THE VOICES from the party were fading whispers, catching in the still evening air until they were as indistinguishable as the stars. Her aunt promised that the gardens behind the Kensingtons lavish home were a spectacle in the summer – a spectacle Emaline would bare witness to in the coming months. Sighing, she rounded the neatly trimmed hedges that bordered rose garden. Rich violet and golden crocuses dotted the walkway; pinpoints of life against the still-slumbering landscape. In the muted browns and still-yellow grasses Emaline felt a sense of kinship. Nature was waiting to be awakened; to feel the suns warm kiss and joy of life once more. It was there, in the space where one existed but no longer lived, that she found herself. Along with nature she was merely suspended, waiting. With each breath she yearned for a different ending to a story that had already been written, to recapture those tender moments anew. Had she known how rare and precious her time with Owen would become she would have cherished them more; found some way to preserve them. They had both naively thought they had forever and with each passing day she found it more difficult to remember those things she had once taken for granted. Simple things like the sound of his laugh or the way his eyes changed color when he looked at the sun. As those pieces faded Emaline felt the void inside her widen. She was certain that one day it would consume her.

She often wondered if it was the same for Owen – if he struggled to hold onto memories of her; if he even remembered her at all. Of course that had been the entire purpose of sending her to London. Her parents wanted her to forget the boy who had stolen her heart, the boy they had deemed to be beneath her. The distance her parents had hoped to place between her and the memories she refused to set free had not had the desired effect. Rather than moving beyond their grip she clung to them in desperation. That time, however brief, was her only sustenance. The hope that a change of scenery would be enough to draw her back from the shell she had retreated into had extended to her aunt and uncle. A soft, breathy laugh escaped as she recalled their disappointment that she and her cousin Garrett had not been immediately smitten with one another. Emaline was certain that it was the vast wealth her father had accumulated that appealed to them more than her well-being. It seemed that money was the only dialogue understood.

Pausing, she surveyed her surroundings. She had not ventured this far into the gardens before. Silence embraced her and Emaline sank into its calm touch. Ahead the path widened, revealing an elaborately sculpted fountain. Tall willows bowed toward it in silent submission. For the first time since she had arrived in London, Emaline felt at peace. Here she could simply exist. Her time here was precious. As the guest of honor it would not be long before her aunt noticed her absence and sent Garrett for her. As she settled along the fountain’s narrow ledge, she vowed to make the most of whatever time she did have.

It was one of the many lessons Owen had taught her. One of the many things she refused to let go of.

TRAILING HER FINGERS across the undulated surface of the water, Emaline allowed her mind to drift. Her reflection was distorted, bobbing within the waters’ soft caress. As she stared, she could see Owen slip in beside her, reaching for her hand. I’m here, Emma. Don’t let go. Lost in the velvety water images she could recall the magic; feel it fill the air anew. It was forever spring there. She reached further, allowing her hand to slip into the coolness, breaking apart the imagined face. As she withdrew her hand, he was gone as he always was. Owen only existed when she dreamed him there, and so she would continue to dream. Don’t go, her heart cried, the familiar ache spreading through her chest. I still need you. But it was in vain; he was forever vanishing, nothing more than an apparition. There were times where Emaline doubted he had ever existed.

- - - - -

“The seasons must change, Emaline. There is nothing we can do to prevent it, instead we must learn to accept it.”

The tea cup rattled against the saucer as Emaline set it upon the table beside her. For days she had sat in the same spot, staring out the window, waiting. The letters had stopped arriving and she knew in her heart that something was wrong. He has simply vanished and no one knew. It was the uncertainty that paralyzed her. She needed an answer to all the questions that plagued her mind: was he hurt? dead? was he alone, cold and afraid? was he looking for her. She turned her anguished eyes toward her mother, tired of listening to her attempts to brighten her disposition. Only one thing would bring a smile to her lips again – the sight of Owen walking up the twisting drive to take her in his arms as his bride. “I can’t accept this,” Emaline murmured. “I don’t wish it to be true.”

“You’re still a girl.” her mother chastised, “it is time for you to learn that wishing changes nothing.”

“Then I pray I shall always remain a girl for I never want to stop wishing.”

“You don’t mean to sit in front of this window waiting for what shall never be, do you? He left you. Or have you chosen to forget that while you embrace fanciful notions of his love and imminent return.”

Emaline’s eyes flashed, anger igniting a fire within her stomach. “You’ve not leave to speak of Owen that way! You don’t know him as I do.”

Her mother’s expression softened, her eyes drifting to a world Emaline knew nothing of. “I know more than you think.”

- - - - -

“Pardon me,” a soft voice murmured like a lullaby. She prayed that they would continue on their way and leave her to the past. She didn’t wish to return yet. Just a few moments longer so that she could linger in Owen’s memory. “I hardly meant to interrupt you.”

Turning, Emaline regarded him coolly. Her eyes detached as she surveyed his pressed attire. He did not dwell in the same class as the rest of the guests her aunt and uncle had invited for the evening, a fact that intrigued her. “I am Dr. Diego Reynolds.” She was well acquainted with the story of the ‘miracle doctor’ and how he had spared Lottie when she had been sick with the croup. Her Aunt Bernice, Lottie’s mother, was given to exaggeration and she was certain that the doctors favor within the family was merely a fortunate instance of being in the correct place at the right time. He motioned toward the fountain. “A lovely spot, most assuredly. But are you not growing cold as night begins to fall?” A chill traced her spine and Emaline shivered despite herself. The mention of the cool air all she needed to notice the gooseflesh adorning her arms.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she replied softly.

“London can be quite inhospitable at times,” he continued.

Her brow rose, amused and curious. “Most places can claim that distinction,” she said, her American accent clear. “But then, you are not from London, are you?”

OWEN WAS HOLDING HER. His warm hands wrapped themselves delicately over her shoulders, smoothing the heavy fabric of a jacket over her pallid skin. A whisper of breath, warm against her skin and neck enveloped her, delicately pulling her back into the safety of his touch. Emaline felt herself falling into his touch once more; her entire body craving his familiar touch even now. “We cannot have the guest of honor falling ill, si?” a soft tenor voice murmured, eliciting a contended sigh.

But the voice was wrong, its accented and careful enunciation breaking through her reverie. The warm hands fell away as she allowed herself to be turned round once more. With each languid second the cool night air reclaimed the minute warmth he had provided her with until she was alone once more, Owen’s memory dissipating before it had ever been realized. Blinking against the pull of the past, Emaline stared blankly at the doctor before her. A soft, teasing smile curved upon his full lips but did not reach his eyes. Instead they remained dark, flat. She could see herself reflected there – existing but no longer alive. A chill traced her spine with that thought and she dropped her gaze. Her fingers idly twirled a loose thread at the bottom of the sleeves that engulfed her petite frame. “Why do you hide out in the darkness when a ball awaits you inside?”

Raising her eyes, Emaline met his curious gaze. She had not wanted this party and had protested against it even after the invites had been sent out. Both she and her relatives knew that the party had little to do with her arrival in London and everything to do with another excuse to provide an ostentatious display of their wealth to their friends and acquaintances. She had no desire to be part of their world – not after what it had cost her… “They only notice me when it serves their purposes. I am about as relevant to that party as the potted ferns. I am afraid it grows tiring to exist for another’s purpose.”

Something flitted across the doctor’s face with her response, whether it be amusement or horror she did not know. Try as she might, Emaline could not bring herself to care. In the months since Owen’s departure and subsequent vanishing, the emotions that had once blossomed freely within her spirit lay as brittle as the garden she stood in now. Still, she did not know how deep this man’s connection lay with her family and she would be a fool to give him cause to report her to them. “Forgive me, Dr. Reynolds. You merely startled me. I hear these gardens are splendid in the spring and summer months.”