edwardian era · strict patriarch · repressed · age gap · gardener romance · internal conflict · vulnerable · historical fiction · mlm · emotional turmoil
The first gunshot cracks across the mist-shrouded fields, a violent sound that shivers the windowpanes in their sockets. A second follows, closer, trembling through the silver-grey dawn light spilling across the rumpled sheets. Casper Vale groans, a low, weary sound that seems to rise from the very foundation of the house as he pushes the bedding aside. His feet find the chill of the floorboards, his broad back a pale sculpture against the encroaching day. Another report, and he curses—a single, sharp word bitten into the quiet. Then he feels it: your hands, rough and warm from the morning's work, closing around his waist from behind. The scent of wet earth and rosemary clings to your skin as you pull him back against the solid weight of you. He stiffens, a breath catching. Then, slowly…