The Ashbourne Bride

It took Adele a considerable amount of time and reflection to truly grasp the complexities of Leopold Ashbourne. Among the three brothers, he was the most enigmatic, not for the absence of warmth like Jason or the cold demeanor of Henry, but because he seemed to inhabit a world entirely of his creation, steeped in deep contemplation.

Leopold stood tall and lean, always presenting an immaculate appearance that hinted at an underlying discipline. His meticulously styled hair framed a face marked by thoughtful deliberation, while his wire-rimmed spectacles sat with military precision on the bridge of his nose. When he spoke, there was a weighty intelligence behind his words, each one carefully measured like the delicate weights in a jeweler's balance. With his education in classics and mathematics from Oxford, Leopold often appeared to construct his thoughts in Latin before translating them into the more everyday English.

During the early days of her marriage, Adele mistakenly believed that Leopold held a hidden disdain for her. He was sparing with his words during her courtship with Henry, and on her wedding day, he offered no verbal congratulations; instead, he acknowledged her with a subtle nod and a watchful gaze that seemed to pierce through her. However, after the birth of their son, Charles, a change began to unfold in their relationship.

In the weeks that followed, Leopold's visits became a familiar occurrence, each arrival disguised as a delivery of "reading material suitable for a future governess." Yet, beneath that pretense, Adele recognized his true intention—his genuine desire to engage with her.

Their conversations, while seemingly dry on the surface, covered an eclectic mix of topics, ranging from literature and politics to the intricacies of poetry. Beneath the facade, however, there was an undeniable warmth—a protective aura enveloping their exchanges. He never breached the bounds of propriety, abstaining from flirtation or physical intimacy. But whenever Adele laughed genuinely, her pure, unguarded joy caught him off guard, sparking a glimmer of delight in his composed demeanor, as though he had stumbled upon a rare treasure.

Adele never directly addressed the subject of Jason. Instead, she cleverly crafted her inquiries with questions like, "Did you hear about that captivating artist's gallery opening in Marseille?" or "Is it true that some painters prefer the solitude of their studios over the allure of commissions?"

Leopold responded with his customary brevity: "Perhaps." "I wouldn't know." "He left no forwarding address." Yet deep down, Adele suspected he knew more than he was willing to reveal. His reticence didn't stem from loyalty to Jason; it felt more like a complex web of emotions from the past of the Ashbourne brothers—an enigma she was eager to unravel.

 In the meantime, Lady Josephine Ashbourne—Henry's mother—began to spend more time with Adele since Charles's arrival. At first, Adele thought it might be out of maternal pride. However, a moment spent in the sun-drenched rose conservatory unveiled a deeper truth.

"Charles is… joy," Lady Ashbourne said, her needlework forgotten and resting idly in her lap.

Adele looked up, surprised by the revelation. "You sound surprised," she remarked.

"I am," Lady Ashbourne admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "Joy hasn't graced this house in quite some time."

A brief silence followed before she continued, her gaze drifting beyond the glass panels framing the garden. "I once knew love," she confessed softly, seemingly lost in thoughts of the past. "Before your father-in-law. Before duty clamped down on my heart."

Adele remained still, her suspicions confirmed—the unwelcome bitterness that occasionally clouded Lady Ashbourne's eyes in front of old portraits or her silence when Lord Ashbourne criticized Jason suddenly made sense.

"But you married him," Adele said gently, wanting to probe deeper.

Lady Ashbourne offered no response, her only answer a slight tremble in her fingers as she resumed her stitching, the needle and thread moving with uncertainty.

Later that evening, as twilight enveloped the manor, Leopold lingered for dinner. He presented Charles with a tiny silver rattle—extravagantly designed yet undeniably impractical for a child. The conversation drifted into a discussion about the decline of romanticism in French poetry, a topic he could enthusiastically discuss for hours.

In a moment marked by humor, Henry playfully smacked his brother's shoulder. "Leopold, for heaven's sake, she's just had a child, not defended a thesis," he teased, a grin spreading across his face.

Leopold replied with a tight-lipped smile, struggling to let go of a restrained expression. "Forgive me. I find Lady Adele's intellect refreshingly uncommon," he stated sincerely.

Adele, taken aback by the unexpected compliment, caught his gaze. Their eyes locked for a moment, extending the friendship they had begun to cultivate.