I
EDEN
The countryside rolls by in a blur of green and gray.
’m counting the raindrops as they streak the windows of the Cullinan. We’re winding our way through the Scottish Highlands. nside, the car is quiet—save for the hum of the engine. But make the mistake of leaning against the leather armrest.
My mother’s voice clips through the silence.
“Sit up straight, Eden.”
adjust my posture, playing with the golden cross around my neck. ’ve had it for as long as can remember. As my wrist grew, my father made sure it would still fit. t’s the only thing that feels like mine .
“Your posture is the first thing people notice. Slouching is a sign of poor breeding.” Her head snaps toward me. “Were you bred poorly?”
t’s a rhetorical question, but still answer. “No, ma’am.”
There’s a lull in the conversation. Enough for me to look at her longingly and wish looked more like her. To wish that my skin was lighter, my curls were looser. To wish that my eyes weren’t a muddy brown. To wish was skinnier. To wish that she loved me the way see her love my brothers.
’m fearfully and wonderfully made in God’s image.
But the thought does little to make me feel better. wring my fingers in my lap.
“Your uniform must be immaculate at all times. Shoes polished, no wrinkles in your skirt.” Her eyes narrow, as if she can already see me disappointing her. “Whatever you do, ensure it befits your status as a Lockhart. Appearances matter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
don’t even know what clothes are in my suitcase. My mother went shopping without me to choose everything would wear for the upcoming semester. My mind wanders about what she bought while she keeps talking.
Her commands come in quick succession. Each one more jarring than the first, drilling deeper as the car glides effortlessly around a bend. There’s no privacy screen in the Cullinan, but the driver’s face is stoic. Sometimes wonder how they do it—keeping a straight face around my mother.
My mind settles on the prospect of Augustine Diocesan Academy.
The reality of it all looms closer with each kilometer, the weight of it heavy on my chest. t’s not just a school, it’s a crucible. A place where legacies are forged.
My parents met there—a love story they’ve recited at every gala and fundraiser. Even the debutante ball that wasn’t allowed to attend had its proceeds sent there, to this hallowed institution that will be my home for the next two years.
When zone back in, my mother is still rattling off her list of rules. No chewing of gum. No speaking out of turn. No fraternizing with anyone would not want her to meet. No discussing of family matters or personal issues with anyone. She raps me on my knuckles, forcing me to look at her.
“You should remain polite, but don’t come off as desperate or overly eager when vying for the attention of a man.” She gives me a pointed look. “Befriend only those of equal or higher social standing. don’t want to hear of you keeping commoners as friends.”
My breath hitches, but know it’s my fault. A few summers ago, had a crush on our gardener’s son. The moment my mother found out, his father was fired, and was punished for weeks. t still haunts me because fell victim to a cardinal sin—lust. f had been more focused on my relationship with the Lord it wouldn’t have happened.
refuse to make that mistake again.
“Before you even consider a man, make sure you have investigated his family thoroughly. His background is more important than he is,” my mother snaps. Then she adds, almost offhandedly, “Don’t discuss your romantic aspirations with anyone either. t only invites competition.”
nod, sucking in a deep breath.
“Are you listening to me, Eden?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Her tone is anything but. “ know you’re prone to emotional outbursts, but will not be there to keep you in line. You’ll have to do that on your own.” She taps the spot between her brows lightly, as if just thinking of it gives her a headache. “But hope that you’re able to control yourself when you realize that your entire future rests on the decisions you make at Augustine.”
nod.
Something about the way she says it makes me want to cry, think? My eyes burn, but blink the tears away. Tears never meant anything to my mother anyway. Well, other than a sign of weakness.
am not weak. And ’ll prove that to my parents. can do this. can be perfect. And finally, my mother will see me. Maybe she’ll even love me.
Unbeknownst to my mother, ’ve spent the summer doing preparations of my own. This is my chance to prove that am worth much more than what she thinks of me. refuse to fail.
Almost every day, Eleanor—my best and only friend—helped me comb the social media accounts of any and everyone we could find related to Augustine Diocesan Academy. Even tangentially related people, like alums or children of the school’s biggest donors.
Eleanor hates my mother. But she loves me. However, her help came with a condition. have to make her my Maid of Honour. Just thinking back to the moment she demanded it made me laugh. didn’t tell her that wasn’t even planning to get married anyway. But if was, who else would choose? Eleanor might end up being my only bridesmaid—making friends at Augustine seems bleak.
Armed with all the knowledge gathered from social media, Wikipedia pages and the high society rumor mill, narrowed down my prospects to a single person. Someone who will impress my mother. ’ll marry well. As a matter of fact, not just well— spectacularly .
The future Duke of Surrey, Silas Peregrine-Ashford V, is currently in his second year at Augustine Diocesan Academy. ’ve memorized every detail of his life, every photograph, every tidbit of information could glean from late-night scrolling on a fake social media account.
Silas is handsome in that aloof, aristocratic way. But most importantly, his lineage is impeccable. Comparable to my own. He’s the kind of man my mother could only dream ’d end up with. When he asks for my hand, she’ll have no choice but to be proud of me, to actually treat me like her daughter.
She could only marry a viscount, but ’ll be marrying a duke.
Ever since chose Silas, ’ve imagined it a hundred times over: what it would be like to get her approval—her smile, the way she might actually hold me close instead of brushing past me like ’m furniture, the way she would take me to lunch with her friends and have me close by at every social event.
shift slightly in my seat, the fabric of my skirt rustling against the gold-stitched brown leather. Casting a glance at her, she doesn’t even notice that ’m looking at her. She’s too busy talking about how ’m expected to uphold the family name, and how ruthless the girls at Augustine will be if they sense even the slightest bit of weakness.
“ understand,” murmur.
’m not sure do, though. sn’t it a Catholic school? The pinnacle of Holiness.
“You’d better,” she replies, sharply.
Sometimes, it surprises me how consistent my mother can be in her disdain for me. She’s been oscillating through various stages of derision from the moment we left the manor, in the car to the airport, on the jet, and now on the final leg of the journey.
know she’s only accompanying me because she doesn’t trust my father to. And ’m even more surprised by how much it doesn’t bother me. This is the most time we’ve spent alone together in years. t disgusts me how much want to impress her.
need to impress her. t’s an itch can’t scratch, this desperate need for her to see me—all of me, and love me for who am. Without her love, it’s like don’t exist, like ’m just…empty.
Lord forgive me, because you do fill me with your Spirit.
But even God knows how much parental love matters to a child.
’m so wrapped up in my pitiful thoughts that almost don’t realize the car has slowed to a slow roll. The sleek SUV slips through the wrought iron gates, flanked by towering stone columns that have darkened with age.
Beyond the huge, imposing gates, Augustine stretches out like something out of a gothic, medieval novel. ts ancient turret-tipped stone buildings stand so tall they nearly disappear into the stormy sky.
smooth my skirt. make sure that there isn’t a single hair out of place.
This is it.
This is my chance.
’ll follow all the rules. ’ll charm the right people.
’ll have Silas Peregrine-Ashford V on one knee before me.
Maybe then, my mother will finally think ’m enough.