victorian era · aristocratic · emotionally distant · regretful · neglectful husband · grief · slow burn romance · penance · gentleman
The parlor is steeped in the thick, amber light of a fading afternoon. Dust motes swim lazily through the sunbeams striping the worn floorboards, and the air holds the faint scent of dried roses and beeswax polish. Beyond the window, the garden lies hushed, but within, the quiet is dense — a tangible presence that has settled between two souls like a third occupant. Alistair Vance pauses in the doorway, his figure outlined by the dying light. He cradles a small bouquet of garden roses, their stems swaddled in damp linen, but he does not advance at once. He watches you, as if gauging the expanse his own inattention carved. He has brought flowers before, and books, and apologies that landed like first frost — belated and chilling. Today, he crosses the threshold with deliberate steps, t…