Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss by Bree Wolf
Epilogue
A few weeks later
“Open it! Open it!” Samantha squealed as she clapped her hands together excitedly, hopping up and down. Her eyes remained fixed upon her father as he did his utmost to pry open the wooden box.
Christina felt her teeth dig into her lower lip, feeling the same sense of impatience bubbling under her skin.
Thorne groaned as the lid refused to yield. “One would think treasure lies within.” He gritted his teeth and tried again.
“It is treasure!” Samantha exclaimed, and Christina wanted to hug her little girl for her unfailing devotion.
Then the lid sprang open, and Samantha jumped forward, climbed upon her father’s desk and peered into the box.
Inside, cushioned by a bed of straw, lay a handful of leather-bound copies of Christina’s first book.
Her heart jumped at the sight!
“May I have one?” Samantha exclaimed, looking up at Christina with wide, glowing eyes. “Please!” Her little hands reached for the topmost book, then paused as she waited for an answer.
Christina smiled at her. “Of course. Choose whichever one you like.” She watched as Samantha gently lifted a book from the crate, all but cradling it in her arms, her little eyes sweeping over the gold lettering on the cover.
A Fairy’s Tale.
Without removing her eyes from the book, Samantha headed toward the door. “I need to show this to my dolls. They will love it. I’m certain. And Owen, too.” Awe swung in her voice, reminding Christina of the bond that had developed between them in no small parts because of this story.
Indeed, that which she had once thought to be a hindrance to her happiness had now proven to be a beautiful connection between her and her family.
Christina was proud.
Proud of herself.
Proud to find herself part of a family who supported one another without hesitation, without doubt. And her husband was now one of them. He had proven himself to be worthy of her trust, and she no longer worried that he was the one now in possession of her heart.
“It is a remarkable achievement,” he whispered beside her, one arm moving to wrap around her shoulders as they stood gazing down into the crate. “I always knew I would do well, but to have found a wife of such literary talent…” He looked at her and grinned. “Only an extraordinary man like myself could have procured her hand in marriage.”
Christina laughed, then slapped him on the arm. “You’re impossible! Are you never serious?”
Thorne turned to look at her, pulling her closer. “I find life much more interesting when I’m not.” He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “However, I’ve come to realize that there is one key ingredient to my happiness.”
Christina lifted her brows. “Do I dare ask what that is? Your ego perhaps? Or—?”
“You,” he interrupted with a grin before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her once more. “You and Samantha and even that somewhat unusual family of yours.” He cleared his throat and turned to look at the desk. “Speaking of which, there’s a letter here for you.” He handed her the sealed envelope, and Christina immediately recognized her sister’s handwriting.
“Juliet?” She frowned, then broke the seal. “I must admit I did not expect to hear from her. As far as I know, she accompanied Grandma Edie to a friend’s estate for the remainder of the summer.” She unfolded the letter, and her eyes dropped to the page.
Dearest Christina,
I’m writing in haste for I need your help as I do not know what to do. It may be nothing, nothing more than a rumor, or it may be a grave situation indeed.
Grandma Edie and I are still at Rosemere Hall. Only this morning a visitor arrived from London, who brought with him a most disconcerting rumor. Apparently, people are whispering that our youngest sister has run off to Gretna Green with Lord Burnham. Is she not with you at Pinewood Manor?
Christina felt her fingers tense upon the parchment. “Oh, Harry,” she mumbled under her breath as a cold chill raced down her spine. After all, Harriet was not at Pinewood Manor and had not been for some time.
“Are you all right?” came her husband’s voice. “You look pale.” He moved closer, and Christina gestured for him to read the letter along with her.
Please write back with the utmost haste. I do not wish to alert our parents to the situation if there is nothing to be concerned about if this is truly nothing more than a vicious rumor.
Nevertheless, I am concerned. Although Harriet has always been unpredictable, this does not seem like something she would do. Has she not always proclaimed she would never marry?
I pray that she is with you safe and sound at Pinewood Manor. However, if she is not, Grandma Edie insists that you inform the Duke of Clements of the situation immediately although she refuses to tell me why.
Your devoted and most anxious sister,
Juliet
“Lord Burnham?” Thorne asked, turning to look at her, a deep frown upon his face. “The name does not sound familiar. Who is he?”
Christina shook her head, still staring at the letter, her mind racing to make sense of everything. “A mere acquaintance, nothing more.” She turned to look at her husband. “I do not understand. Why would Juliet think Harriet to be here? She left for Whickerton Grove a fortnight ago.”
“Perhaps it is nothing more than a mere misunderstanding,” Thorne counseled, placing his hands upon her shoulders. “You should write to your parents and ask about Harriet’s whereabouts.”
Still feeling somewhat dazed, Christina nodded.
“Odd,” Thorne remarked as his gaze once more shifted to the parchment in her hands. He sighed. “Honestly, I’d begun to think that perhaps she and the duke…”
Looking up at him, Christina nodded. “I did as well. I was surprised when she left so abruptly.” She shook her head, hating the confusion that seemed to linger in every corner.
“Do you believe they quarreled?”
Christina shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. Still…”
“Harriet is rather the impulsive sort,” Thorne stated carefully. “Do you think that perhaps she fell head over heels in love with Burnham?”
Christina could not help the grimace that came to her face. “I can’t imagine it to be so. She never seemed partial to Lord Burnham, no matter how hard he tried to impress her.” Again, she shook her head. “No, Harriet would not run off and get married. Not her!” She lifted her eyes to her husband’s. “Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.”
Taking her hands, Thorne nodded. “Sit down and write a letter to your parents as well as the duke. We’ll see them delivered within the day.” He squeezed her hands gently. “Then we shall know more.”
Nodding, Christina sat down at his desk and quickly reached for parchment and quill. “Oh, Harry, what did you do?” Yes, Harriet had always been daring, but she had never been foolish. If she truly wished to run off to be married, she would leave a note. She would not disappear without a word and put them all through hell.
Christina was certain of it.
Then what had happened?
THE END
Thank you for reading Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss!
Be on the lookout for the next story about Harriet and her duke!
If you want to read more about the Whickerton family, make sure to check out Once Upon a Devilishly Enchanting Kiss(Louisa’s story), Once Upon a Temptingly Ruinous Kiss (Leonora’s story) and Once Upon a Kiss Gone Horribly Wrong(Anne’s story).
While waiting for Harriet’s story to be released, you might want to check out my Love’s Second Chance Series. Dive into an excerpt of Despised & Desired -The Marquess’ Passionate Wife, a heart-warming and sigh-worthy romance.
After suffering a tragedy, she suddenly finds herself married to Frederick, a man she’s loved almost all her life. Will Ellie be able to claim his heart?
PROLOGUE
England 1794 (or a variation thereof)
Beads of sweat formed on Ellie’s brow and ran down her temples. Trying to shield her face from the scorching sun, she pulled her bonnet deeper into her face. Ellie knew she ought not to be here, and yet, she could not help herself.
The rising heat of this year’s unusually hot summer had her escape the earl’s garden party in search of a little refreshment.
Excitement had seized her when she had heard other children whisper about the small brook that snaked its way through the forest to the south of the manor. However, uncertain whether or not to dare go against her mother’s rather stern instructions of proper conduct, Ellie had waited until the very last moment before she was sure she would melt away. Only then had she dared sneak away.
Now, following in its general direction, Ellie soon heard the soft babbling of the small brook as it fought the sun for its continued existence.
Stepping over large boulders and wading through a sea of long-stemmed grass, Ellie glimpsed the brook’s shiny surface, glistening in the sun like an oasis in a desert. Hurrying her step, she hastened toward it at the very moment it seemed to beckon her closer.
A smile spread over her face as she beheld the cool water before her feet. Kneeling down, Ellie reached out a hand, and a soft moan escaped her lips when the fresh water touched her heated skin. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling a slight chill run from her submerged hand up her arm. It felt wonderful!
Opening her eyes, Ellie scanned her surroundings and found a cluster of trees a little farther down the stream providing ample shade. Reluctantly withdrawing her hand from the cooling brook, she strode through the grass and then sank down under the trees’ large canopy. She removed her bonnet and leaned forward, hand searching for the refreshing wet. Collecting a little water in her cupped hand, she brushed it across her arms, enjoying the tingle that ran through her. And yet, it wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
Eyeing her shoes and stockinged feet with a hint of disgust, Ellie took a deep breath. She really ought not to. Even at twelve years old, Elsbeth Munsford was very much aware that a lady ought not to remove her clothing in public.
Glancing around, Ellie frowned. What public?
A mischievous smile spread over her face as her nimble fingers worked to loosen her shoes. When they came off, her stockings quickly followed, and Ellie delighted at the feeling of soft grass under her bare feet. Then she glanced at the water and wiggled her toes.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed all thoughts of her mother away and rose to her feet. After making sure that she was, indeed, alone, Ellie slowly pulled up the hem of her dress, revealing her ankles. Grinning from ear to ear, she bit her lower lip in excitement and then stepped toward the brook.
As the cooling water rushed over her skin, Ellie sighed with delight, wiggling her toes and digging them into the muddy stream bed. For a moment, she closed her eyes, savouring the moment until she realised it still wasn’t enough.
The coolness barely spread to her knees, let alone chase away the beads of sweat still popping up on her forehead.
Lifting up her skirts to just above her knees, Ellie revealed a small birthmark that resembled a bird taking flight. Although her mother had always considered it an oddity, relieved it was in a place covered by clothes, Ellie had always felt special because of it, wishing that she, too, could simply spread her wings and fly.
Sighing, Ellie waded deeper into the stream. When the water swirled around her calves, she finally felt its cooling effect spread into every part of her body. Welcoming the slight chill chasing away the hot air resting on her skin, Ellie once more closed her eyes.
Lost in a moment of pure pleasure, Ellie did not hear them coming.
Only when they broke through the underbrush, their boots snapping dry twigs as they went, did Ellie’s eyes snap open.
Instantly, shock froze her limbs, and she stared at the three young men standing but a few feet from the water’s edge.
In that moment, Ellie was too stunned to observe anything else but the cold that slowly spread through her body, bringing with it an old fear. What would her mother say?
Then, she swallowed, and her eyes travelled from the tall, dark-haired youth, who−as her mother had informed her−went by the name of Frederick Lancaster, second son to the Marquess of Elmridge, to the two others standing to his left and right, Oliver Cornell and Kenneth Moreton. While Frederick bore an expression that did not betray his thoughts, his friends looked rather surprised to find her in the stream, the corners of their mouths slowly drawing up into a smile, clearly showing their amusement.
Tears began to form in Ellie’s eyes as she slowly backed away toward the other side of the brook.
As though in trance, their eyes followed her until Frederick turned to his friends. “Go back,” he ordered them. “Speak of this to no one.”
For a second, Oliver seemed ready to argue, but Kenneth grabbed his arm and pulled him back through the underbrush.
Frederick, however, remained behind.
Crossing the stream in a shallower spot, he came toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. When he reached her side, he held out a hand, offering to help her out of the stream.
Uncertain what to do, Ellie looked from his hand to his face.
“Do not be afraid,” he spoke. “I mean you no harm.”
His dark blue eyes shone as clear as the water still swirling around her legs, and her heart beat slowed. Swallowing, Ellie took his hand, surprised at how hot his skin felt compared to her own, which at this point was rather chilled. A shiver went through her, and he pulled her out of the water.
He smiled at her. “You should put your shoes back on.”
Ellie blushed and then hurried back to the shady spot where she had left them. Sitting down, she noted that he stood with his back to her, giving her privacy, and she quickly pulled her stockings over her legs and slipped on her shoes.
Then she stood up, not knowing what to say.
“Are you properly attired?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ellie breathed, wondering if he judged her as she knew her mother would as soon as she learnt of this.
He turned around then, a friendly smile on his face. “Allow me to escort you back.”
Ellie took a deep breath before closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, he stood before her, and she shrank back.
Seeing the fear on her face, he instantly retreated a step. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you seemed troubled. Are you injured?”
Ellie shook her head. “Please leave,” she whispered, her voice pleading.
He frowned at her. “I cannot leave you alone. Who knows who else might be in these woods?”
Never having contemplated the possibility that a threat might be looming near, Ellie glanced at the tree line in his back. Was he right? Was there danger out there?
“If you are worried about being seen with me,” he said, trying to catch her eyes, “I assure you I have no intention of compromising you in any way. I merely suggest that I escort you as far as the gardens. From there, you can make your way back on your own. I will stay back and assure that no harm comes to you.” His deep blue eyes looked into hers, and he spoke with a sincerity beyond his years. “No one will know.”
“What about your friends?” she asked, twirling her bonnet in her hands.
He shook his head. “They will not say a word,” he assured her.
Ellie took a relieved breath, and a shy smile came to her lips. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, returning her smile. Then he stepped back, gesturing at the path ahead. “Shall we?”
Ellie nodded and fell into step beside him. Brushing her blond curls back, she fastened her bonnet, keeping the sun out of her eyes.
He glanced down at her. “May I ask your name?”
“Ellie,” she whispered and met his eyes, feeling a warmth spread to her cheeks that she could not blame on the sun.
He smiled. “I’m Rick.”
For a long time, they walked in silence, a silence that felt comfortable as though they had known each other for a long time.
When the hedges of the estate’s garden finally came in sight, Ellie whispered, “Will you tell my mother?”
He shook his head, and relief flooded her body. “I would not dare bring any harm upon you,” he said looking down at her.
Again, Ellie felt herself blush. “Thank you.”
“She is highly critical of you, is she not?”
Ellie nodded. “She counts my faults on a daily basis.”
Rick smiled. “That shouldn’t take her long.” As they stopped by the long hedge, running along the gardens, his eyes shifted to hers. “I cannot find a single one.”
Again, Ellie felt herself blush and quickly averted her eyes.
“You should go,” he said, “before anyone sees us together.”
Nodding, Ellie smiled at him, then turned and headed back toward the noise of the garden party. Although she was tempted, she did not dare turn around to see if he was still there. Even if she could not see him, she still felt his eyes on her, watching over her safe return.
Frederick Lancaster, she mused. He would be a wonderful man one day. Ellie was sure of it. After all, he had saved her from her mother’s wrath, and in her world, there was no greater or more heroic deed than that.
Chapter One - A Blessing in Disguise
Twelve Years Later
“Have you heard?” Madeline Jeffries exclaimed, almost choking on her tea as the words flew out of her mouth. Coughing, she tried to regain her composure, her dark curls bouncing up and down with each fit.
“Heard what?” Ellie asked, setting down her teacup. She flexed her right hand to loosen her tight muscles and then absentmindedly massaged the scarred tissue between thumb and index finger. Would she ever regain the flexibility she used to have?
Two years ago, a candle left unattended had burned down half the house, almost claiming the life of Ellie’s little brother Stephen. Although Ellie had been able to save him, she had paid a dear price. While the house had since been restored to its former glory, Ellie’s skin still spoke of the day that had changed her life.
“Frederick Lancaster is returning from the war.”
At his name, Ellie’s eyes snapped open, her tense muscles forgotten. “He is?” she gasped before trying to lend her enquiries a nonchalant air. “Was he injured?”
Madeline shrugged, taking another careful sip now that she had shared her news. “I do not know. If he was, I believe it was nothing too severe. Otherwise, I am certain I would have heard of it.”
Closing her eyes, Ellie took a deep breath. Although they had not spoken in years, Ellie had never been able to forget the honourable youth who had saved her reputation that hot afternoon long ago. Her mother had never found out, and neither Frederick or rather Rick−as she secretly thought of him−nor his friends had ever let anything slip of her daring adventure that day.
“I am glad that he is well,” Ellie couldn’t help but say. Her friend, however, didn’t seem to think it an odd statement as she continued sipping her tea. “I worried that something might happen to him especially now that his father has passed. I am sure he will be of great comfort to his mother.”
“I suppose so,” Madeline said. “Unfortunately for him, he is not returning to claim a title. He is still the same man he was before his father passed, and as a second son, he will always be.”
Ellie frowned. “Even if he had inherited the title, he would still be the same man. He would only have different responsibilities.”
Madeline laughed. “These responsibilities−as you call them−are what make and break a man. If he had inherited his father’s title, he would now command his family’s assets and could choose any woman he wanted for his bride. Her dowry in turn would allow him to further his family's standing, which he then could pass on to his heir.” Madeline shook her head. “A title is the fine line between significant…and worthless.”
“He is not worthless!” Ellie snapped. “How can you speak so?”
“I’m sorry, Dear Elsbeth. I did not mean to offend your delicacies, nor did I mean to offend him. I am certain Frederick Lancaster is a marvellous man. I was merely pointing out that as a second son, his possibilities are severely limited.”
“Then maybe it is a blessing in disguise,” Ellie said smiling.
“How do you mean?”
“Since he does not need to choose a wife based on obligation, he is free to marry for love.”
Shaking her head, Madeline chuckled. “You are a dreamer, my dear Elsbeth. Love is nothing tangible, nothing to rely on, nothing to set your sights on. People only speak of love when they have nothing else to show for themselves.” Patting Ellie’s hand, Madeline sighed. “Love is fleeting. You cannot trust it.” She took a deep breath before meeting Ellie’s eyes. “And I thought you of all people should know, having learnt that lesson in such a harsh manner.”
Ellie couldn’t help but cringe as her friend’s words reopened the wounds that had only just begun to heal.
Although two years had passed since a servant’s oversight had almost cost Ellie her life, even today, she remembered the heat searing her skin as she had fought the flames with her bare hands to save her brother’s life.
Only six years old at the time, Stephen had knocked over a candle, which had quickly set the room ablaze. Alerted by his screams, Ellie had come to his aid. Her attention completely focused on him, she had barely felt the flames until Stephen had been safe. Then all of a sudden, excruciating pain had brought her to her knees as the flames had burned away her skin.
Yet, somehow she had survived and fought her way back into life. Today, she could smile and laugh again, and whenever her eyes fell on her little brother, she knew it had been worth it.
Glancing out the window into the gardens, she caught a glimpse of her brother playing with his dog, Rupert. Smiling, Stephen scratched the hound's belly as the dog licked his master's face.
Yes, everything was as it should be. Her brother was alive and well.
Swallowing, Ellie shifted her eyes from the peaceful scene outside the window to the ugly scars that would remain a part of her forever.
The doctor had given her a special balm to massage into her damaged skin. For although new skin had formed, it was still tender and whenever she would stretch her limbs, the skin would feel as though it might be pulled apart any second. Her hands were the worst. The fire had consumed them both. Never again would Ellie be able to sit down to embroider a cushion or draw her friend’s image. Her fingers refused to handle such a delicate task. Even holding a teacup now presented a small challenge.
However, none of this had been able to take away her zest for life. In Ellie’s eyes, the world still held wonders that needed to be explored and happiness that begged to be found. She had been happy again even if only for a short time.
What had finally crushed her spirit had been the loss of the man she loved. Albert Cartwright, Viscount Haston.
During her recovery, her dream of a shared future had given her strength. Albert had always been so attentive and caring, always considerate of her opinion. Whenever she had set foot in a ballroom, his eyes had immediately found hers, lighting up with the love he had for her.
However, after scars tainted her beauty, travelling from her right cheek, down her throat, over her shoulder and down both arms to her hands, the light had dimmed, and now lay dead at her feet. All hope was lost.
“Maybe the dream I had ended badly,” Ellie whispered, forcing back the tears she could feel clinging to her eyelashes, “but that does not mean it is always futile as you say.” She lifted her eyes and met her friend’s pitying gaze. “I know that you only mean to caution me, and I thank you for that, but what is life without hope for a future? Maybe I will never again have the love that I thought I once had. But that does not mean that others can’t find it.” She took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her heart spread into her limbs. “Frederick is a good man, and he deserves more than obligation. With or without a title, he is not worthless, and I am hoping with all my heart that one day he will find a woman who will make him feel…treasured.”
Madeline swallowed, then opened her mouth and closed it again, not knowing what to say.
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” Shaking her head, Ellie smiled at her. “I know we look at life differently, and there is nothing wrong with that. I do not want to live without someone who loves me by my side: be it a husband, a sister or a friend. I know that now.” She squeezed Madeline’s hand. “You have to find your own way.”
Her friend took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring tears to your eyes.”
Hearing Madeline’s words, Ellie only then noticed the small drop rolling down her cheek until it reached the corner of her mouth. Brushing it away, she dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “I know,” she said, trying to smile. “I am grateful for your friendship and for your honesty. Most people only see the scars I bear and not the person underneath. They tiptoe around me as though a harsh word could do me harm. And yet, they are surprised when I smile since they are certain that nothing in the world could ever bring me joy. Many believe I should have died two years ago.” Madeline opened her mouth to object, but Ellie shook her head. “Yes, it is true. If I have no claim to happiness in my current state, what purpose does my life have?” She shrugged her shoulders. “On some days, I wonder about that myself. Even though I have a large dowry and my family is highly respected, I have no delusions about ever being a married woman.” A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I am on the shelf as they say, but does that mean my life is over?”
For a moment, Madeline simply looked at her before a mischievous gleam came to her eyes. “It most certainly is not,” she announced, reaching for Ellie’s hands. “Life has a lot to offer, and husbands are just one small part of it.”
Ellie laughed, treasuring the friend who had stood by her through all of this.
“Let us speak of more important matters than husbands,” Madeline continued, her usual eagerness once more taking over. “The Midnight Ball is in a fortnight. What are we going to wear?”
Chapter Two - A Hero’s Return
Grey clouds hung over Elmridge as Frederick Lancaster returned home. How long had it been since he had last been here? He wondered. Long enough for him to feel like a stranger, someone who did not belong. And yet, this was his home.
For a long time, Frederick sat on his gelding a good distance from the manor and stared at the house that he knew so well. He saw the window that he and his brother had climbed out of more than once in yet another search for adventure, the rose garden that his mother tended with the same care and devotion she bestowed on those she loved as well as the small family cemetery that now housed his father’s remains. The property looked like it always had, and yet, nothing was the same.
Never again would he hear his father’s gentle voice as he spoke to him about the many wonders life held. Never again would he see his mother’s smile as she looked at them, love shining in her eyes. Never again would he feel safe, almost invincible, as he had all those years he had spent on his family’s estate.
The harsh truth had finally found him, sinking its cruel talons into his flesh, refusing to ever release its hold on him. No, nothing was the same anymore.
Urging his horse on, Frederick felt a looming dread settle in his bones the closer he came to the manor. As he pulled up the reins, a stable boy came running to take the horse. “Welcome back, Lord Frederick.”
Nodding at the youngster, he turned and climbed the stairs, his feet heavy as lead. Two footmen opened the large double-doors, and Frederick entered the grand hall of Elmridge, his footsteps echoing through the vaulted room like thunder rolling off the mountains.
He should never have returned.
“Frederick!” his mother exclaimed behind him, and he turned toward her with a heavy heart.
Forcing a smile on his face, he slightly bowed his head to her as her dainty feet carried her across the marble hall and she all but threw herself into his arms. Her fragile arms closed around him, embracing him with a strength he never thought possible.
“Welcome home,” she whispered in his ear before she stepped back, her watchful eyes searching his face. Although clouded with grief, they still held a mother’s undying love for her son, and an unexpected warmth washed over his cold heart.
As her gaze slid over his face, taking in the small scar on his left temple, her hands gently brushed over his shoulders and down his arms as though asking about the wounds that lay hidden from her sight. She swallowed then and closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she looked at him again, a delicate smile played on her lips. “I am glad you have returned. I only wish your father were here to see you.”
Bowing his head, Frederick swallowed. “As do I, Mother.”
“Come,” she said, linking her arm through his. “You must be exhausted. I will have a bath drawn and food brought up to your room.”
As they walked up the large staircase, Frederick glanced left and right, waiting for the rest of his family to appear. All remained quiet though.
“I asked them to give you some time,” his mother said, once again knowing exactly where his thoughts had strayed. “Do not believe that they did not wish to see you,” she assured him, a tender smile curling up her lips. “However, I thought you might want some time to yourself first.” Her hand gently squeezed his arm. “I can call them if you wish.”
Frederick shook his head. “Not yet.”
She nodded and escorted him to the room that had been his for as long as he could remember. There she stopped, took his large hands in her small ones, looked deep into his eyes and then gave him a tender kiss on the forehead. “I’m so glad you are home,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears.
“As am I, Mother,” he said, hoping she could not read the lie in his eyes.
A smile came to her face, and she once more squeezed his hands before turning to go. “I’ll have water brought up,” she repeated as though reluctant to leave him.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said and entered his room, desperate to be alone with his thoughts.
***
Soaking in the tub, Frederick closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing warmth that engulfed his tense limbs. The water felt wonderful like a thick blanket wrapping him in its safety, and yet, it could not wash away the pain that lived in his heart.
With a deep sigh, he grabbed the soap and rubbed it along his tired limbs. The dust from the road washed away quickly, the scars, however, remained. Staring at the stab wound in his left shoulder, Frederick remembered the day he had received it.
The bayonet had come out of nowhere. He hadn’t even seen his opponent until it had been too late, and the cold steel had already dug its way into his body. A searing pain had brought him to his knees, and black spots had begun to dance before his eyes.
Slumping onto the blood-soaked earth, he had been certain his end was near.
The terror of the battlefield echoed in his ears as cries and shouts mixed with the heavy firing of canons and the lighter and faster firing of muskets. The stench of dying men, their hopelessness and fear mingling with the sweet smell of rain and the copper aroma of blood, still clung to his nostrils. No matter what he did or where he was, Frederick was forever doomed to relive these memories. They sought him out again and again as though his torment sustained them.
Like the bayonet, Kenneth, his childhood friend, had appeared as though rising from the earth itself.
Before the French soldier could finish Frederick, Kenneth bolted forward, his face twisted in an angry snarl as he came to his friend’s aid. Not hesitating for a moment, he had flung himself at the enemy soldier. They had exchanged a few blows; however, Kenneth had disarmed the man swiftly, who had then stared up at him, a dumbfounded expression on his face as Kenneth sunk his bayonet into his chest.
Relief had flooded Frederick’s heart upon seeing his friend succeed, knowing he would never have been able to live with himself if any harm had come to Kenneth because of him.
Still, he had returned to England alone.
With a deep sigh, he rose from the depth of the water, feeling the chill in the air on his wet skin. He dressed slowly, dreading the inevitable.
As he stood before the mirror, his eyes travelled over his appearance. How often had he looked into this mirror? A million times and more? Now, however, what he saw scared him. Somehow the dark in his heart had spread into every fibre of his being. He was not the man he once had been.
Now, his black hair seemed even darker as did his eyes, which were like looking into an abyss. They held nothing soft or tender but pierced their opposite with an icy stare. His strong chest and muscled arms ended in large hands that could rip a man to pieces. Hands that had taken more lives than he could remember. Hands that had not been able to save the one life he had cherished. Even above his own.
Looking at himself in the mirror, all Frederick saw was a monster.
Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath and left his room. Would the others notice? He wondered. How could they not?
As he approached the drawing room, happy chatter reached his ears, and his muscles tensed. Involuntarily, he reached for his pistol, shaking his head as he realised the insanity of that action.
Clearing his throat, he walked into the room.
Instantly, it fell silent.
All eyes turned to him, and Frederick’s hands balled into fists as he forced himself to remain rooted to the spot. His legs quivered with the effort it took him not to bolt from the room.
Coward! His mind screamed.
Seated on the settee, his mother smiled at him, her eyes warm and full of affection. The sight almost turned Frederick’s stomach upside down.
Then his gaze shifted to his big brother as he stood by the mantle, his head turned to the door, one hand gently cupping his wife’s cheek. A big grin broke out on his face as he beheld Frederick, and dropping his hand, he strode forward. “Little brother, home at last!”
“Leopold,” Frederick said, slightly bowing his head.
His brother frowned. “Don’t be so formal,” he laughed before he drew Frederick into his arms, affectionately slapping him on the back. “It is good to see you.”
Feeling rather awkward, Frederick returned his brother’s embrace half-heartedly. In a far corner of his mind, he seemed to remember that such a sign of affection had come to him easily once. Now, however, it felt unnatural, and his muscles were unable to relax, tense almost to the point of breaking.
Standing back, Leopold smiled at him, his soft brown eyes searching his brother’s face. “You must tell me everything.”
Frederick cringed inwardly. “Later,” he mumbled, evading his brother’s eyes.
“Certainly.” Shaking his head as though suddenly remembering the other family members in the room, Leopold stepped back, grinning from ear to ear. He held out his hand, and his wife stepped forward, a smile on her beautiful features as she slipped her hand into his.
“Welcome home, Frederick,” Maryann said, a gentle smile curling up her lips as she placed a soft hand on his hard arm, planting a tender kiss on his cheek. “We are so relieved to have you back with us.”
“Thank you,” Frederick mumbled, not sure what else to say. He drew in a deep breath as Leopold as well as Maryann remained by his side, their closeness unnerving him more than the feeling of detachedness that he couldn’t seem to shake. He grew increasingly uncomfortable and wished for nothing more but the safe retreat to his room.
“Supper will be served shortly,” his mother announced as she rose from the settee, her eyes on him. “Would you care for a walk?”
The ghost of a smile crossed Frederick’s features. “I would like that. Thank you, Mother.”
“Sounds like a marvellous idea,” Leopold agreed, offering his arm to his wife. As he led her out the door, Frederick’s heart sank. What he wouldn’t do for a little peace and quiet?
His mother softly slipped her arm through his and drew him forward. “You must be patient with them,” she whispered. “They have been very worried about you especially since…”
“Father’s death?”
His mother nodded before looking up at him, and he could see the hint of tears clinging to her eyelashes. “They wish to be happy again, and you coming home is the greatest gift we could have hoped for especially in such a dark hour.”
Frederick swallowed, his gaze fixed on the setting sun as they walked down the small gravel path to the garden labyrinth that bordered the manor to the west.
Leopold and Maryann walked a few feet ahead of them, her arm through his, his hand gently cupping hers. Now and then, his brother would lean over and whisper something in her ear, and her eyes would turn to him, gazing up into his with a deep love shining in them.
At his side, his mother remained silent, and Frederick took a deep breath, enjoying the late afternoon air as it filled his lungs. Delicate fragrances danced on the slight breeze, and he felt the beginnings of a headache subside. As his muscles began to relax, he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, cherishing the quiet stillness that engulfed him and soothed his aching heart.
However, with supper, he found himself in hell once again.
Seated around the large dining room table, the family engaged in friendly conversation. Besides his mother, Leopold and Maryann, their six-year-old daughter Mathilda sat at the table, eyeing him with open curiosity.
Frederick wanted to squirm.
Occasionally, they addressed him as though feeling the need to include him in their conversation. Frederick, however, would have preferred to be left alone, and so he answered with mind-numbing indifference. Most of the time, he had no idea what they were talking about, and yet, he could not bring himself to care.
As the evening progressed, the conversation shifted from societal events and the estate’s business to the war, and Frederick felt the blood pulse in his veins. As time passed and no one sought his opinion of the matter, Frederick began to relax until Leopold turned to him, inconspicuous interest in his eyes, and asked, “We have heard that Napoleon uses a new, lighter kind of canon. Do they truly work more efficiently?”
For a long minute, Frederick stared at his brother. More efficiently? He thought. In what way? Tearing men’s bodies apart?
He glanced at his little niece, munching on her roast beef. What was he to say? Ought he to explain how a cannon ball tore apart a human body, scattering its parts over a great distance, soaking the earth with litres of blood?
Shaking his head, Frederick swallowed, and looking at his brother, he knew as clear as day that nothing in this world could ever paint a true picture of the horrors of war. Leopold did not know. For all the intelligence he possessed, he could not comprehend the savagery and gruesomeness that could be found on a battlefield. Like animals, civilised men tore each other apart, their eyes burning with hatred for an enemy they did not know. An enemy who thought of them the same way. As time passed, that hatred would vanish replaced by numbing stillness until one could not even glimpse remnants of the soul anymore. Even if one survived, one would be dead. A hollow vessel, for the spark of life had been extinguished.
For good.
Clearing his throat, Frederick nodded, his eyes focused on his plate. “Indeed, they are.”
Sensing his brother’s reluctance to speak about his experience, Leopold steered the conversation back to a more neutral topic. “Lord Branston reminded me of the invitation to his annual Midnight Ball. I already reminded him that you will not be attending since you are still in mourning,” he said to his mother, who nodded, her fingers reaching for the small silver bracelet her husband had given her for their first anniversary almost thirty years ago. “However,” he continued, turning to Frederick, “he is very eager for you to make an appearance.”
The blood froze in Frederick’s veins.
Leopold laughed. “I suppose as a war hero you would be quite the attraction at any event. The ladies will be all over you.”
“Leopold!” Maryann chided, slapping him good-naturedly on the arm. However, she was instantly comforted by his charming smile and apologetic words.
“I told him you would be happy to come,” his brother continued when his wife turned her attention back to the food on her plate. “I hope that was all right? I figured you would enjoy an occasion to reconnect with your friends and acquaintances.”
Swallowing a rebuke, Frederick nodded, forcing the hint of a smile on his face. “Certainly.”
His brother’s brows narrowed. “You do not wish to attend?”
Frederick sighed and met his brother’s eyes. “No, Leopold,” he spoke, his voice harsh with suppressed anger and open frustration. “To tell you the truth, I have no desire to be surrounded by old tattletales, scheming mothers and envious, disgruntled gentlemen, who are merely interested in elevating themselves by association. All they care about is tales of heroic deeds as though such a thing truly existed. They know nothing of war, and what is worse, they don’t want to know. Not the cold, hard truth, at least.”
Silence hung over the dining room, and Frederick felt a pang of guilt as his family looked at him with sorrowful eyes.
He took a deep breath. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to spoil everyone’s appetite.” Rising from his chair, he bowed to his mother. “I believe it best I retire early tonight. My travels have worn me out. I trust a good night’s sleep will do me some good.”
His mother nodded, and yet, her eyes said that she didn’t believe him. “Good night, Frederick. It is wonderful to have you back home.”
Smiling at her, Frederick turned and left the dining room without looking back. His feet carried him up the stairs and into his room. He closed the door and locked it behind himself. Leaning against the smooth, wooden surface, Frederick closed his eyes.
He should never have returned.
Despite the sliver of hope that had carried him through the day, Frederick knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was no way back to his old life. The man he had once been didn’t exist anymore, and the man he had become did not fit into the life he had left behind.
What was he to do now?
Dropping down onto the bed, Frederick didn’t bother to undress. However, as he closed his eyes, images resurfaced that he had hoped to have left behind.
It had been a futile wish.
An anguished moan escaped his mouth, and he rubbed his hands over his face. The one person who would have understood what it felt like to be thrust back into this life was dead. His remains buried somewhere on the continent. Lost and forgotten.
No one who had not walked to the edge of the world and almost fallen off would understand the despair that lived in his heart, poisoning him a little more each day until one day there would be nothing left of him.
Then he would be truly dead.
Frederick hoped that day would come sooner rather than later.
Read on!