“Everything that is lost from the earth returns to it,” she said. “Nothing is ever gone. And those who have passed on...they live on, in the trees, in the air. With us.”
He choked, bending his head, and she softly put a hand on his shoulder. He had thought grief was ongoing forever, unable to ever heal. Now, he felt a tiny ray of hope; of sunshine. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to feel happy again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLD TIMES
OLD TIMES
Are you not going to church?” Annabelle said when she found Wesley walking down the path from the tents. She had taken James for a walk in the fields, knowing that most of them men had marched down the road for church. She would go herself, but Harold did not want her to go until he had seen the situation; knew that it was safe and that there was a private box for her, as a Lady of status. She also would have to find someone to leave James with, because he could not yet sit still in church. She did not want to bother anybody with his cries, even if it meant taking a quiet moment alone for prayer elsewhere. However, finding Wesley, once a devout churchgoer, here, was a bit shocking.
He snorted. “No, milady,” he said. “Not of late.”
She raised an eyebrow. He was a far cry from the innocent boy who had come home with Aaron one day and fallen in love with an actress. Now, he seemed a force to be reckoned with. So much had happened in the past few years. Nevertheless, underneath, Annabelle could still see the sweet boy he once was, the young sailor scared of the world and running for his life.
“Would you be willing to,” she said and hoisted James onto her hip. “Escort us into town?”
“Now?” he asked, in shock. “But---”
“I am not sneaking into church, Wesley. I made my choice when they left; James can't behave for that long yet,” Annabelle said. “I just want to see the town, keep my child occupied. And if you escort us, it will be safe, will not it?”
“I....suppose,” he replied, although he did not seem too convinced. “I do have things to do here, milady.”
“Of course you do,” she said. “It isn't far, is it?”
“No,” he sighed. Despite the years spent as a pirate, breaking all the rules, glaring at passersby, and wrestling with his own heart, he still got shy speaking to women. Annabelle was his captain's sister, and she was beautiful. His old timid heart came out, and he glanced at the ground. “Let me just get my overcoat then.”
“Excellent,” she replied with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Anything you say, milady,” he replied as she turned to James. Wesley did not particularly want to leave the camp, but he had a feeling Captain Aaron would kill him if he said no to Annabelle.
She was in a jovial mood as they walked, taking in their surroundings and pausing to let James pick up a flower or investigate a rock. She did not seem to be in any particular hurry, and Wesley bit his tongue as they approached the town center, letting her spin around to see the hustle and bustle of the early morning crowds going to market.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like, to be born...lower?” she asked. “Spend your mornings at the market, your days in a tiny cottage? A simple life?”
“Yes,” he answered plainly. “Especially once I dreamed of leaving my home.”
“Of course,” Annabelle replied. “I forgot that you went through that; I am sorry.”
Wesley shrugged. “It was my father's sin,” he replied, referring to his rough childhood. “Not mine. I only aspire to be better than him; to be better than the man he was to me.”
Annabelle had so many comments on that, but she kept her mouth closed, walking down the street as James pulled her hand. She was not thinking, unguarded as she moved just a step farther from Wesley. Her jewels, which she really should have taken off, glistened, and it was enough to catch the eye of a pickpocket. Before she could even scream, her wrist was grabbed and a knife went to her throat.
Another second and the necklace would have been gone, possibly with her life force. Wesley's snap decision had him throwing himself against the pickpocket, who was about the same size as he was.
“OOMPH,” Wesley said as he felt the knife briefly brush up against his arm. It stung, but it was not going to be fatal. With his other hand, he grabbed the man's hair, pulling him back until he could get an arm around his neck. “Do not dare touch her, scum.”
“Why?” choked the pickpocket. “A lady like that is far too good for you!”
Wesley tightened his grip on the man's throat. He knew he could break his neck; choke out his life force and leave his corpse on the ground. He had done it half a hundred times when they were in battle. He used to not believe in taking a life unless he had to, but time had changed him.
“Wesley!” Annabelle screamed at him. “For God’s sake!”
Wesley could only see red, his breath coming short. He could kill this man, and it would not matter. He was a thief, he was a lowlife. No one was likely to miss him, or notice. He had every right to kill him; he’d threatened a lady. He had killed before, and he slept soundly.
He remembered the first time he was conscious of killing. Strangely enough, it was not in battle, or on a ship. It was the first visit to meet Lola; when her ex-fiancé was causing a series of murders in jealously. Wesley had had no qualms about wanting the man dead; he wanted to protect her. There was death that was justified; death that deserved to be delivered.
“The police force here is strict,” came a voice and Wesley thought he was hallucinating “They will punish him. You do not have to kill him.”
His anger-blurred vision looked up in shock. It could not be, he thought to himself. It could not be.
Sure enough, standing there without looking surprised, directly in front of the theatre in town, was Lola.
She was dressed plainly, her hair pulled back and her clothes not reflecting at all that she was the wife of an Earl. She was in full rehearsal mode, not unlike the first day he saw her on the street.
He had never forgotten that day she caught his eye. Everything had been so easy then, so obvious. She looked just as beautiful as she did that day as well, taking his breath away.
It was only for a moment, though, a brief moment. So much anger had passed between them; so much hatred, and he knew they could not go back.
Wesley dropped the man, kicking him in the ribs. “If I ever catch you again, you are dead,” he said and the man scurried off, holding his bleeding side and choking.
Lola looked wholly unimpressed with the whole thing, but then caught sight of Annabelle and her face lit up. “Oh my goodness!” she cried. “I knew you had left for the colonies by now, but I would never guess that I would find you here.”
Annabelle held the crying James closer as she went into Lola's arms. “Should have known,” she said. “When you said you were signing a new tour contract, I should have known we'd cross paths. Our fate is always intertwined.”
“It is,” Lola said. “Are you alright?”
“I am alright,” Annabelle said, holding James closer. “He just got scared. Wesley, you are bleeding.”
“No matter,” Wesley said, clutching his arm as he looked beyond Lola.
Sure enough, just outside the theatre door, there was a sign. Famed British Actress, Lola Montclair. 5 Night appearance! First time in the Colonies!
“I see you have not stopped using your name to your advantage, Lola,” Wesley said, nodding toward the sign.
“What did you want me to use, Countess Rippon?” There was ice in her voice, and Annabelle winced. These two had been apart for so long, they should be overjoyed to see each other. Instead, they did not even smile. “Because that would have had the opposite effect.”
“Of course not,” he said. “No one would come to see a countess on stage, they would be too shocked. Best to keep that a secret, along with everything else.”
She looked like she wanted to find a knife and stab him herself. Instead, she swallowed a thick lump in her throat, and indicated the theatre.
“Come inside before you all cause a spectacle,” she said. “I was just going to get lunch after rehearsal anyway.”
Annabelle was quick to follow, happy to get James away from the noise and the chaos. Wesley, however, lingered at the door way, shooting daggers at his wife. “You should have told me,” he said. “I should know where you are.”
“Because I know where you are, at all times,” she said and he rolled his eyes.
“That is different, Lola. I---”
“Why, because you are my husband?” she asked. “And I am just a woman? It never was like that, Wesley, not at the beginning. You said you were happy with me on stage; we stayed unmarried so that we could live our own lives. This was exactly what I was afraid of.”
“That is not why I am angry, Lola,” Wesley answered. “I am angry because---”
“Stop,” she held out her hand. “Just stop. It is not worth it to get into this again. Come inside before you bleed everywhere.”
“This does not fix things,” he answered, brushing past her.
The theatre, despite being in the colonies, was one of the grandest new ones he had ever seen. With hundreds of seats and a high ceiling gilded in gold, he knew at once that it was a theatre fit for his stage-star wife.
“We'll have to come see you here,” Annabelle said, looking around. “What play are you doing?”
“Hamlet,” she said and Wesley could not help but laugh.
“Are you Ophelia?”
“Did you want me to be someone else?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Or does the lady whose love does not return the favor and drive her mad suit you?”
“Please do not fight,” Annabelle said as she boosted James on her hip. “It is fate that we are all here together. Let's not ruin it.”
Lola took a deep breath.
“Is Aaron here with you, then?” she asked Annabelle.
“He is,” she said. “Coincidentally, his ship and Harold's docked next to each other. They've both lent their assistance to the ground troops to attack the Americans.”
“Hopefully far away from my theatre,” Lola said. “Although I would be delighted to see him.”
“My Captain has many matters to attend to,” Wesley interjected. “And no disrespect, Lady Annabelle, but there are enough women around the camp already.”
“So tell him to come here,” Lola said. “He loves the theatre. Invite whoever you want, we open tomorrow, but a dress rehearsal is planned for tonight.”
“I am sure he would be delighted,” Annabelle said, and Wesley could not help but growl.
“We are in the middle of planning an attack,” he cried. “The King has trusted your husband and his troops to use his coin wisely, not take an evening off to see theatre.”
“That he has,” Annabelle said. “But he has not employed me, and if I remember correctly, you are not employed by the king anymore, are you?”
“We...” Wesley started, but he knew he had no argument.
“Excellent,” Lola said. “Then I will see you tonight.”
“Lovely,” Annabelle beamed and Wesley felt his heart sink. He had not wanted to rejoin with the British forces at all, but this was worse than what he could have imagined.
For the second time, he had run from a life he hated, and for the second time, it had come back to haunt him. Would he never be free? Or would the ghosts of the past, of negatively, plague him forever?
CHAPTER EIGHT
STAGE
STAGE
The theatre?” Enola asked in shock, when Jacob told her about it that afternoon. “You have never been to the theatre in your life, Jacob. You always said it sounded boring.”
“Well,” he said. “The invitation is for all the officers, so I suppose I have no choice, especially if Colonel Evenclear does not attend. I must go as his representative.”
“Well, good luck to you,” she said as she tore apart some leaves to dry. He continued to stand there, and she looked up again. “What is it?”
“Well, I am not going alone,” he said, after an awkward moment.
“Of course not, you are going with the other officers and the British lady,” she said, trying to count out just how many bundles she could make. She thought she had it, but Jacob was constantly distracting her.
Jacob crouched down to look her in the face and she leaned back.
“What?” she asked.
“Enola,” he said evenly. “We have always been in this life together, through sorrow and joy. If I have to fall asleep at a theatre performance, you can bet you'll be at my side.”
“Oh no,” she said, her voice harsh. “Not me.”
“Yes,” he repeated and she gritted her teeth.
“If I do this, then you will be copying out my translations for the colonel for the next month.”
“Month?” he argued. “A week.”
“Month,” she said and held steadfast to her decision. Jacob sighed.
“Three weeks.”
“Fine,” she said. “How long is this play?”
“Why, will I be in your debt another week if it is three hours rather than two?” he asked as he stood.
He looked tired, she thought, and she should not be giving him such a hard time. However, her choices were tied to his and she did not like being so trapped by someone else.
Something occurred to her as he turned to walk away. “Is Major Holde coming?”
“Aye,” Jacob replied. “Of course. Unless he is in a mood, which seems to be frequent of late.”
“He is grieving.” Enola was quick to defend him and Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“Alright,” he said, not willing to get into it. “So you can sit with him then, since you understand each other so, it seems.”
“What do you mean by that?” Enola asked, just as quick to defend herself. Jacob shrugged.
“I saw you two headed toward the woods this morning.”
“He wanted...” Enola sighed. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”
“No,” Jacob replied. “You do not. I am not your father, nor your keeper.”
“But you are,” she said. “Holde's sergeant was asking that earlier. As long as I am unmarried, society dictates that I answer to a man.”
“My society says that, yes,” he replied. “But not yours, Enola, not if you do not want it to. Trust your spirit, your heart.”
“You sound like my father,” she said, and he smiled.
“Someone should. We leave at 7:00.”
“Thrilling,” she replied, but her tone was lighter, and Jacob had a feeling it was because of Major Holde's attendance. “What should I wear?”
“Now who’s the great Lady?” he chuckled and quirked an eyebrow. “Wear whatever you want, I do not care. You always look the same to me.”
“Always the charmer, Jacob,” she said, going back to her herbs. However, silently, she was thinking about the evening. She had never been to the theatre, although she had seen many performances within her own community. The music, the dancing, the story telling, it always thrilled her.
She only had one other dress with her, and it was the clothing she had come to the war with; a leather skirt and a blouse. She had very little jewelry, and certainly no paint, which would have been traditional for going out. She hesitated in tying her hair back, and then eventually brushed it out and let it hang at her shoulders. If they were going to forget about the war for one night, then she was going to do it right. Besides, the officers knew that she was not spoiled for choice. They had their regular uniforms or dress uniforms, and that was it.
“Is she Ophelia?” the pirate captain, Aaron, was asking as Enola joined them by the campfire where they’d agreed to meet. The British Lady, Lady Bamber, bore a remarkable resemblance to him. Enola thought they could be twins, with the same coloring and height. It was striking, and she lowered her eyes to stop staring.
“She is,” Lady Bamber said. “And I imagine she will be dazzling at it.”
“Lola was always good at
acting mad,” Aaron said and Enola's brow furrowed.
“Do you know one of the players, then?”
Aaron spun around, and for one moment, she saw panic in his eyes. However, it was quickly calmed, as if nothing at all was the matter. “I do,” he said plainly. “She works in Britain, normally, and tours quite a bit.”
“What an odd coincidence,” Enola replied. “How do you know her?”
Aaron glanced to Annabelle. “We....Lola and I grew up together,” he said. “She is a good friend.”
“Oh?” Enola asked.
“Much like you and Captain Jacob,” Aaron said, and she understood.
“Of course,” she replied as Jacob himself approached. Normally, she would be delighted to see him. Now, she looked right past him, to Holde.
His dress uniform was just as rugged as he was; his stubble reflecting off the dying sunlight and his form strong under the binding jacket. He briefly smiled at her, but said nothing.
“And there's my husband,” Annabelle said, interrupting their thoughts. “Late as always.”
“Right on time, I believe, madam,” Harold said, squinting at the sun. “To the moment.”
She giggled, clear peals of laughter as she put a hand on his arm. It was obvious that she adored him, and Enola wondered if it was a love match. Then again, she knew British nobles did not marry for love, so this was a confusing relationship. If ladies were fond of men, it certainly was not their husbands.
“Is that all?” Jacob asked, and Aaron sighed.
“I do not think Wesley is going to join us.”
“He should,” Harold said, tearing his eyes away from Annabelle. “It will be good for him.”
“Well, unless you want to argue with him, Harold...” Aaron started, but he was cut off as Wesley approached.
The first mate reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were hazy. Enola did not have to smell his breath to know that he likely would not make it through the night.
How To Love A Fake Prince (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story) Page 6
