Dare To Love

by Trisha Fuentes

  Thomas stepped into her, “Why cousin, I am so glad to see that you were treated well.”

  Anne’s heart began to pound and gazed at the members of Parliament. “Why yes,” she lied, “…I told you in my letters that I was treated well.”

  “Yes, yes you did, and I have a surprise,” Thomas remarked, clearing way for a view of a lively Devin. “Your betrothed.”

  “My betrothed?” Anne blinked with the humorous shock. She immediately recognized him as well. “Lord Hale?”

  “My sweet,” he played along, grabbing her into his arms and tasting her. Oh, sweet, sweet justice…and the irony!

  General Duroc had been standing a few feet away from Anne in case there was a problem and raised his eyebrows at the absurd flaunt, “Take her, we are quite done with her antics.”

  Thomas bowed to the man. “Good day, General Duroc, you should be hearing my decision soon,” and the two men, along with Anne in tow all began their wade through a grove of French cavalier stuck-up noses, when they heard…

  “Not yet.”

  Thomas turned around and eyed a flamboyant French aristocrat standing isolated. An exotically handsome man with long black ringlets surrounding his sun-tanned face, the man was dressed in his flashy red silks and gold ringed fingers and stood proud and arrogant, narrowing his blue eyes on Anne.

  “And who are you?” Thomas inquired, curious.

  “Antoine Bruneau,” Devin voiced with distaste.

  Anne immediately closed space between Thomas and herself, she was afraid of Antoine, scared of what he might do. Antoine was a callous lover, oftentimes beating and tying her up naked for days. She instinctively wrapped her hand around Thomas’ elbow and squeezed it tight.

  Knowing this female reaction coming from fear, Thomas placed his protective hand over hers and leaned into Devin. “I take it you two are already acquainted?”

  Devin grabbed Anne to him and pushed her behind his back. “She’s mine Antoine and I am taking her back.”

  “You haven’t asked permission.”

  Devin lurched towards Captain Whitlock and borrowed his sword. Swinging around him, he met Antoine’s sword that was already at attack and pointed towards his chest. “Is this permission enough?” “Oui.”

  “Duel!” Members of the Parliament shouted, all encircling the two men on the brink of murder. Tables were scooted aside, chairs were lifted and rugs were rolled up, people all around created a ring just to make room for the two heated opponents.

  Thomas ran towards his friend, “You do not have to do this, Devin. This was not part of the deal.”

  “No friend, but I must, I really must,” Devin eerily stated, maintaining constricted meditation on the dastardly rat. “My honor is at stake, or should I say my sister’s honor.”

  Thomas raised his eyebrows and knew exactly what he was implying. Everything fell into place. Katrina’s ease the first time they were together, her continued acceptance of their liaison. Antoine Bruneau had been Katrina’s first lover?

  Antoine Bruneau, illegitimate son to Empress Josephine’s second cousin was not the least bit surprised to see Lord Devin Hale again. His sister was indeed, a tasty morsel. Even if Monsieur Hale insisted under gunpoint above a pot of boiling oil, he would have never married the fille.

  Anne ran to Thomas immediately and wrapped her frightened arms around his waist. “Lord Hale does not have to defend my honor, what is he doing?”

  Thomas nearly laughed aloud; it was so blatantly obvious that the girl wanted to touch him. Anne began to run her fingers up the small of his back in her failed attempt at seducing him. He unhooked her grip and pulled her aside. “He is so in love with you Anne, never got over you,” Thomas joked, watching Devin expertly match every position of Antoine’s swordfight.

  Devin winced, and then tripped slightly when he overheard Thomas’ ridiculous proclamation. Lunging for the man, he shoved his sword towards Antoine’s shoulder. “I must confess,” Devin announced craftily, “That I once held the record at Pembroke for the most victories,” he assuredly passed on, clipping Antoine’s shoulder and watching it turn red. “Awe, that felt good, I rather like seeing you bleed.”

  Antoine was embarrassed; no one had ever nipped him before! He ran towards Devin and whipped his sword towards his challenger’s head and tried to behead him. Devin fought him off quite skillfully; breeching his strain with both strong arms, crisscrossing his sword into Antoine’s other shoulder, making him lose blood there as well.

  Gasps were heard throughout the great hall, there were even some claps and cheers. Antoine Bruneau was not as popular as he so thought. With his left hand up in the air, Devin’s right sliced the atmosphere towards his competitor. Competitor, hah! The man was an amateur, Devin found out, as he continued to mark up Antoine’s sweet and sour face.

  Anne attempted another seduction, as Thomas stood near her again. His body was so enticing; she could not help but lust after the man. “You married now Lord Hollinger?”

  Thomas gazed away from the continued swordfight and down at Anne, “Yes, how did you guess?”

  “Lucky woman, your wife.”

  Thomas grinned, “I am the lucky one, Anne.”

  “So she has your heart?” Anne asked with her own twitter patting. “No other woman can entice you to her bed?” She asked, wide-eyed, fingering the crest of her exposed bosom.

  Thomas eyed her hand for a moment, and then looked way. “No other, Anne. The lady owns my desire as well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The end of each day had been the hardest for Gwendolyn. With every sunrise, there was hope and expectation that Thomas would be filling her doorway and whisking her away to Wilderbrand to be with him. But with every sunset, came despair, and Gwendolyn quickly withdrew her confidence. Determining it was best not to tell Mary that her father was alive, Gwendolyn chose silence as well, and each day hurt her like a stake through her heart.

  She wished he would come to his senses and realize he had made a mistake. She was so sure on that night that they made love that Thomas was hers forever. Pleasing her every time they touched, wrapping her arms around his chest and gaining reassurance that she was in her rightful place; talking to him in between kisses, sharing further experiences about Mary. He was so perceptive to what she desired, he responded ultimately, each and every time. One moment in particular, he was lying on his side with his elbow bent, holding up his head with his hand. He looked absolutely wonderful in that lazy pose; she just had to collide with him once more and kissed him. She leaned into him, touching his chest and he grabbed her head and kissed her deeply. Her hands roamed his sinewy backside and he covered her body with his, thrusting his hardness into her warmth. She had never felt anything so perfect, all sense of time, vanished. So overwhelmed with emotion, she began to release tears of joy and he softly kissed the moisture away from her face. She should have confessed her love for him right then and there but did not want to be susceptible to his rejection. Only now does she understand that his finesse included simulating reciprocal fondness. What a fool she was for thinking that they could resume being a genuine family. He must have concluded that they could never be. Trying to hypothesize the excuses he had lined up in his head…He was pledged to another woman…he was intoxicated that evening and was not thinking straight. But his intimacy did not indicate the latter, he was so earnest in his compassion for her…and oh God, she was utterly in love with the man and he fled with complete utter silence?

  That was the worst, really, not hearing from him at all. She felt she deserved some kind of an explanation. But where were the letters? Their friendship merited some sort of clarification. What was he thinking? How could he live with himself? Hold his head up high and know that he took advantage of their familiarity and still recite his vows? What was she to him now? No longer his friend, he said he could not continue mutual esteem without touching her, so he chooses absence? Not his mistress by reason of the two duration’s she was with him, she had still bee
n his wife. His wife? Huh! Even that covenant was not sacred enough; he still found a way to complete his pledge to Katrina. It must her, Gwendolyn realized. The serpent incarnate with blonde hair and blue eyes, keeping her tight grip on the reigns of her husband’s whereabouts. Having a taut hand in everything he did, said and went. Gwendolyn learned firsthand what kind of controlling person Katrina was. She never did let Thomas out of her sight during the whole extent Gwendolyn was there and she had even been a victim to her venom. Thomas must have confessed his final affair with Gwendolyn, and therefore, knowing Katrina’s personality, must have assigned him strict limitations.

  But what Gwendolyn was most unhappy about was the fact that Thomas would never be able to see his children. When she thought him passed, Gwendolyn used to speak to the heavens and imagine him listening, she would ask him if he had seen what his daughter did that day and sometimes when a peculiar gust of wind would blow through her hair, she believed she received his answer.

  She was being punished, she figured; reprimanded finally for ignoring him time after time, treating him harshly when they were younger. She used to love to tease him, challenge him, argue with him and even run away from him. How dare she think by treating him so unfairly would be rewarded? She would take it all back though, every single minute of it if she could have a second chance. But she did have a second chance and there would be no third. But stubborn as she was, Gwendolyn believed it was not over between them, she felt so in her heart. But where were those letters? Tommy Hollinger used to be her shadow, her tail, his surfacing had always been counted on, taken for granted; for God’s sake the boy was always following her! Oh God… he was always following her! Why couldn’t the man be pursuing her now?

  Six months expectant, Gwendolyn hobbled along the dirt path towards St. Paul Church. She passed several villagers on their way towards town and they all stopped by to say hello. Gwendolyn greeted the passersby with a friendly nod and then waved goodbye. Some of the advantages of being away from the upper classes and living in the country were that no one judged you. Her Great-Aunt was very well loved within the community, and therefore, any respect that was lingering with her passing was now bestowed to her niece. Phyllis later spread that Charles had fled to London to demand Gwendolyn’s hand in matrimony, they were still seen together in town; they must have gone through with the marriage for no one raised an eyebrow to her condition—it was a normal course.

  Finally reaching the churchyard, Gwendolyn ambled over to the cemetery. Her grandparents, Great-Aunt and Uncle were buried there, along with a monument constructed for the family members who perished at sea. And, over to the left of that headstone, a special gravestone for Gwendolyn to visit when she felt lonely as she did so now.

  Gwendolyn was amazed to see a dozen long-stemmed red roses next to her mother’s nameplate. Baron Huxton, she realized and the thought of him loving her mother to this day brought a smile to her face. “At least someone does not mind traveling.”

  Brushing away some fallen leaves from a nearby oak, Gwendolyn stared down at the tombstone.

  IN MEMORIAL

  THOMAS ALBERT HOLLINGER, III

  1782 – 1798

  Gwendolyn felt a rush of sentiment enter her throat; tears spurted through her eyes instantly, not really departed, but still the same heartache. “…Where are you? What has happened to you? You were once the most benevolent, unselfish boy I knew. This man…this man that you have become, is so unlike you, I do not understand. Help me to understand…”

  Gwendolyn buried her head in her hands and began to cry. Her unborn child kicked the side of her womb, which made her chuckle through tears, “Even your descendant wants to hear your excuse.”

  Gwendolyn stood back up from her knees and cleared her nose into her apron. “No more crying, Gwendolyn…no more sadness…you have children to raise. He will come around one day…you know so in your heart. One year, two, five years, ten, it was all the same. You will see Thomas Hollinger again. They’ll have an argument one day, and he will act mutinous…he will head to Yorkshire.” Wiping the dust away from her hands, she brushed back her hair. “There is still faith in his appearance…for now he is mortal and occupying the living.”

  When Gwendolyn got back into town, the community was already a buzz. Every three years fairs were held in the village: one of which was a hiring fair where men came from Westmorland to be hired for labor in the limestone mines. However, the weather had been horrible lately; torrential rains, high winds and muddied roads had blocked all inward bound transportation, the town’s people were so unnerved, every season when the leaves turned orange the village would also celebrate the commencement of fall. A town banquet had been preplanned for months and was now underway.

  Gwendolyn, Charles, Phyllis, Mary and a few other villagers were laughing and discussing the beautiful weather when along came an elegant wagon heading up the road. Everyone stopped to gape, as its two massive labor horses pulled along its glorious entrance. When it stopped right in front of Gwendolyn and the others, Gwendolyn’s heart began to pound.

  “Mummie, who is it?” Mary asked, holding her mother’s hand.

  “I don’t know,” Gwendolyn gulped. It was not a human carriage, she realized, it was a wagon full of cargo.

  “I am looking for Lady Hollinger,” the coachman stated for all to hear. He got down from his high perch and gazed around at all the onlookers. “Anyone here know where I can find Lady Hollinger?”

  Hollinger? Why would anyone address her formally? Hoping that no one caught the slip, Gwendolyn raised her hand finally, “I will receive it,” she voiced, pulling away from the others.

  “Lady Hollinger?”

  Gwendolyn agreed by nodding her head.

  “Please sign here malady,” the coachman asked, handing her a receipt. When she handed it back to him, he surveyed her obvious condition. “Is there anyone here that can help me bring down a crate?”

  Gwendolyn gazed around her for Charles and waived him down. Charles came rushing over and strides towards the coachman. The two men marched to the side of the wagon and the coachman opened up the interior. Inside, was a wooden crate about four feet wide in dimension. Charles grabbed hold of one end, while the strong coachman gathered together the other. Both men walked the crate to Gwendolyn’s side and plopped it down with a great big thud.

  The coachman then grabbed his ax and broke open the chain that surrounded the box; he pulled the chain down and then with the ax again pulled apart the nails that held it together. With authority, he puffed up and shouted, “Who is Mary?”

  Mary’s eyes lit up with glee, “I’m Mary!”

  The coachman greeted her with a wink, “You have the honors, malady,” he uttered, handing her a sizeable iron key.

  Mary ran over to the crate and several of the other children followed her. Inside the crate was a brown weathered trunk, with metal handles and golden knobs bordering its majestic scarlet painted entry.

  “Oh, a treasure chest!” Mary exclaimed for all to hear.

  Gwendolyn covered her mouth and barely contained her happiness for her daughter. She watched with round eyes as several other villagers gathered round Mary, all-clamoring to see what could be inside the beautiful carved chest.

  Mary took the key and unlocked it. Opening it slowly, she gasped from its contents. Inside the luxurious purple velour lined trunk were one of kind riches from all over the world. A beautiful porcelain doll with green eyes and black hair cascading down the sides of her shape from Italy…Several outfits to change the doll in…along with a buggy to push her outdoors… A telescope to see the stars up close with from China…and magnifying glasses to view the bugs underneath from Egypt… Numerous original dresses, all of which were made of fine expensive silks imported from the Orient, Africa and Brazil…Slippers and hair ribbons to match…ivory brushes and combs. A separate hatbox was hidden in a corner with two envelopes attached under the tie; one addressed to Mary, the other, to Gwendolyn.

  Mary pushed
aside the letter to her mother and ripped open the envelope addressed to her and began to read it out loud.