Part 1: A Body Dressed for No One
Jenny stood before the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the delicate white nightgown laid out for her earlier by the maid. The fabric was soft and smooth against her skin, the lace lining tracing the modest curves of her collarbone. She had never worn anything so fine before, never prepared herself like this. Not for anyone.
She could hear the wind outside, rattling softly against the windows, but inside the room was too still. Too quiet.
Her heart thudded.
She had braided her hair loosely, let it fall down her back the way she'd seen noblewomen wear it. She had even dabbed her wrists with rose water from the crystal vial on the vanity, sweet and fragile, like hope itself.
She had waited.
And waited.
The clock ticked on.
The hallway beyond her door remained hushed.
Eventually, she slipped on the silk robe hanging nearby and stepped out into the corridor. The candlelight flickered as she moved. Her feet made no sound against the marble floor.
She passed a room she hadn't noticed before its door slightly ajar.
Curiosity stirred.
She moved closer, her hand tightening around the robe.
What she saw made her breath catch.
Part 2: The Broken Vow
Inside the dimly lit room, her husband, the man who had not looked her in the eye all evening, lay tangled in the sheets of a bed that was not hers.
But it was not the bed that broke her.
It was her. The woman. The mistress.
She was above him, straddling him like she owned every inch of him.
Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was slow, practised, and too intimate to misunderstand. Her hands gripped his chest. His fingers dug into her hips. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy as she let out a soft moan that made Jenny's stomach twist.
The earl's voice, deeper, huskier than Jenny had ever heard, murmured something into the woman's neck. She laughed. The sound was wicked, breathless, victorious.
Jenny stared, paralysed.
She should have turned away. She should have closed the door and disappeared.
But she couldn't.
Not yet.
Not until she saw the look in his eyes.
And when he opened them, dark, hungry, desperate, they weren't looking at her.
They never had been.
Part 3: With Ashes in Her Throat
Jenny returned to her room, her legs numb, her chest hollow.
She locked the door behind her.
The mirror caught her reflection still in white, still dressed like a bride.
She tore the robe off and threw it to the floor.
The rose water on her wrists now smelled like something bitter. Like mockery.
She crawled into the bed, curling tightly into herself. Her fingers clutched the bedsheet as her shoulders trembled.
She made no sound.
Because some griefs are too deep for sobs.
Some heartbreaks leave you voiceless.
She closed her eyes and saw their shadows moving against the candlelight again. The way he touched her. The way he looked at her.
The way he would never look at Jenny.
Not like that.
Part 4: The Morning After Is Colder
Morning came without mercy.
A maid knocked gently, bringing her tea and clothes. Jenny did not speak. She dressed slowly, mechanically. Her face was unreadable, her silence louder than anything.
Downstairs, he sat at the table with a paper in his hand. He didn't glance at her when she entered.
"Good morning," he said casually, as if nothing had happened.
Jenny nodded, her voice caught in her throat. She took her seat. The mistress was absent, but her presence lingered like the scent of her perfume.
"After breakfast," the earl said, "you'll be shown the grounds. I expect you to keep up appearances."
Appearances.
That's what she was now.
Not a wife.
A performance.
Part 5: The Tour of the Unwanted
The sun spilt gold across the manor's stone walls, but it was a cold kind of morning, one that didn't warm the skin, only exposed it.
Jenny followed the housekeeper silently through the halls.
"This is the solarium," the woman said. "His lordship's mother loved it."
Jenny nodded.
"This is the music room. His lordship prefers not to be disturbed when playing the violin."
Nod.
"The west wing is private. The mistress stays there."
The mistress.
The title rang in Jenny's ears like a bell louder than the one the priest had rung during their wedding.
She said nothing.
They passed grand tapestries, paintings of ancestors, suits of armour, and secret doorways. None of it felt like hers.
No, she was walking through someone else's life, someone else's home, someone else's marriage.
Part 6: Letters Never Sent
That afternoon, Jenny sat by the window in her assigned sitting room, clutching a quill.
She stared down at a piece of parchment for nearly an hour.
She wrote:
"Mama... if you were alive, you would've warned me, wouldn't you? That love is not always given. That some marriages are colder than graves."
She stopped.
What was the point?
She tore the letter and tossed it into the fire.
The flame crackled as it swallowed the words.
Like everything else about her burnt away, piece by piece.
Part 7: A Ghost in Her Own Life
The days bled into each other.
The earl left early. Returned late.
He spoke to her only during meals, and even then, the words were dry. Practical. Instructions, not conversation.
Jenny learned to smile for the servants. To nod politely when addressed. To stand at his side in public like a well-carved statue.
At night, she returned to her room alone.
At night, she heard laughter from the west wing.
At night, she heard the soft rhythm of pleasure denied to her.
Sometimes, she pressed the pillow over her ears.
Sometimes, she simply lay still and stared into the dark.
The ache grew dull but deeper.
Like a root.
Part 8: The Gown in the Mirror
One evening, she stood in front of the wardrobe and ran her fingers along the sleeves of the gown she wore on her wedding day.
It still smelled faintly of lilies.
She slid it on again, just to remember what it felt like to be new, untouched, chosen.
The fabric hugged her body.
But the girl who wore it no longer lived in her skin.
In the mirror, she saw someone else.
Eyes shadowed. Lips set. A face too calm for one so young.
She raised a hand and touched the reflection lightly.
"I am not a wife," she whispered. "I am an ornament. An obligation. A placeholder."
Tears welled in her eyes again.
But this time, she let them fall.
Part 9: Glass Between Queens
The sun had just begun to set when Jenny wandered into the rose garden. The silence there was gentler than inside, no footsteps, no locked doors, no laughter she couldn't bear.
She found a stone bench and sat, pulling her shawl tighter.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps.
The familiar perfume reached her before the voice did something expensive, floral, overpowering.
"Odd choice of place to sulk."
Jenny stiffened. Slowly, she turned.
The mistress.
Draped in deep green silk, her hair swept up carelessly, yet every strand was in place. She held a glass of wine, sipping as though she owned the garden, the house, the man inside it.
And perhaps… she did.
"I wasn't sulking," Jenny murmured.
The woman smiled. "Of course you were. That's what girls do when they find out fairy tales are liars."
Silence.
Jenny looked down at her hands.
"Do you love him?" she asked quietly.
The mistress tilted her head. "Does it matter?"
Jenny's throat tightened.
The woman stepped closer, lowering herself onto the opposite end of the bench. She didn't sit like a guest. She sat like someone who'd never been asked to leave.
She studied Jenny's face with cool amusement.
"He married you because it was written in some old letter," she said, twirling the wine in her glass. "Because of duty. Blood. Inheritance. You were the right name, not the right woman."
Jenny didn't respond.
The mistress leaned in.
"Do you know what he calls me when no one's around?"
Jenny didn't want to know. But she nodded.
The mistress smiled.
"My choice."
Silence fell like a blade between them.
Then the woman stood, smoothing her dress.
"Enjoy your garden," she said, already walking away. "While you still believe it belongs to you."
Jenny sat still.
The roses around her swayed gently in the evening breeze, beautiful and thorned.
And for the first time since arriving, she let the anger rise.
Just a little.
Not enough to burn.
But enough to keep her warm.