Chapter 16: Magnolia's Cold Welcome
The early air smelled of manicured hedges and dew-kissed roses, faintly tinted with the scent of something older, something that stayed in the earth under the Beaumont estate like memory. The leaves shook against the wrought iron fence as a breeze murmured across the ivy-covered walls. Long shadows cast by sunlight danced across the marble paths meandering around the garden, across beds of white hydrangeas, ivory peony, and red roses. Scar had not intended to stray there.
The house had become too quiet once more, its long hallways resonant with the lack of comfort. She craved air after breakfast of solitude and silence behind a wall of meetings and locked doors, Tucker vanished behind. Required space. Somewhere free from the political behind those stone walls. The yard greeted her with false gentleness. She moved carefully between the rose beds, her fingertips barely brushing the petals, their velvet softness a weird contrast to the acute agony in her chest. She stopped under a trellis loaded with honeysuckle vines, their aroma strong and seductive. She let herself breathe for a minute. She spotted her at that point. Magnolia Prescott sat in the garden’s heart an alcove covered by a centuries-old willow tree, where a white iron table sat tucked beneath a curved pergola coated in blossoming jasmine. Beautiful and pallid, the former matriarch of the Beaumont house sat like a statue painted in subdued colors. Her cheekbones piercing, lips pale as porcelain, her silver-blonde hair was beautifully in place.
She seemed born into stillness, her posture perfect and hands resting gently over a porcelain teacup. Scarlet paused. She had seen Magnolia once, in passing, in well under control environments at occasions where the woman was more ghost than presence. But never by itself. Never undirected. And now the lady who had cradled Tucker in her womb disappeared behind walls of silence for years. Seated by herself, staring at nothing, she drank tea in a garden laden with shade and blossom. Magnolia said without turning her head, "Come." Her voice was soft, silky, every syllable polished by elegance.
"I find it unpleasant to keep repeating myself. Scarlet's spine corrected itself. She moved carefully across the stone walk toward the table. Her heels clicked gently on the tiles, and for a while she wondered whether Magnolia could hear her pulse. Under her ribs it thundered like a war drum. Magnolia did not show a smile. She pointed across from her to the vacant chair. 'Sit.' Scarlet observed, lowering herself with as much grace as she could muster. She didn't reach to comb the few strands of hair from her chignon that the breeze ruffled. Magnolia steadily poured a second cup of tea. The pure blue, exquisite china had gold crest- engraved. Breath trapped in Scarlet. THAT crest. She had seen it earlier in the photo's corner from Tucker's office, behind the woman standing next to her father. From the elegant teacup, the identical gold insignia had watched back at her then, exactly as it did now.
It was therefore not only decoration. It was legacy. Magnolia pointed to "Chamomile," laying the cup before her. "Calming. Necessary for this house. Scarlet took the cup and ran fingertips along the delicate porcelain rim. Thank you. Magnolia gazed at her completely then, and Scar felt the whole weight of her eyes. It was not mean. It was not gentle. It was evaluating as if a sculptor examining imperfect marble. "You're prettier than I thought," Magnolia replied coolly.
But that has no bearing at all. Beauty frays. More importance is given to usefulness. Scarlet's fingers froze around the teacup. "I came here not to be useful." Magnesium answered, "No." But that is exactly what you have evolved into. Her tone did not convey any contempt. Just observations. Scarlet gently laid down the teacup. You haven't asked why I'm here. Magnolia brushed a bit of dust from her lap and remarked, "I don't need to." "I am aware of my son." He is a man carrying wounds like weapons. He brought you back not out of love, Scarlet. He got you back to hurt you. The core of Scar turned twisted. I know that. "Do you?," said Magnolia's eyes become keen. "Because I have seen before girls just like you. You believe that time transforms a man. His softness comes from such suffering. It is not. He gets sharper as a result. And whether he acknowledges it or not, Tucker has always been the son of his father.
Scarlet's jaw clenched. "I did not seek this marriage." Magnolia responded, "No." Nonetheless, you agreed to it. Behind them, a blast of wind shook the rose bushes. Magnolia raised her teacup once more, slow-sipped it, then lowered it with a soft sigh. She murmured, eyes far off now, "this home... destroys people." It begins slowly. Your voice first; then, your decisions. then your heart. And if you survive long enough, one morning you will wake up and find you cannot identify the person in the mirror. The fingers of Scarlet curled in her lap. Still, you stayed. The smile of Magnolia was fragile. "I was younger." And naive. also terrified. But not now. "Why are you showing me this?" Scarlet asked, her voice softer now. "What from me do you want?"