwood family butler. He bowed respectfully to Ariana.
"Welcome back, Miss. The Manor has awaited your presence."
Ariana merely nodded in response. She opened the crocodile leather handbag resting on the seat beside her. She took out a large scroll tied with a ribbon, smoothed it flat on her lap, then rolled it back up and grasped it tightly in her hand. Only then did she hand the empty bag to Elias.
"Thank you, Elias. Please take this bag to my private room. I will require some quiet time before dinner."
Her voice was cold, emotionless, as if giving an order to a machine. It was her defense, an invisible wall erected to conceal the disappointment gnawing at her heart.
Ariana stepped inside, and in the center courtyard, near the large lawn, her eyes immediately met three figures who were conversing, apparently preparing for a horseback ride.
The first was Julian, her older brother. He was tall, with jet-black hair like his father's and cold, sharp eyes. Julian was wearing a tweed riding suit in earth brown, with polished high-collared leather boots and a riding crop draped over his arm, looking incredibly smart and dashing. Julian inclined his head politely, his thin lips curving into a reserved smile.
Beside Julian was Charlotte Witherbottom, Percival's sister, with red hair elaborately coiled high and decorated with a yellow bow. Charlotte wore a brown velvet riding habit accentuated with a plethora of white lace details, large ribbons, and an oversized feather-adorned hat, making her appear unnecessarily ostentatious and fussy, completely out of place for the simple, dignified style of sportswear.
Ariana couldn't help but inwardly smirk. Looking at her always made Ariana think of Percival. Both siblings seemed to enjoy food more than anything else in the world, and Charlotte's satisfied expression as she chewed a large biscuit truly made Ariana think the woman was a longer-haired version of her brother.
The third person, standing next to Charlotte, was a young man with a scholarly, elegant demeanor. This was Arthur Finch, Julian's schoolmate from Oxford, studying at Christ Church. He wore a simple yet refined grey riding suit. Arthur had chestnut hair, intelligent eyes, and a gentle smile, carrying the learned look of an elite student. His hand was still holding a thick book, as if he had just been pulled from his familiar reading nook to join this riding excursion.
Julian had noticed Ariana, he looked directly at her, glancing past the weariness in her eyes to the scroll in her hand.
"Well, the stray princess has returned, has she?" Julian said, with his familiar touch of sarcasm.
"After three weeks of immersing yourself in that idyllic village life, how do you feel? Terribly dull and boring, I'm sure?"
Ariana forced a smile. "You are more right than you know, Julian. There was nothing there but monotony. I was practically going mad from the lack of intellectual conversation and the vibrancy of London." She lied fluently, maintaining a cool expression. She shifted her gaze to Charlotte.
"Hello, Charlotte," Ariana said, her voice sweet. "You look lovely today. Brown really suits your hair."
Charlotte flashed a radiant smile, revealing biscuit crumbs on her front teeth. "Oh, Ariana, thank you for the compliment, you dear girl. Would you care to join us? We were just about to take a ride around the estate."
Ariana shook her head. "My apologies. I've had a long journey and need a moment to rest before dinner."
"Ah, what a pity," Charlotte replied, with feigned regret, but a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. "But in any case, we shall have plenty more time together soon, little sister-in-law."
The word "sister-in-law" struck Ariana's ear like a bolt of lightning. A feeling of discomfort surged, making her stomach clench. She quickly redirected the conversation. "Where is Mother, Julian?"
Julian clucked his tongue. "Mother is at Lady Augusta Ashworth's tea party. You know, those tedious gatherings where the ladies compete over whose teapot is more expensive and whose daughter will secure the wealthiest husband." He spoke with clear disdain, which offered Ariana a measure of comfort.
Ariana nodded. She was all too familiar with the strained atmosphere and trivial conversations at such social events. "Then I'll excuse myself to go inside."
The moment she finished speaking, Julian turned to Charlotte, flashing a beaming, calculated smile. "Charlotte, this outfit truly enhances your charm and beauty manifold; I trust you will be the most suitable woman to ride the Blackwood family's prized horse, Night Flame."
Hearing the ridiculous compliment, Ariana could not suppress a smirk. She felt sorrier for Night Flame than for anyone else. She would certainly tell the stable manager to pay extra attention to him in the coming days. Ariana moved closer to Julian, whispering in his ear: "Tell me, my dearest brother, how did you avoid biting your tongue while complimenting the beauty of such a person?"
Julian smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It is the act a gentleman should and must perform, my sister."
Ariana turned her back on Julian and the group, the scroll in her hand still held tightly like a secret. She stepped through the manor's main door, feeling the immediate chill of the interior air envelop her.
The Great Hall greeted her with familiar majesty. High ceilings with intricate Gothic patterns, and faint light from the stained-glass windows spilled onto the marble floor. Thick Persian rugs were spread across the floor beneath her feet. The furniture was made of polished walnut and mahogany, elaborately carved. Crystal chandeliers sparkled on the ceiling. The air was heavy with the scent of old wood, wax, and the characteristic hint of mustiness found in ancient buildings.
On the walls, oil portraits of Blackwood family members through generations hung in straight rows, watching her with emotionless eyes. There was Alistair Blackwood (her father) with his thick muttonchop whiskers and stern gaze. Lady Beatrice Blackwood (Alistair's mother) with the expensive pearl necklace she was always proud of. Or Sir Victor Blackwood, her uncle, a scholar with dark spectacles and a perpetually pensive face. He was the one who spent his final years in bed vehemently opposing Darwin's theory of evolution.
Ariana still remembered the curses and insults he hurled at "the one who wrote that heresy" whenever she visited him at the hospital. To him, Darwin was merely "that bastard," "the Judas of England," or "a betrayer of God."
Ariana's gaze stopped at one particular portrait, hung in the most prominent position of the hall: the painting of her great-grandfather, Harry Blackwood. He was depicted with the strong, rugged look of a hunter, in a coarse tweed coat and high, mud-caked leather boots. His face was handsome with a square jawline, his eyes full of worldly experience.
Ariana had heard the story of his life many times. Harry was once an unknown hunter, without status or wealth, wandering and making a living by hunting wild animals in the rural forests. But then, a fateful night changed everything. At a luxurious casino in Whitechapel, where fortune was decided and human destinies changed in the blink of an eye.
No one knew exactly what he did or how he won the bet, only that Harry walked out of that casino door with a large sum of money, enough for him to start investing in mines and tea plantations. This formed the solid foundation that elevated the Blackwood family from nothing to one of London's wealthiest and most powerful lineages. Rumor had it that it was not merely luck, but that he must have made a deal with the devil, or with a band of nomadic witches.
As she passed the corridor leading to the dining room, faint shadows flitted by. The maids, in neat black and white uniforms, moved quietly. Their arms held stacks of freshly ironed linen, carefully cleaning the silver objects. The soft clinking of porcelain, the gentle sweep of a broom, and their whispered exchanges created a discreet, never-ending symphony of labor within the manor. They were the diligent ants in the colony, keeping the Blackwood machine running smoothly, always busy but rarely noticed.
Ariana was lost in thought when a sudden, light touch on her shoulder startled her. She whirled around, intending to complain, but softened upon recognizing Thomas, her younger brother. Thomas, thirteen years old, with the same blonde hair as his sister and mother, flashed a radiant smile.
"Welcome back, Ariana!" Thomas exclaimed, his eyes alight with joy. "How were the three weeks at Willow Creek? Was it as beautiful as in the books I've read?"
Ariana couldn't hide her regret when thinking of her recently lost freedom. She replied with sincerity:
"Oh, Thomas. It was truly wonderful, little brother. Endless green grass, fresh air, and long, endless rides across the meadow. I wish you could have come, both Edward and Lily miss you too." She lightly stroked his blonde hair.
"But you couldn't, because you had to stay home to focus on your studies and prepare for the upcoming boarding school entrance exam, didn't you?"
Thomas nodded, his expression a little downcast. "You're right. I've been struggling with Latin lessons and arithmetic every day. The tutor is acting like he wants to cram a whole library into my head. I wish I could trade places with you, if only for a day!" The boy let out a long sigh.
Ariana was about to say, "Next time we can..." but she suddenly stopped, biting her lip gently. She couldn't promise uncertain things. Then Ariana asked Thomas: "Where is Father, little brother?"
"Father is in the study; he seems to be receiving a guest," Thomas replied.
"I see." Ariana nodded. She smiled. "I have to go now, Thomas. I'll see you later."
She bid him farewell and turned to head toward the study, where important conversations and difficult decisions awaited.