Charles peered at him for a quiet moment, his hand curling and uncurling on the top of his cane, worn smooth from years of the same. Finally, he said, "Because you loved her. You loved her once, Ananias, and as unhappy as it makes me to realize so late what I should have known long before, I believe she shared similar feelings for you."
Ananias rubbed a weary hand across his face, but Charles had not yet finished. "She ...sleeps, Ananias. But it is quite an unusual rest into which my daughter has fallen. She breathes. Her natural body functions continue to occur, but without her awareness of them. It is as if her presence, her essence is no longer there. "
Tears filled Charles's eyes. Blinking rapidly to clear them, he sighed. "At this point, even her mother and I have doubts as to whether or not she is still with us."
Ananias did not know quite what to make of the show of emotions from the usually proud, shrewd, and determined man who had come to him almost two years ago to the day to persuade him to leave England so that his daughter would have a chance at a better life.
Charles had been unwilling that Ebrielle settle for the heir of an earl when she could wed a prince. He had spoken of so many things, twisting Ananias's thoughts and feelings into such a tight coil he had believed his only course for relief was to do as Charles asked.
"How long, Charles?" he asked, and Charles did not mistake his question.
"Since a week following your departure from England. Ebrielle fell into an unusually deep sleep practically on the eve of what was to have been her wedding to Prince Nikolai and she has not awakened since."
Chapter Two
"Two bloody years?"
The question exploded from Ananias.
Charles's expression said he was no more delighted with the unbelievably long length of time which had passed than Ananias. He held up a hand, staying any further outburst. "Before you accuse me of not doing everything I could for my daughter, allow me to point out that I have had the best doctors in the field attend her during the past two years."
Ananias believed him.
A wealthy merchant, one who had managed to land a betrothal for his daughter to a prince while his own bloodline bespoke not a single noble tie, Charles de Clercy would not have hesitated to seek every possible remedy for his daughter. Despite the fact that he had sent Ananias away, he knew Charles loved his daughter.
"The best doctors do not always mean the most learned," Ananias pointed out, his thoughts immediately turning to his oldest and dearest friend, Dr. James Blake. "Tell me, Charles, what have those doctors had to say of her condition?"
Leaving his chair to fill two glasses with Scotch from the sideboard, Ananias brought one to Charles before going to stand before the window overlooking the back lawns of Avenleah Downes, the northern stretch of his property which joined with Charles's.
"In the beginning, most believed her sleep to be temporary. Such conditions are not unheard of, though the doctors tell me lengthy bouts of sleep, the like in which Ebrielle has been trapped for these many months, generally follow some great physical tragedy. But as time went on, there has been much less in the way of hope – for all of us."
"Explain, please," Ananias prodded from the window, still staring out across the grounds though his gaze caught nothing of the beauty.
"She breathes. Her natural body functions continue to occur, but without her awareness of them. It is as if her presence, her essence is no longer there. Her body functions, they agree, but most believe her mind has ceased to do so. The last physician even went so far as to assure us it was but a matter of time before even that would no longer be the case."
Ananias swung 'round, a frown pulling his brows downward. "She is dying?"
Charles shrugged. "It does not appear so outwardly, but who can say aught as to the wholeness of her mind?"
He shook his head, and again, tears pooled in his eyes. "Gwen... My darling Gwen. She has become so distraught during the past several weeks that she, too, has taken to her bed."
He peered up at Ananias, a near desperate appeal in his gaze. "Help us, Aventry."
Ananias tossed back the Scotch in his glass before setting it carelessly aside. "I am not a doctor, Charles."
"Of course you are not, but..." he gave a brief shake of his head, wincing as he did so. "I should like for you to visit. Perhaps the sound of your voice – one she has not heard since before her illness – may jolt some memory and thus some sense of awareness within her."
Ananias understood his line of thinking, but feared his presence may have an effect opposite of the one Charles hoped for. Considering her reaction at the news of his departure, she may well hate him now. He sighed.
"To my utmost distaste, it has become imperative that I seek a bride. I am off to vet the latest crop of young lovelies our fair city has to offer. While I am there, I will look up an old friend, a doctor, who has done a great deal of study upon the type of afflictions which affect ones mind. Perhaps he can shed some light upon your daughter's condition," he offered, "but I am afraid the nature of my own problems are such that I have been afforded little time to catch up with old acquaintances."
"Before you leave, then?" Charles asked. "A few minutes of your time is all I ask, Aventry. Surely you can spare a brief moment for a woman you once professed to love?"
Ananias felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to smash his fist into something.
A wall.
Charles's face.
Anything.
Because the sad truth of the matter was that he loved her still.
He had never stopped loving her – not even for a minute. Thoughts of Ebrielle de Clercy had haunted him for the entirety of the past two years. Imagining her happily living out her life with another man had only made those moments all the harder, and now, to discover she had never wed...
So much wasted time, he thought bitterly, and it had been for naught. Shuttering his gaze, he shrugged. "Perhaps."
Obviously unhappy with his seemingly lukewarm response, Charles shifted in his chair, his own gaze becoming more piercing and shrewd. "It has come to my attention that you are currently facing certain...financial difficulties?"
Ananias's lips quirked to the side in a rueful smirk. "Indeed? It seems everyone is aware of my recent insolvency, and yet my father's solicitor saw no apparent need to inform me of the matter until my return."
"He did not know where to find you. In any case, when Mr. Lembert began to make the Aventry properties available through private auction, I was paying attention. You should know those properties have now become part of my daughter's dowry.” Charles arched a brow as if to question Ananias's thoughts on the matter, whether they be ill or no.
“Ebrielle is a very fortunate young woman,” he continued. “Whomever brings her to the altar will want for nothing, I can assure you. Nor will his heirs."
Ananias peered at him, his short bark of laughter testament to his surprise at what Charles seemed to be suggesting. "Are you attempting to persuade me that I should marry your daughter in order to regain properties which have been in my family for centuries?"
"Perhaps," Charles answered shortly, settling back in his chair, a hint of challenge lacing the anguish in his gaze. "However, you would first need to find a way to wake her from the terrible sleep into which she has fallen."
* * *
After Charles had gone, a thousand thoughts fought for focus in Ananias's head, at the fore of which was the certain truth that Ebrielle de Clercy had not wed during his absence and, apparently, he was now free to pursue her as had been his desire two years ago.
Doing so would not only allow him to be with the woman he loved, it would also redeem him from the appalling financial dilemma he faced, his only problem being that during the years he had been away, Ebrielle had fallen afoul of a malady so unique and terrible, even the finest doctors in the land had been unable to cure her.
A harsh, bitter sigh hissed from between his lips and he raked his fingers through his hair, leaving behind a fine
mess, the fine strands becoming twisted and snarled, much like the state of his life.
He had told Charles he intended to venture to London to seek a wealthy bride, but the truth of the matter was, he well knew that avenue to redemption was closed to him. News of his loss preceded him and every father shrewd enough to have blessed his offspring with a portion substantial enough to suit his needs would also be sufficiently astute as to surmise his reasons for pursuing their daughters.
As he stood staring out across the lawns of Avenleah Downes, trying to sort this latest tangle in the strands of his life, Ebrielle's tear-stained face rose up in his thoughts to haunt him. She had loved him once, and then he had broken her heart. Was it possible, he wondered, for hearts to mend?
A tap on his study door brought his attention swinging around to find a footman peering in through the opening. “The carriage is waiting, sir.”
Ananias nodded. The servant bowed curtly and disappeared, leaving Ananias to glance around at the quiet room which had been his father's study when he was in attendance at Avenleah Downes. His father, he recalled, had hated this place but to Ananias, it was home.
Home.
He had barely arrived, had not even begun to relax and settle in before the harbingers of doom had swept in, and now it was time to leave.
Again.
Chapter Three
James discovered him loitering in the alley outside his professional offices, one booted foot propped idly against the cold brick while he lounged, attempting for all the world to look as if he were merely waiting for someone.
Was he?
At this point, Ananias was no more sure of what he was doing here than why he would have come in the first place. James Blake was a doctor, certainly, but not the sort to know a cure for what ailed him.
"James! Fancy meeting you here," he quipped, pretending a joviality he was far from feeling. Lifting himself away from the wall where he had been standing for the past quarter hour, Ananias straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Off to the club for a round or two, are you?"
He heard James sigh and knew by the exasperated look on his face his friend thought him inebriated. Utterly foxed, more like, judging from the healthy dose of distaste which had crossed his visage a moment before he remembered to school his features into that unreadable mask James wore whenever he wanted to take Ananias to task for his disregard of proprieties, but would refrain from doing so.
"Haven't touched a bottle today, James. Not a drop, I swear," Ananias promised. Nay, the spirit currently having its way with him was far more dangerous and cruel, and her name was Despair. "May I come inside, or were you leaving for the day?"
James peered askance at him. Looking both curious and equally cautious, he asked, "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"
Ananias felt the corner of his lip quirk upward. He reached for the door and waited for James's nod before pulling it open, and then preceded his friend inside. "Why must a visit from me mean I have gotten into something?"
James scoffed at this poorly played attempt to make the situation seem not quite as severe as it truly was and arched a questioning brow. "When has it not? However, unless my instincts are off, this is no casual visit."
"No," Ananias admitted, his smile turned rueful. "As you have rightly guessed, I am in a deuced bit of trouble, James. I have most pressing concern, and given the direction of your particular studies, you are my last hope. My only hope, actually."
James's brows arched high. "Dramatics? Come now, Ananias, surely you needn't resort to such theatrical tricks with your friends? Whatever you have fallen into, it cannot be all that bad."
Ananias settled into a chair and raised a questioning brow. "Can it not? Oh, but I am afraid this time you are wrong, Doctor.
He offered a bland smile and reclined in the chair he had chosen. Resting his head against the back, he expelled a breath born of pure frustration and closed his eyes. His right hand came up and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as if doing so would magically remove him from the distasteful yet necessary task of explaining his predicament to his friend.
"Alright, let's have it," James prompted, settling in for the telling of whatever sordid tale he might concoct to explain away his latest conundrum and at that moment, Ananias would have given half the fortune he no longer had to not have to bring his current trouble to this particular friend.
James Blake was the sort of doctor no man should ever need to request the services of. He delved into one's mind and did not resurface until he had ferreted out all one's secrets whether one wanted those secrets to be ousted or no.
Ananias sighed and shifted in his chair, trying to decide the best way to explain what had happened and why he was here. In the end, he opted for a swift brief and opened his mouth to get it done.
Half an hour later, he ended his rather serious yet obviously truncated story of how his father had managed to 'accidentally and through no fault of his own,' beggar the Aventry coffers before his rather untimely death several months previous, leaving Ananias destitute and completely without a clue. "Sadly, I have no alternative but to marry an heiress, James, and quickly."
He watched James take it all in with an odd feeling of relief. Admitting he was completely toes up financially had been difficult, but not as crushing a blow to his ego as he had thought it would be.
James cleared his throat and shook his head, keeping his features carefully schooled so they revealed none of his private thoughts. "I do apologize, Ananias, but...you have come to me for help with choosing a bride?"
"Of course not," Ananias hurried to assure him. "The bride has been chosen, but...my visit today is in regard to a much more practical matter - Doctor."
Ananias leaned forward, wishing there were another way, some other doctor he could go to, another he could trust with his rather unique dilemma, but there was none. It would have to be James. He could only hope what he was about to ask would not sever their relationship entirely.
"The choice of bride is not the problem, but rather, it is the bride herself. You see...I need you to tell me how to wake her."
James brows snapped downward in confusion.
"Tell you how to wake...?" He stopped, his eyes wide with realization. "The Sleeping Heiress?"
Ananias's nod confirmed his conclusion but he said nothing more.
"I expect a somewhat lengthy stay. A month at least," James said, and made to rise from his chair. "I shall pack my bags at once."
Ananias waved him back down. "That will not be necessary, James. There is no need for you to personally be on hand to affect the awakening. I shall see to the matter myself."
An unusual hardness edged his voice but James appeared not to have noticed. He had risen and even now stood bent over his desk where he stood with one hand inside a drawer, his mind obviously racing ahead to the task at hand while he brought out several packets of paper from the drawer.
"I cannot simply tell you how to wake her, Ananias. I would need to examine her, to see her. I should be on hand to study her reactions, should there be any, and to..."
"She is not to be your patient, Blake, but my future countess."
There could be no mistaking the adamant determination in his voice this time, Ananias knew, because James, having found the packet of information he had been looking for, slowly placed it on his desk before settling back into his chair to peer at him again. Finally, he nodded. "I see."
Obviously he did not, Ananias realized, or he would not be wearing such a wounded expression. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he got up to pace the small interior of the office. He swore beneath his breath again, and then out loud, for good measure.
James was sure to hate him for this, but even if he wanted to explain, the truth of the matter was, not even Ananias fully understood why he did not want his best friend there when his bride opened her eyes. He knew only that it felt important she see only him.
"Damn it, James, don't look at me
as if I were your most hated foe. You know you shall have full credit for the method once it is done, but this bit is personal, something I must do alone. The lady is to be my wife. A wife I miserably must now marry for her dowry...”
James expression closed and then settled into one more accepting for the moment. "Of course. But as I have said, I would still need to..."
Ananias held up his hand, forestalling further rebuttal. "Give me your thoughts, James, nothing more. How do you propose I proceed?"
The doctor held his tongue and was silent for such a long moment, Ananias had begun to think he would refuse to help. Finally, James relented with a sigh. "The key to waking your heiress, Ananias, lies in knowing why she sleeps. My theory is that the girl succumbed as a way to escape her fears. To wake her, you will need to relieve her of those fears."
Ananias frowned. "But how am I to alleviate her fear when she lies sleeping?"
James's lips turned up in a placating smile. "My studies indicate the lady should be fully cognizant of activity around her while she sleeps, Ananias."
"So I am to court her while she lies abed. Perfect." Ananias grinned, but James dour look reminded him his previous nocturnal proclivities would in no way help him out of his current predicament, and if he sought a haunts hope in hell of pulling this off, he should, for once in his life, listen. Wiping the inappropriate grin from his lips, Ananias asked, "What does she fear?"
James twined his fingers together and shrugged. "Marriage, perhaps? I am not certain, but given the circumstances in her life at the time during which she succumbed, I believe her fear to be relative either to the man she was to marry or the thought of life in a land foreign to her or the loss of home and family."
"Which, James?" he asked, hoping he would, in this area, at least, hear good news.
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 20
