Chapter 9 - THE LAST OAK IN THE GARDEN
The autumn air had grown crisp by the time the final plates were cleared from the terrace table, but nobody made any move to go inside. The warmth of the outdoor lanterns and the quiet hum of laughter created a cocoon of absolute safety against the cooling night.
Little Leo had finally grown drowsy after his long day of digging and planting, his head resting softly against his father’s shoulder as the gardener carried him gently toward the cozy staff cottage down by the east lawn.
Eleanor Price sat wrapped in her faded wool coat, sipping a cup of chamomile tea that Sophie had brewed for her. Her gaze was fixed out toward the memorial garden, where the moonlight silvered the newly planted circle of white roses surrounding William’s grave.
“You know,” Eleanor murmured, her voice carrying a profound, tranquil peace, “for eleven years, I thought I was the only one keeping watch over that corner of the estate. I thought when I was gone, William would be forgotten entirely.”
Dominic leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes gentle. “You were never alone, Mrs. Price. And William will never be forgotten. As long as there’s a Romano standing on this land, that garden is as sacred as the chapel itself.”
Eleanor smiled, patting Dominic’s arm affectionately before standing up with the assistance of her cane. “I think it’s time this old widow went inside to rest her bones. Sophie, dear... walk with me to the hallway?”
“Of course, Eleanor,” Sophie said instantly, rising from her chair and offering her arm to the elderly woman.
They walked slowly together across the flagstone terrace, leaving Dominic, Margaret, and Captain Miller talking quietly by the lantern light. The heavy oak doors of the manor glided open smoothly, welcoming them into the grand, warm foyer where the marble floor gleamed under the soft glow of the chandelier.
As they reached the base of the grand staircase, Eleanor stopped and turned to face Sophie, her watery eyes shining with deep emotion.
“Sophie,” Eleanor said softly, taking a small, velvet-lined leather box out from her coat pocket—the very box she had kept hidden beneath her mattress for over a decade. She opened it to reveal a delicate silver locket, engraved with intertwining oak leaves.
“William gave me this on our wedding day,” Eleanor whispered, pressing the cold metal gently into Sophie’s palm. “He said true wealth isn't measured in money or concrete, but in the people who help you carry your burdens when the road gets steep. I don't have any daughters, child. And I can't think of anyone more worthy of wearing this house’s real heart.”
Sophie’s eyes filled with tears, her voice catching in her throat. “Eleanor... I couldn't possibly accept this. It’s your most precious treasure.”
“It’s right where it belongs,” Eleanor insisted gently, closing Sophie’s fingers around the locket. “Just like you are.”
Up on the terrace, heavy footsteps approached from the garden archway. Dominic stepped into the foyer, his dark eyes locking onto Sophie with a quiet, certain warmth that needed no words at all.
He walked over, stopping just inches away, and gently reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Sophie’s cheek.
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“The gates to the memorial garden are locked for the night,” Dominic said softly, his voice low and rich with promise. “And the key is right where it belongs.”
Sophie looked down at the silver locket in her hand, then up into Dominic’s steady, devoted gaze. For the first time in her life, the future didn't feel like something she had to survive day by day—it felt like a sanctuary, deeply rooted and enduring, built to last for generations to come.
