No orchid’s sublime velvet or peaks cloaked in gold could rival fair Eliza in the yearning eyes of Wesley Thorne when chanced glimpses through Hillthorn Manor’s opulent fetes first seized stubborn breath from his lips as only soulmates fated might. Her graceful charm held a sweetness echoing long-faded dreams of his mother’s embrace now decades absent – yet Wesley knew no approach fitting for an orphaned groundskeeper would unlock At last when a delicate handwritten note from Eliza herself landed mysteriously amongst Wesley’s toolshed ledgers requesting companionship by the moonlit western reflecting pool “should affairs of the soil allow,” ecstasy gripped his pounding heart at this serendipity!

Through summer’s lingering firefly nights hence, rapt besotted Wesley eagerly awaited Eliza’s dulcet laugh and diaphanous shawls by the gentle spring whose silent waters reflected their tentative bond kindling aglow. Sheltered within this secret bower, stations and circumstance fell subordinate to true intimacy as Eliza shared details of propriety’s constraints whilst blushing at Wesley’s restrained flirtations. For his part, Wesley focused solely on the miracle of Eliza’s warming presence, not her heritage. That she in kind appreciated his meager stable insights proved panacea for lifetime of exclusions endured by Wesley or all in service to opulence never meant their own. Yet fate seldom asks consent tearing asunder even heaven’s brightest promises...

Too soon Hillthorn’s next ostentatious affair brought deserved gossip of Eliza’s hand offered publically in marriage to a loathsome envoy boasting blood and barrels over scruples or any sense of her infectious joy. Despite initial carefree reassurances love would forge its righteous path come what may, Wesley’s battered spirits plummeted violently upon finding Eliza’s private study deserted indefinitely, not even an apologetic sonnet or plea lingering amongst the perfumed velvet interior her family had adorned obsessively to lure London’s most eligible suitor into their fold. Defeated utterly by callous maneuverings in aristocracy’s endgame, Wesley’s sole refuge became the reflecting pool painting images now mocking only the adversities faced by those born bereft of privilege’s gilded insignia. Hollow weeks eroding thus.......

Defeated yet tightened by ferocious purpose as summer’s long evenings waned amidst neglected gardens, Wesley applied what remained from lifetime of concealed savings and handiwork towards singular aim - one climactic delivery to Eliza come winter solstice once customary weddings concluded. Into a ravishing glass-blown terrarium shaped exquisitely after Hillthorn’s lost enchanted grotto, Wesley funneled all lingering focus on preserving their sacred haven in microcosm now denied fruition beyond these fragile walls forevermore. He positioned and nurtured rooted wild orchard cuttings until flora flourished as dreamily within this scintillating capsule as once their external living counterparts sheltered trysts long severed by society’s transactional worldly matrix. At last miniature marble effigies even captured the fated pair’s likeness admiring the cosmic brilliance reflected in each other’s gaze as once under stars bright and unfailingly full of wonder. This solitary surviving keepsake now enshrined all divinity fate had since shattered....

Upon winter’s longest midnight, Wesley nestled his intricate terrarium masterwork on Eliza's snow-kissed doorstep porch silently pleading destiny allow some token of their halcyon colloquies remain beyond title’s chill machinations. Then he slipped away steaming breath rising as final punctuation nevermore spoken aloud again. Come icy dawn, Wesley resigned beyond creaking gates never expecting reply or crowd’s comprehension regarding the contents now roosting in opulence’s cage thus delivered unexpectedly. The lovers’ preserve would instead hold fast privately against time’s eroding siege as their summer reverie’s lone testament.

In the countless rotations hence none within ever glimpsed or deduced the terrarium's origins as intended. Some even attributed the marvel mysteriously manifest that solstice dawn as conjured through supernatural provenance - an immaculate self-contained Yuletide miracle sans mortal hands in its meticulous creation. Seasons thus passed relegating Wesley's devotion to obscurity. Then one sweltering Indian Summer astounded the estate unexpectedly following six successive years of filling Wesley's soul daily through lonesome golden horizon ahead....

Whilst tottering home from town through shrouded forest pathways, a disbelieving Eliza nearly fainted when her carriage wheel struck a gnarled oak branch offshooting Wesley's overgrown grave now decades unvisited since paternal groundskeepers found his fishing coracle floating empty downriverbanks never identified. There half-smothered in bramble lay a cracked terrarium exuding their preserved memories from lost lifetimes beyond retrieval. Out tumbled faded orchids, a once-sparkling pool, and the tiny entwined marble statues Wesley carved immortalizing their embraces eternally. Stifling a cry Eliza clutched this talismanic sphere close as tears flowed unbroken.....

In later times once more some midnight wayfarers wandering dale or lamping fog insist a silhouette lingers up trailing pathways of the sprawling estate appearing or dissolving uncannily beneath the clustered arborvitaes in certain wing or manor gardens long untrod where moonlight penetrates. Perhaps groundskeepers descrying pale smiling wraiths haunting near the unused fountain’s marble contours grown wild and cracked. But none now remain who recognize that patient hovering shade who nurtures the wilding blooms and waits by light of Diana’s quicksilver gaze as if for assignation only fate’s caprice may someday honor unawares. Not all broken unions wholly wane, or seasons turn past changing again what the heart still knows though all else erased.

And a 96-word teaser:

When Wesley's tender affair with the Hillthorn heiress Eliza met crushing fate at society's ruthless hands, the smitten groundskeeper poured his soul into one final gift - an intricate terrarium world preserving their secret bower's lost magic before parting anonymously. At long last this fragile token resurfaced to restore Eliza's overwhelmed memory. Now locals fancy his lingering silhouette appears patiently tending their wild sanctuary as in life should true love's second coming arrive unheralded. For the adoring soul ever pines brighter through adversity outlasting all save memory's fragile flickering light eternal.