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 other dancing ladies, obeying the rule of the tune. They held hands again. "You know, it is a great place. And although my mansion is not as great as this, it is still quite a beauty itself, if I do say so myself. And I do!" He laughed. Gwen giggled with farce. "My ancestral home, even better! You should visit it someday." It was an invitation to meet after the ball. She nodded again. "I would very much love to." Perhaps, she might just be married as soon as she was eighteen. He smiled, bringing his hand lower on her back. She raised her eyes to his and noticed how much his glint had changed. He was no gentleman. She gave a snide chuckle. He missed it. "If a reason ever arises." When he agreed with a nod of his own, she scoffed and chucked condescendingly. He missed that too. After a moment. "How big is your home?" "It should…" She thought for a second. "I presume it to fit into one-third of this mansion." "Your father is not at all successful then." She was taken aback. What a conclusion! "My father is successful, I would have you know. He has simply fallen on hard times." "I think not. I judge success on how great one's fortune is, and how well they can manage it to prevent 'falling on hard times' as you say." What a view! She scoffed. "Of course you do." "How many children do you want?" He suddenly asked. Gwen was at a loss. "I do not know... yet." "Perhaps ten or twelve." Gwen's eyes popped. "I want a big family. Don't women love big families?" She quickly realized she would very much lose her mind being married to Mr. Jones. "Yes, we do. And twelve is a perfect number." She agreed with him only with the words of her mouth. And then there was another to dance with her. "No. I do not enjoy reading much." She replied her partner. "I prefer to play…" "You do not read? What a shame!" He commented. Gwen's eyes bulged. "I am well read and in my opinion, someday, in a faraway future I pray, capitalism would be either our saviour or our doom, depending on how well we are prepared." She nodded. "I agree, but families depend much on income as much as on inheritance to live so easily." He let her go and clapped twice, as did other men to the dance and they continued. "My sister loves to read too. She loves to study maps as well. You would quite enjoy a conversation or two with her." She almost stepped on his foot, missing it by a hairline. "Is she the one with the red hair?" "That is her." She agreed. Another distinct feature she did not share with them. Beth and Lucy inherited their hair colour from their Fitzgerald grandmother, whilst Lucy's hair was as stringy as Uncle Fitzwilliam, Beth's tried to remain calm, although it wasn't. Gwen thought of her hair; it was golden, a reminder that she was not a Fitzgerald. He hummed. "She is not as beautiful" The words pulled her from her soliloquy. "Begging your pardon." "I believe women should be beautiful. It should be a crime to not be." "I see." She did not, but there was nothing else to say. "And what should be expected of men?" She turned and let him hold her again. "What else?" He continued. "The sense of acquiring wealth. Or be born into wealth, like me." "Great for you to have luck." She smirked. "You are an interesting man, Lord Byron." "I know. I amaze myself as well." She couldn't manage anymore. As soon as the dance was over, she refused his request for another and quickly accepted the dance offer of Sir Princeton. Again, the conversations took place. "Are you and the Duke acquainted with each other?" She asked. "I would not say so, but I have been invited to many balls hosted by him and his mother. He is hardly present you should know, but I very much enjoy the balls. The brandy room, the cigars, the wine and of course, discussions on politics, what's not to like?" Her interest was piqued. "Discussions on politics?" "Yes. How one Earldom could be of great help to the people in its locale. How to help the poor, needy and homeless, tax reduction; by and by, we discussed on many topics, but you would not be interested." He said. Gwen kept her smile. Why would she not be? It was a righteous course, one worthy of attention. "Such discussions should reach the ear of the King. They would be quite helpful. For example, how to reduce the effect of taxes on the people and creation of reliefs for the homeless." "That is a grand idea." Then, "I must say you are very beautiful. He had dismissed her and her 'grand idea'. She forced the smile to remain in place and spoke through clenched teeth, her words dripping with sarcasm. "How kind of you." "You are here with your family?" He was asking for her family! Why was he asking about her family? Perhaps a proposal! Did he intend to propose after one dance? Did he want to make his intention known to her family? To her Uncle? "Yes, I am. Well, with my relatives. We are visiting. My Uncle is Fitzwilliam Gallagher." She added. "I know him. The Lord of Rosethorn Hill. He raised quite a controversial topic two nights ago at White's. How could he think that women should be allowed their own opinions?" he chuckled. "His wife must be the head of his home." He chuckled again. Gwen was taken aback. "I see no reason not to." Why should a woman be made to sit and not make decisions? And why would he conclude that Aunt Marrily ruled the house? He was wrong! Aunt Marrily might be a bit outspoken, and opinionated, but she respected Uncle Fitzwilliam a great deal and would never undermine his authority. She did not rule the house, Uncle Fitzwilliam did. "Women, as much as men, have opinions too. We should indeed be allowed to speak every once in a while." "You would think for yourself? That is such a silly thing to say." He laughed. Shocked as she was about his view, she laughed too, with false gay and fell in silence. He was not worthy of her conversations, or her hand in marriage, she decided. For herself. She could never survive a day with such a man, a lifetime was off the topic. It would be unbearable. After minutes of silent steps and fake smiles, the dance ended, and again, Aunt Marrily manifested immediately, introducing her, Beth and Lucy to another group of men and another round of dancing. Each man was as boring as the last. False smiles and untrue agreement were her weapon against them all. How was she to find a husband amongst them if she couldn't survive long in their presence to allow another dance? How was she? She questioned herself. Her dance partner laughed and she did the same, laughing with amazing enthusiasm, even though she had not heard what he said. Nothing he said interested her. He was as the others, wanting one thing or the other; great wealth, little or no knowledge and immerse beauty. She scoffed. They were unbelievable! She was a beauty, but she would not waste it on disappointing men. She wasn't vain, neither did she glory in her beauty – except when necessary. She had tried to learn the art, to use her beauty to whet the appetite of men, making them want her. If she was brave enough, she might have been a coquette, a debutante when she came of age. She was neither and being inexperienced in the ways of men was a stumbling block, but tonight, she was on the hunt. She was out to catch an unsuspecting prey into marriage. A marriage with her.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
As they walked past the wall outside, flanked by verdant bushes, Alexander's gaze fell upon the two ladies awaiting the one whose help had been rejected. In a fleeting moment, his attention was fixated on the golden-haired figure, Guinevere, as beautiful as her name. Unlike her sister and cousin, she possessed a distinct allure that piqued his curiosity and she possessed no semblance to them.Observing her, he noted the way her eyes darted down when they bowed. Alexander stared on until they met his gaze, and impulsively, he smiled at her, continuing on his way. Whatever it was about her, he would find out. Brand walked ahead of him, still clutching his arm.Alexander didn't bother to look back at the fair lady, but for certain he knew, if Guinevere had approached him, offering to tend to his wound, he would not have rebuffed her assistance.***Gwen and Lucy lingered by the wall outside, waiting patiently for Beth's return. The tournament had ended, with the King emerging the victor,