She saw Beth put her other hand over the first hand on her mouth and knew her sister was trying not to make herself known even with a whimper. The door remained slightly ajar but the conversations and voices travelled away. A shrill sound replaced them, threatening to destroy Gwen's hearing.
She was beyond shocked. She was mortified. A proposal, a preposition to be a mistress? Impossibly, she leaned further into the wall, wishing to be one with the shadows. How had Lord Cossington come to such a conclusion? She was no longer a child, she was very aware of what the Viscount's preposition meant. She was to become the mistress of the man who was, a few minutes before, her betrothed. She knew perfectly what that meant too. The family thought Beth to be the one vast in knowledge as she enjoyed reading, but she was not dumb. She had on one occasion or the other taken a liking to one of Beth's books and the knowledge might sometimes be vulgar for her young mind but they were knowledge nevertheless. How could the Viscount belittle her as such? She was to remain as her father's daughter, but one day to become his son's mistress? She was not good enough to be a wife, but was perfect to be a mistress? So he would not be bored in his marriage? She was nothing but a source of entertainment? How were such words even possible? Why did they continue to humiliate her? Was their outright rejection not sufficient enough? And why was her father not saying a word?! She gripped her dress, squeezing it in her fist. Why was he not bursting into anger and asking the Viscount to apologize? How could he still survive to remain in the Viscount's presence? Gwen paused, scared, her heart sinking. Dear Lord, he was not considering the proposal, was he? She suddenly found it hard to breathe, the air did not seem quite enough. Oh Lord, please do not let him agree to this humiliating proposal. She would never be a mistress, not to anyone, talk more of the man who had rejected her. Finally, someone spoke. It was Eric. "Lord Cossington, you should leave." "Fitzgerald, do well to teach your son manners." "I have taught him quite well and he is a great man. And he is right, you have overstayed your welcome. It is high time you left." A scoff. "You cannot ask me to leave." "I believe I can. No matter how 'dingy' of an estate it is, or how lowly we have come, it still remains my home and you cannot force yourself to stay, so I am asking you to leave." A short laughter. "Your daughter would never wed." "I would rather she remained an old maid, unmarried and in my home, than to be your son's mistress. Eric, see them to the door." Gwen remained stationed behind the pillar, her back pressed against the old stone, unable to think. Her chest became hollow with each passing second even as time seemed to stand still. Her mind became a flood of chaos, a muddle of tiny pieces of thoughts crashing against each other. She tried to grasp onto something, anything that could tie her to sanity, but there was nothing. No coherent thought came to her, she was abandoned, left alone in an ocean of uncertainty. Dear God, what was happening? What had happened? Who was she? The daughter of a Duke, or one of a land baron? What was her fate? A wife or a mistress? Her vision blurred. She had no idea she was crying. How could he ask her father to make her his son's mistress, instead of a wife? Was the daughter of a baron good enough only as a mistress? Did that mean she would never wed? she would never be as happy as mother and father? Or as Aunt Marrily and Uncle Fitzwilliam? Has her life already been determined by the status of her family? As opposed to before, many thoughts ran through her head like her father's galloping horses until they had been removed, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust of uncertainty. Each thought clamoured for attention, demanding that she hear them even if they were not ready to offer clarity. She tried to focus, to sift through them but they were smoke, escaping her grasp before she could make sense of it. She could not hold onto one. So lost in the labyrinth of her mind, absentmindedly, Gwen walked out of her hiding place, leaving behind the safe shadows and entering the harshness of reality. "No!" Someone gasped out the word. She heard the distant whisper. Then, "Gwen! What are you doing out of your room? What are you doing here?" The voice distracted her muddled up head, stealing her from the demeaning discussion of the Lord of Sorway and his son. She had been so lost and had not noticed her sister leave the door and run in her direction. She had not noticed the tears running down her cheeks either. A mistress? A source of entertainment? Was that how low they saw her? She should be nothing but a pastime for a man? A man she had been engaged to? She had written down her joy of him, but he wanted her as a mistress? "Gwen," Beth ran to her, grabbing both her hands. "What did you come here for? How long have you been here?" She wasn't aware either. All she knew was she had been there long enough to hear the words that were said to belittle her, the words to bring to suspicion and conclusion that she was not a Fitzgerald, words to make her question herself. Words that greatly embarrassed her and her family. Slowly, her feet moved on their own accord. She stepped back, away from her sister, trying to hide, trying to run. Her mouth opened to drag in air for her nostrils did not seem to care about carrying out its job. "Gwen!" Beth called, walking after her. "Gwen, wait." It was impossible to do so. She supported herself with the wall, breathing heavily she could hear herself. When the door to the Marble Room finally opened, she didn't bother to see who had emerged, she spared not a glance. Instead, she pivoted on her heels and bolted for her room, her only companions were the echoing footsteps on the creaking floorboards and the heavy weight of shame trailing her, hot on her heels like a relentless shadow.September 1826True to Lucy's words, Carlisle Crest was indeed magnificent.Gwen's eyes remained on the lands, outside the window. From the turn they made to enter the estate, to the mansion they were arriving at, she was marvelled by how magnificent it was. Raising her head, she saw that the lights from the mansion up ahead were bright and they gave the mansion a thorough and proper look. It was an ethereal view.The driveway was packed as people took their time chatting and enjoying proper promenades. Many women giggled into their fists and a group of young men clustered together, stealing glances at the women. Young men of desirable age, and young women of marriageable age, looking to marry.From where they were on the tardy queue, Gwen could already hear the music. It was loud and upbeat, fun and worthy of a good dance. She couldn't wait to be a part of it, whiling away to the fast and slow dances, the meaningless chats and the untrue smiles.Like trees, stationary people slowly w
She placed her hands behind her and danced slowly away from Mr. Jones before returning, as did other dancing ladies. Mr. Jones smiled at her and she broadened hers in return, pushing her cheeks higher until they wouldn't lift anymore. They would hurt later, that was certain. He turned her and she again mirrored his dance, falling into steps with him. His hand stayed above the small of her back. At least he was a gentleman. He would make a good husband, she thought. "I don't think I have had the opportunity to be in your presence before today. Is this your first time at Carlisle crest?" He initiated a conversation. Gwen obliged his attempt, raising the pitch of her voice. "It is. It is my very first time. I take it you have been here many times yourself." "I have. The Dowager Duchess invites us, my family and I, every time there is a ball. I dare say she is fond of us." "I see." She nodded, thinking. 'Did not everyone get invited to Carlisle Crest?' She turned on the spot as did ot
Over the years, her sister and her parents had protected her whenever she was out in society, telling the young men she had danced with that although she was out of her schoolroom – not that she had any to begin with – she was young and not ready for marriage, nor sort of relationship with a man, howbeit, gentle. But she would be eighteen soon and expected to debut as a young woman ready for marriage, Gwen could not wait to be married and instead of waiting for age to come before a proposal, she had decided to put them in reverse. She would not wait for a groom, her groom would wait for her to attain age, then marriage.It was the perfect plan.The music stopped and the dancers bowed to their respective partners. Gwen did the same, bowing and with the shake of her head, declined dancing with him again. She left and walked over to Lucy who she had seen when she was still dancing, but before she could utter a word, Lord D'Averette left the man he was engaged in a conversation with and c
* * *As soon as the door of her room closed, the smile on Gwen's face vanished like it was never there before. Her cheeks ached and her lips felt numb from all the smiling. She flexed her jaws in hope to relieve the tension. The day had been beyond tiring.The ball was still very much underway when they left for Rosethorn Hill. As much as she was weary of the falsehood, she couldn't say much as she must keep the show of enjoying herself. But not Beth, who had had her fill, as with Lucy by her side, they convinced Aunt Marrily and Uncle Fitzwilliam to listen to their pleas and leave early. Through the course of the ball, Gwen had lost count of the number of gentlemen she had danced with, and was immensely glad when she had been gestured over. She was glad to leave.She walked over to the armoire and began to remove her dress. First the dress fell, pooling at her feet then the corset, and every other underwear. She wore her night garment, wrapped a shawl around her shoulder and sat on
"Pull!" Alexander yelled.A target was released into the air and he shot at it with perfect accuracy, bringing it down in bits and shards. Swiftly, he switched his musket with another loaded one and prepared again to engage: gun supported underneath with his left hand, butt to his shoulder, right index finger on the trigger, eyes focused; ready to follow the target as soon as it was released. From his line of sight, he saw someone approaching but he was too concentrated to turn or be concerned.He blinked and slowly released his pelt up breath. "Pull!" He yelled again.Another target went in the air and with his pressing on the trigger, the target disappeared into pieces and nothingness, scattering everywhere.He switched his musket and returned to his original stance point. "Pull!"Again, another target was released and destroyed. He stopped and watched the remains of his target reach the ground, then set the musket butt down with a gentle thud. "Hold." He told the servants who were
"Do you want to? I had thought your assignment was to win me in a staring competition. Or would you rather I plead you to tell me the results of your scouring?""No Sir, I apologize." Alexander sighed. How did he appoint such men as his most elite soldiers and spies? Suddenly, he feared for his kingdom. Brimsbol began. "The land thieves have been apprehended and thrown in the dungeon, but the wares of the villagers could not be recovered. Farm produce and livestock, gone. They had successfully sold it before we could catch up with them."He became incredulous. A terrible pause ensued. Then, "Excuses! Excuses!! Excuses!!!" He exploded, scaring Brimsbol, Edmund and the other servants who stood around the artificial shade. His eyes remained on the man. He had not meant to yell, but from the report the men had given him, to the news he received the day before from his spies, the frustration had finally caught up to him, vexing him in ways unfathomable. He breathed deeply and strongly. "Wh
Alexander's regard of the man was scathing. He was aware of the tension in the room and he gloried in it. "Mr. Wylore, is there a problem?" As the man was about to speak, he raised a hand to stop him. "Did I not ask for funds to be allocated or was it not included in the letter?"He nodded. "It was, Your Majesty…""Then, why trouble me, or do you presume I do not already have enough to do?""No, of course, Your Majesty. I only intended to confirm.""Mr. Wylore," He called, sitting forward and clasping his hands together. It was a look to cause fear. "if I need to give my present consent every time, then I suggest you retire soon.""No Sire, I_ I would nev_ I did not intend_"Alexander smiled. How greatly he enjoyed to tease, and making people uncomfortable was a joy. "Shall we review the accounts?" It was neither a plea nor askance. Mr. Wylore climbed to him, turned the pages and began to read it to his hearing.Tapping his feet rhythmically on the floor, Alexander listened to the Sol
Alexander chose to indulge her excitement, but Carlisle was glaring still. "I am tempted to hear what your imaginations are, but I'm not keen on the glares of Carlisle here. He probably thinks I am in the act of seducing you." Her jaw dropped. This time, he chuckled. Oh, she would be easy, he gloried. "Enjoy your stay then." "I thank you for this opportunity. We promise not to impose." Was she so righteous? Or was it a ruse? One thing was certain; her timidity would not sit right with him. What did Carlisle see in her to want her as a friend, as he claimed? "Why not?! Carlisle does it as much as he can. My Castle is open to all that choose to adhere to my rules." And all who can bear to survive my tease. He added wordlessly. Again, she bowed. "Then I must thank you for your hospitality." His humourous side was greatly appeased. He tittered. "A sweet talker, won't you agree, Carlisle?" but a timid one. She would bore him soon. "A great hostess you must be Lady Beth." And indeed, he