The Veil of Virtue

by Karen Joyce

  Soon the time would come again, but this time they were older, more experienced in the ways of the world and when he imagined her now before him, he knew it wouldn’t be as it was, but something far more winsome and beguiling. It would be exquisite and breathtaking. She was so very breathtaking. There would be no laughter. Only the stillness and he would look down upon her hands, but this time when he took them into his own they would not slip from his grasp. Never would he allow her to slip away from him again. He looked upon his own hands now, strong and commanding. With these very hands he would take her into his arms and never let her go, but then another thought came to him. Always when he imagined those moments of perfection that had never existed beyond his own mind, something would come to destroy them. How could he stand before her after what he had become? If she knew what things he had done, how could he look her in the eye? She would see right through to his soul. His sins would be laid bare before her. How could she know? Another, smaller part of himself dared to ask. There was no sense in it, but when her image fell upon him he knew she would see him, all of him and she would know the man he was now. It made him feel ashamed to imagine her knowing the truth of him. Now he felt the fool, for what did he expect could happen? She was, as she had always been, beyond his reach and if he touched her; if he dared to lay a finger upon her, he would taint her with his sin. She could never love him. She would only bring him pain, the way her absence caused it to sear through his flesh now. Never before had he been so conflicted. To want and yet, not to want all at once. He would have to keep her at arm’s length and he realised she had never intimated to him that she cared. If anything, from the inference within her actions, it was as though his attentions upon her were the very act of impertinence. Always, in his fantasies of her, he neglected this one minor detail. The song within her heart. Did she play it for him or did it lay in wait for another to hear its sweet melody? Nothing was clear to him now, nothing, but that she was more than all the earth and the sky. More than the stars. More than life itself. He must see her again. Even if he could not go to her and speak of the music that played within his own heart for her. Even if seeing her and knowing that she didn’t belong to him would break his heart into a million pieces. Each fragment like shattered shards of glass shredding at his soul, tearing at the essence of his being. He had to try for he would never again know peace until he laid his eyes upon her once more and like a guilty pleasure, he discarded these thoughts and returned to those that had led him down this path, but this time he imagined her as she had been that day in the woods. Sitting under the shade of an old Evergreen. The wind rustling through the leaves causing little parachute seeds to fall upon her hair like specks of gold shining in the sun, and this time when he imagined her, she didn’t turn from him, leaving him alone in that meadow by that tree. This time she stayed and turned toward him; inviting him with her eyes to reach out his hand and hold her face as she, lowering the lids of her eyes in surrender, ever so gently presses her cheek into the mercy of his palm. From then on, each time he imagined her, it would always end the same way. In this moment. Forever paused within the yearning of his tortured mind. His lips unconsciously forming the shape of her namesake he had so long ago lovingly bestowed upon her. Soundlessly repeating it over and over within the harrowing descent of his mind…Fin.

  XI

  The weight of winter’s frost that had fallen upon the earth over the past three months now felt lighter. The sound of footsteps that once echoed its heaviness were more joyful buoyed by the gifts of Saint Nicholas that had been shared and the metamorphosis that was sweeping through the land. Bright orange carrots and black pebbles sliding down the faces of snow. Damp gentleman’s hats sitting upon the ground of melted ice. Cracked frozen lakes and barren branches blossoming forth with the colours of spring. There was a change in the air that was almost palpable as if you could reach out and hold it within the palm of your hand, and as Lincoln walked along the avenue he remarked upon how it touched the world around him. There was excitement in the hustling and bustling of London’s streets. In the men and women who were rushing to visit their dressmakers, seamstresses and milliners to make the necessary alterations to their gowns and suits. To purchase silk ribbons, feathers, barrettes, pins, combs and the latest style in bonnets. Visiting their barbers and tobacconists for their accoutrements: pipes, matches, cigars, pipe cleaners and cutters and to fill their pouches with fresh fine cut tobacco. Departing the patisseries with parcels of freshly baked bread, pastries, sweet cakes and cheeses. Market stalls lined the streets where traders were selling their fresh vegetables, meat and fish in large tray boxes, antiques, materials, bric-a-brac and specialty soaps. The rising and falling of this cacophony of sound was rivalled by the chorus of competing costermonger street sellers pushing their wheelbarrows, pony carts and donkey-drawn wagons.

  The London Season had arrived and there was a great deal of activity as the men and women folk of England prepared for this time of festivity. Everything appeared as if unreal and Lincoln wondered if perhaps it was. Even now it didn’t seem real to him. His actions since the second sitting of Parliament. His continued support of Lord Ashwood that went against everything he stood for. Somehow amongst all of this commotion he fell into deep reflection. What are we but our thoughts and everything around us nothing but mere illusion. Stardust wandering aimlessly through the deception of our minds. Nothing but a lie. All of it a lie. Lincoln had grown to despise the upper classes with all their wealth and fine distinctions but he soon discovered that it had also become a way for him to escape all his inner failings where he was still welcomed and looked upon with reverence and esteem. Though he should renounce this society of lepers, he took solace in their admiration for his person and his position, it allowed him to forget if only for a moment that he wasn’t all that they encouraged him to believe. That he did not possess those very qualities they saw in him. Stepping off the pavement to cross the road, he recognised the black horse drawn carriage crossing his path with its fine gilded detailing and thick, purple, velvet curtains with the outline of a dainty, delicately clothed hand in the intricate patterns of woven lace drawing them aside. The carriage pulled to the side of the road and as the door opened, a heavily draped form peered out from under the large royal blue bonnet. Long, dark lashes were descending over the smoky iris of ashen-grey eyes and a tight ringlet of deep ruby red and coppery highlights framed the beauty Lincoln knew well.

  “Lady Madeline, you have arrived,” he said, as he approached them and almost tripped over into the carriage. The gaiety of Lady Madeline’s laughter was infectious and a broad grin spread across his face. It then dawned upon him that she would not be travelling alone and he tried to make out the other dark figures within the carriage.

  “It is but my chaperone, Miss Virginia and my mother, Duchess Montague.”

  “Have you only just arrived for the London Season?”

  “Not at all, we have been here for as many as three days and are now on our way to the museum.”

  “My, what a proper, dapper, young gentleman you are. Won’t you spare a bob for a poor, unfortunate soul such as meself? I’m not a dipper or a dollymop. Why just look at me gallies. They’re worn right down to their soles and me clothing. The icy breath of Jack Frost blows right through them to me weary bones on a cold, winter’s night.” Lincoln turned to see an old woman smiling up at him sweetly with a toothless grin. “’ello young ladies,” she added, as she turned toward the carriage window, “might you open your ‘eart for a tired and ‘ungry, old woman. We is all God’s children.”

  “How appalling,” gasped Duchess Montague, as she leant back in her seat and turned her head the other way. Though he had seen it a thousand times before, he was shocked to see their lack of compassion for this poor, old woman.

  “Good Morning, Madam,” he said, as he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his billfold.

  “Oh, thank-you, you are an angel sent from heaven,” she said, as she held out her unrave
lling woollen gloved hands and Lincoln placed a £10 pound note into her palms. “God bless you. You are a good, kind man.”

  “Madeline, what is this nonsense. Stopping this fine gentleman in the street as if we were a pack of dogs feasting upon a bone. I’ve never before witnessed such a lack of impropriety. This is not how you were raised. Pardon me, Lincoln, I apologise for my daughter’s insolence.”

  “Please, Duchess Montague, it is my pleasure to see you again, in whatever fashion.”

  “Of course, we are pleased to see you again and I entreat you to call upon us at our London address, an offer I was hoping to extend to you in a more formal manner, but, I must put an end to this dalliance at once,” she added, watching with disgust as the beggar hobbled away. “Darling, please bid goodbye to Lincoln so we may take our leave.”

  “Of course, Ladies, I will take up no more of your time,” said Lincoln, as he nodded to their carriage driver and stepped onto the pavement.

  “I do hope you are able to join for the Opera at the weeks end,” called Lady Madeline, as her face disappeared into the darkness of the carriage, a picture of her lovely smile remaining within Lincoln’s mind.

  She was so very lovely but there was still something of her that Lincoln could not resolve within his heart. Something he couldn’t quite understand. There was no denying that being in her presence had lifted his spirits considerably, but it was their plans for the Opera where he held hope of seeing Lady Delphinia again, that animated him. He tried to remember Lady Madeline’s letter, she had written to him the location of their London address, perhaps if he were to go there now, there might be a chance he could see her but then he realised how ill-mannered this would be and may bring unnecessary scandal upon her and the Montagues. No. He must not venture there, to her. He must follow the rules and bide his time. Soon, he told himself, as if he could almost feel it coming. Soon the time will come and until then you must be as patient as the death that awaits us at the end of the passing of time.

  Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he stepped off the pavement to cross the street, but an idea occurred to him and looking at his watch, he considered turning from his path and taking another, for there was still time before his presence was expected at the London home of his aunt and uncle. Yes, it would do for now to prolong his arrival at their home and he decided to instead, visit a tailor in the Burlington Arcade on Regent Street to be fitted for a new double breasted frock coat with high buttoning and military shaping. One that would distinguish him as a gentleman of means and distinction. Perhaps, it was also time he bought a new top hat. His had become quite worn in recent months and with the past cold, damp weather had begun to lose its shape. Sometime after arriving at the tailors, Lincoln stood upon a short stool before his reflection as the tailor made the necessary adjustments to the coat and pants he had finally decided to purchase. Upon seeing himself attired in this outfit he saw an image of a dashing figure, but this wasn’t vanity that captured his eye, this was the silent plea of a man desperate for the attentions of another. Like the shiny feathers of a proud peacock, he wanted to impress Lady Delphinia and now that he doubted his own integrity, he had resorted to his physiognomy. He wasn’t completely unaware of the effect he could have on women, though he never placed much value upon it. He had seen how his smile could unarm the most reserved and virtuous of those unsuspecting ladies to whom he had not intended to induce such passion. Their eyelids fluttering. The heat rising up the nape of their necks breathless with desire. None of this had ever mattered to him before, for the love that he craved was of a purer, nobler kind. One that was borne from friendship and grew out of honesty and admiration, but he also understood that if he was to win the hand of this woman, he would have to give all of himself to her. Their courtship would not be eclipsed by the affections or advances of another; for she was the very essence from which his life had been delivered into existence and without her, he would be no more. All of this time, just knowing that she was there, somewhere within this world, had given him the strength to get through each day. Believing that at the end of one of them, she would be there waiting for him. And though it went against all reason, he believed she was here. For he felt her near and it brought to his mind a vision of her gracing the circles of high society, but, instead of animating him with joy, it frightened him. For what if another were to catch her eye? What if another caused her lashes to flutter with the rising tempo of her heart and the colour to rise up the nape of her neck, as it filled the fullness of her cheeks? He couldn’t bear it. Any more than he could bear the life that he now led. These thoughts weighed heavily upon him.

  As he left the tailors, after making arrangements for the delivery of his new clothing, he saw the rays of the sun peering through the soft shreds of cotton candy in the sky and the soft drops of diamonds sparkling upon the leaves in the trees and the grass upon the earth. He saw it all as it sparkled like gold. The way the hues of her hair had shone that day in the woods. And he saw now, what he had not seen before. She was everything that he was not, and she was everything else. She was the air he breathed. The answer to every prayer. The light in the dark and the soul within his life. He would go to that Opera. He would find her. He would tell her how she moved him. How she was the dawn, the dusk and the twilight. She was his world.

  XII

  The faint winter chill that still lingered in the air could be felt as the sun began to set in the west, and Lincoln now welcomed his engagement at the stately townhouse of his aunt and uncle in the upper west side of Trafalgar Square. Descending his carriage, Lincoln huddled within his coat as he ascended the steps to the front door, striking the plate fixed upon the door with the ornate ring hanging from a lion’s head hinge. Immediately, the weight of the door fell away and he was greeted by their butler who took his coat and led him into the parlour. His Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Montgomery were seated by the fireplace. His young cousin, Felicity stood with her elbow propped upon the mantelpiece, gathered around the warmth of the recently lit fire, which was struggling to flicker as it wavered between fading embers and an infernal crescendo. Taking a seat upon the chaise lounge opposite his aunt and uncle, Lincoln removed his top hat, laying it upon the cushion seat beside him.

  “Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Montgomery, as always I am most content to visit with you and my dear cousin, Felicity, but I can perceive from your forlorn manner that there are dark forces threatening the enjoyment of this pleasurable occasion. Pray tell, what troubles play upon your mind?” His aunt began to speak but was overcome with emotion and her words were lost to her tears. His uncle turned to console her, placing an arm around her shoulder, murmuring words of solace that were indecipherable to Lincoln before turning his attentions to his nephew.

  “I’m afraid we have received news that the engagement between Felicity and Fortescue has been called off for good.” At this revelation, Felicity let out a small cry and ran from the room as if hearing of it for the first time.

  “Felicity,” called Lady Winchester, as she moved to rise from her seat.

  “Let her be, my dear,” said Sir Winchester, grabbing her arm and lowering her back onto the lounge.

  “This is most unfortunate indeed,” said Lincoln, watching the flames shimmer as they cast an eerie glow upon the room. “Though I do not pretend to understand these turn of events. Was there not an agreement made between the Willoughby’s and your family that the wedding would go ahead upon a suitable match being made with Lady Madeline?”

  “That is correct,” said Sir Winchester, “but, their confidence in Lady Madeline has faltered and in their estimation, no such event will transpire.

  “I see,” said Lincoln, “Poor, dear cousin Felicity, she must be beside herself with sorrow and what of Fortescue, what is the young lad’s feelings in all of this?”

  “He has intimated to our daughter that these are the wishes of his parents and he has no say in the matter whatsoever.”

  “I must apologise for failing you at the task you
had entrusted to me.”

  “We understand how busy you have been and the magnitude of such a request. To find a suitable match for that young Lady who, I dare say, is of such an obstinate and uncompromising nature is not an easy task indeed, but we are still hopeful it is not too late. All morning we have discussed alternative avenues in the hopes of finding a solution to this unfortunate predicament.”