Chapter 10 - The Gala of Roses
Two days later.
The Grand Opening Gala of the Rose Ashford Botanical Foundation was the event of the season.
The courtyard—where six months ago I had been pushed into a cold fountain—was illuminated by thousands of warm, twinkling lights stringing between the ancient stone arches. The fountain itself had been restored, its clear water sparkling like liquid crystal around a central bronze statue of Grandmother Rose holding a bouquet of roses.
Five hundred guests—scientists, artists, community leaders, and historical conservators—milled through the gardens, sipping champagne and admiring the blooming heritage roses.
I stood on the stone terrace near the main entrance of the north wing.
I was wearing a floor-length gown of deep, rich midnight-blue silk, custom-designed for me by a young local artisan funded by the Foundation. Around my neck hung Grandmother Rose’s silver brooch, sparkling brilliantly under the terrace lights.
My hair was styled up, simple and elegant. I looked like the true mistress of Ashford Manor.
Julian stood beside me, wearing a sharp black tuxedo, his hand gently resting on the small of my back.
“You look breathtaking, Marianne,” Julian whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my neck.
“Thank you, Julian,” I smiled, looking out over the crowd.
Near the garden entrance, I spotted Natalie. She was wearing a simple, elegant dark green dress—the staff uniform for the Foundation’s event coordinators. She was working quietly, guiding elderly guests to their seats, holding a clipboard, a genuine, humble smile on her face. She didn't look for media cameras. She didn't seek attention. She was simply doing her job with quiet, honest pride.
My parents were nowhere to be seen. They had refused to attend after realizing they would not be allowed onto the VIP terrace or given any public recognition. They remained in their small rental, fading into the background of a society that had long forgotten them.
At 8:00 PM, Julian stepped up to the microphone on the central terrace stage, calling the crowd to attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Julian’s voice echoed warmly across the courtyard. “Welcome to the Rose Ashford Botanical Foundation. Tonight, we celebrate not just the preservation of history, but the triumph of integrity, resilience, and true elegance.”
May you like
The crowd applauded warmly.
“It is my distinct honor,” Julian continued, turning his head toward me, his eyes filled with immense pride and deep love, “to introduce the founder, the owner of Ashford Manor, and the love of my life... Miss Marianne Ashford.”
