ophelia clare

her fingers drifted over a nearby stem of thyme, careful not to break the leaves. and slowly, as she finished forming the thought running through her head, she turned to face him again. “but envy is such a human thing, i doubt the flowers feel it. they just grow where they can… when they must.”

then she paused before speaking again, quieter this time, “i suppose that makes them wiser than most of us.”

that was a company she'd very much like to keep.

"excellent. I don't doubt you for a moment." the lady of pembury responded, eyes alight with mirth. she wasn't certain if there would be other hands arranging the bouquets, but truthfully? she did not quite care about it - her perfect sister can rack her brains about it for all she cares.

"I can't answer you that. perhaps there will be, perhaps there won't. but, I have faith in your skill, which is why I ask. you are coming to the wedding, are you not?"

“i’ll be there. unless the universe has other plans,” she added, “but i’ll be there.”

she would never say it, but part of her really wanted to see it happen. the crowleys always made a scene, and she wanted a front row seat when they did.

her eyes returned to nerissa. “i imagine it will be memorable. you must be as nervous as the bride. aren't you, lady pembury?”

her smile stretched as she accepted the lavender.

"excellent, I do appreciate a natural talent as will claire." the lady of pembury smirked, bringing the lavender to her face to take a deep inhale of the scent. divine. exquisite. "it is, yes. but, I am more than confident you'll do a splendid job. you grow the garden, don't you? there is no more beautiful a flower than the one grown & nurtured with love. & this garden is in exceptional."

her gaze dropped again to the flowers, a soft smile on her lips as she reached for another stem, inspecting it carefully. “they grow because they’re stubborn. i just give them a place to be left alone.”

ophelia adjusted her skirt, smoothing the fabric with careful fingers. “still, if she wants something a little imperfect, i think i can provide that.”

she straightened up properly now, as gracefully as she could, and lifted her gaze to find nerissa's. a hint of curriosity in them. “i assume there’ll be other hands arranging this. or is this bouquet meant to be more personal?”

the professor arranges his offerings in an idle wheelbarrow, then plucks the shears from her loam-dusted hands. ❝ precisely what i had in mind. ❞ he smiles as he takes a knee at her side, not at all concerned when he feels the damp earth seeping through the fabric of his trousers. he falls into the task as if it were his own garden, the acts of trimming, rooting, planting rote, written in the hollows of his bones.

“as nice as your greenhouse is, open gardens do feel different,” she added thoughtfully, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals of a flower nearby. “there’s a certain freedom in being outside, don’t you think?”

she looked back at him, her smile delicate and barely there, “but i suppose every place has its own magic. it’s just a matter of knowing how to see it.”

& so she found herself in the clare estate, looking to the youngest member of the brood.

as she had suspected, she found ophelia kneeling in the soil, tending to the flowers. "I wouldn't dream of it. it's no wonder your garden blooms the most luxurious - since you tend to it personally." nerissa approached, a soft & friendly smile on her face.

"none of the sort. I came to inquire about a certain... offer, if you're willing to listen to an old thing such as myself." she was hardly old - but, calling herself such proved to be most amusing.

"how skilled are you in arranging flower bouquets?"

"i suppose i could tie stems together and hope they resemble something romantic," ophelia paused, lips twitching at the corners, "but i wouldn’t expect symmetry."

she reached down again and clipped a fresh bloom—lavender—and extended it to nerissa. not as a offering, more like a polite gesture.

"who is it meant for?" she asked lightly, her voice filled with curiosity, "surely not the blushing bride. not for the crowley wedding."

that last sentence tasted bitter, but she didn’t let it show. just a small smile, polite, pretty, and perfectly unreadable.

"i haven't the slightest interest in gardening. although i do wonder what is so fascinating about sitting in the dirt," nathaniel pondered, glancing over at what exactly she was doing.

the lord watched her, looking her up and down, taking in every inch of her. she was rather innocent looking, and most definitely young, and he did wonder what she was doing hiding out here. "i was looking for peace and quiet, and you're just here. the wedding planning is giving me a headache. the hustle and bustle of everyone excitedly discussing it is nauseating."

“are you always this charming when crashing gardens, or is it just the wedding making you difficult?”

“this one’s for protection,” she added, nodding toward a sprig of mugwort. “you might consider keeping some. the festivities seem to have rattled you.”

this place is alive, and the lady that cares for it is likely its beating heart.

the footman allows him to pass through the garden's gate, recognizing him as a frequent visitor, but marius doesn't walk with urgency; few would deny him access, because he carries the air that where ever he is, he is meant to be. there is a steady, lazy confidence that lives in his approach & the crack of the dead twig under his boot even snaps his own awareness into place, having been diverted by the scenery.

“you’re not trespassing, marius,” she murmured, examining the lavender and basil with familiarity and a fond smile.

“the garden allows who it wants in here. lucky you.” her voice was kind, as if the flowers themselves had chosen him to tend for them.

then she paused, as delicate as a breath between the verses of a poem.

“and if you’re offering hands,” she added, with a smile tugging at her lips, “you might as well get them dirty,” she offered him a pair of shears — slightly dulled by time, like most things in the estate, but still sharp enough to trust.