September 1826
True 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 went by as the carriage moved, bringing them ever closer to the door and to her dream: to acquire a husband and marry as soon as she became eighteen. Unlike Beth, her dream was to wed and manage her home, no matter how humble. She would be a wife! Gwen continued to watch the guests, smartly and beautifully dressed all glad to be invited to the best ball of the season, or so Lucy swears. Any ball at Carlisle Crest was worthy of the talks, she said. Gwen sent her gaze upon the people she could so far see, they all had the same mission: dream acquisition. For the ladies and some gentlemen, to marry; but for most other gentlemen, to acquire a business prospect. She would acquire hers too. Tonight. "Gwen what have you been staring at?" Lucy called to her. "Is there something entertaining out there?" She asked, trying to look out the window herself. Gwen lifted her lips, fixing a smile on her face and turned to her cousin. She had quickly improved her humour, and the pitch of her voice. "I have simply been enthralled by this estate. You were right, it is indeed captivating." "Carlisle Crest is a beauty and the thought of attending any ball here excites me even before the arrival at the ball." Lucy said, laughing. Gwen laughed too, concurring with hers. She turned to her Aunt. "Aunty Marrily, can I have a drink tonight?" Aunt Marrily was fusing with Uncle Fitzwilliam neckcloth. "Yes you can, dear, but be mindful. Don't forget, it is quite a convincing liquid so do not indulge it." "Yes ma'am." "You too, Lucy." She continued. "You might be older now, but you shouldn't indulge. It would be embarrassing to have you swoon from overindulging. If you should ever swoon, let it be to fatigue and make certain to do it in the hands of a gentleman." They all laughed. Even Beth, who was not as happy to be present, could not help her smile. Gwen shook her head. Aunt Marrily was a lovely woman, but she sometimes was a bit too much. "Yes ma'am." The young ladies chorused, even though they would never do so. The older woman whipped out her fan and began to blow herself, seeing through their lies. Gwen's eyes went to her older sister, Beth. She saw the sadness that could not be hidden, the same sadness that visited every year on her birthday. The line moved steadily and soon it was the turn of their carriage and its passengers to be welcomed. The door opened at the pull of the servant of the mansion, and with his assistance, save for Uncle Fitzwilliam, they all alighted and marched forward. With a bright smile, Gwen walked into the famous Carlisle Crest, nearly losing her balance when her excited cousin pulled her, following after Uncle Fitzwilliam, Aunt Marrily and Beth. She erected her 'perfect' smile and kept it in place for everyone she saw, people she didn't know and had never met before, people who maybe, did not care for it. She kept her hand intertwined in the crook of Lucy's as they entered the hall. And she quickly realized why it was famous. The hall was mighty and beautifully decorated. The draperies and wall colour matched in perfect symphony as something she had never seen. The candlesticks to the wall, and the draperies on the window must have cost a fortune. And as big as it was, it did not seem to, at one point show less wealth than another. The designs and the glory allocated to it went hand-in-hand. The ballroom was filled with different people, of different sizes and stature; some richly dressed, others perfectly beautified. It really was a social gathering. Gwen stared and stared at a bevy of ladies, gaggled up together, waiting for eager young men to ask them to dance, and a few gentlemen, deciding if to approach the ladies or not. She hoped they came to ask her to dance. If anything, a ball was a perfect place to meet young men ready to marry. Men who might not care about her standing in society, or the amount of wealth her family possessed. The socializing folks gathered with gusto in talks, drinks and dances. Gwen observed the room, letting herself study the dancers on the floor, gyrating to the waltz, smiling at their respective partners; the servers walking about, providing drinks, never letting a needing guest go without; and the music players at the corner of the room, created a perfect melody, a fine piece that encouraged the dancers to continue and the onlookers to join. She stared even for a while at the piano forte, at how grand and beautiful it was, wondering how right and perfect its keys would feel under her fingers, before walking away, being pulled by Lucy. Beth walked behind them, while Aunt Marrily and Uncle Fitzwilliam left to promenade with their known peers. She kept smiling, holding her lips up as her excited cousin pulled her along in the place that was foreign to her. Perhaps in a matter of hours she could become as acquainted with the vicinity as Lucy, she thought. While they stood smiling at the people, Aunt Marrily returned with three gentlemen whom she introduced to them before ushering them to the dancefloor. Mr. Jones, her introduced bachelor, was tall and handsome. He had a comely face and seemed to be infatuated by her. He escorted her to the floor, and in no time, Gwen found herself following in the step of the man, mirroring his dance, smiling sweetly, even though the dance meant nothing to her soul. Even though she was neither enjoying it, nor the touch of the man who held her. She espied over his shoulders and saw Beth with her introduced partner and it caused a sincere smile. Her sister had an expression of someone being tortured and she made no show to hide it. Her dance movements were detached and so was her demeanour. She wasn't much of a dancer, but there was nothing left to imagination. Bethany Fitzgerald, her sister, had sworn to remain a gentlewoman, choosing not to marry neither for wealth nor societal obligations, and she was upholding her oath perfectly, rejecting her family's help in finding a suitor and refusing suitors that came to her. She was brave. But Gwen was not. She was not brave enough to accept the words of the late Viscount of Sorway, she was not brave enough to live her life on her own, she belonged to the Fitzgerald family and she wished to marry; for herself, for her family who suffered because of her and to prove to Lord Cossington that she could very much be a wife. She would become a missus! Gwen again fixed her smile, carefully raising her lips and drooping her eyes. It was her most seductive smile. She had over the years learnt to keep one in place for the benefits of her family – they needn't worry about her; and for society – for she must show that her life was perfect. And it was, for she made it so! Her life was perfect. It had to be or it would continually swallow her up. The heavy guilt of the humiliation dealt to them by the Cossingtons and the painful event of her brother's passing was too great for her to bear and if she let herself dwell on them, it would consume her far greater than it had consumed her sister. It was the only way she could live. It was the only way she had learnt to live. Long ago, she had decided that her life had to be filled with gusto and optimism for it to be worthy enough. Her life was repayment for the love her family had shown her and the loss they suffered. And she would live it to the fullest as they would wish. It was the only way she could be truly alive.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
Brand attempted another parry, anticipating Alexander's attack from the left, but his brother's cunning and expertise in swordsmanship proved to be a formidable challenge. Instead of following the expected trajectory, Alexander swiftly changed tactics, manoeuvring to Brand's right side. Caught off guard, Brand left himself vulnerable, providing Alexander with an opening and he took advantage. With a perfect move, Alexander swung and his blade made contact, grazing Brand's upper arm and drawing blood. Brand let out a yell of pain, instinctively retracting and clutching his wounded arm. "God dammit, you bastard!" Alexander let his sword drop to his side. "Watch your words, you speak to your king." It was ironic how he was being called a bastard by Brand. "I speak to my brother." His eyes narrowed with an intense glare. "Who happens to be your king." Then, "Raise your sword." He commanded, raising his, ready to fight again. Brand flexed his shoulders, stealing a brief glance at his