by Bree Wolf
“Dear,” she said, her voice slightly apologetic. “I cannot have your brother continue to trample my sister’s feet. Would you mind if we switched? I’m much more resilient in these matters.”
Swallowing, William stared at her. While every fibre of his body urged him on, another part feared that if he danced with Christine everyone would see what lived in his heart. And yet, he heard himself croak, “Certainly.”
“Splendid!” his wife rejoiced, a large smile on her face as she spun around and went to stand up with his brother.
Rather hesitantly, Christine stepped toward him, and William thought he could see the same apprehension on her face that he felt crawl under his skin. And yet, it was as though the sun had finally risen, its rays warming his face.
As they once more stood up for a cotillion, he and Christine glanced rather shyly at one another. However, with half their attention focused on the dance, they soon lost the nervousness that seemed to cling to them and smiles of honest enjoyment began to play on their faces. On top of it, William found that his feet suddenly felt lighter and his movements had become more graceful and exact. It was like dancing on air!
When the music stopped and the dance came to an end, William felt a sudden sense of loss.
“How about a waltz?” he heard his wife suggest, to which his mother grumbled something unintelligible.
However, moments later, music echoed through the large hall, and he found Wesley offering his wife his hand and then pulled her close for a waltz. For a second, William thought he ought to feel at least a hint of jealousy, however, he did not. All he felt was the desperate need to feel Christine in his arms.
Ignoring his brother and wife as they began to twirl about the dance floor, William stepped toward Christine. As their eyes met, he felt as though lightning had struck. His heart hammered in his chest and his palms grew sweaty. He had to clear his throat in order to dislodge the lump that had settled there before offering her his hand. “May I have this dance?” he all but whispered, and to him, his voice sounded like that of a man being strangled.
For although he enjoyed nothing more than the feel of her hand sliding into his, it also filled him with gut-wrenching sorrow. How could something feel so right and be so wrong?
Christine took a slow breath as she stepped toward him, and he felt the warmth of her body brush against his. Swallowing, he drew her into his arms as closely as he dared before their feet began to move and the world around them lost all meaning.
Lost in the shining green of her eyes, William smiled as warmth filled his heart. “You’re beautiful today,” he heard himself say and swallowed as he saw the small spark of surprise in her green depths. Was this not appropriate? William honestly couldn’t tell any more.
“Are you reassured now?” she asked, and for a second, he had no idea to what she was referring. “I have no doubt that you will do most splendidly on the dance floor at the Christmas Ball.”
“Thank you.” If only he could dance with her at the ball, with her alone. “I do feel reassured, yes. However, in my situation, one cannot be too careful. After all, there is no knowing what is and isn’t true.”
A shadow fell over her eyes, and she dropped her gaze.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, terror filling his heart. “Have I offended you somehow?”
“Not at all.” Raising her eyes to his once more, she shook her head, a delicate smile playing on her lips. “I did not mean to remind you of what you’ve lost. It was a careless remark. I apologise.”
Smiling at her, William’s hand tightened on hers and he could see her draw in a slow breath as her eyes held his. “Everything reminds me of what I’ve lost,” he whispered. “Maybe the world has not changed, but I have. I am not the same man any longer, and I only wish that−”
“Will!” his brother’s voice startled him out of the trance he had slipped into. Stopping in his tracks, William turned his head, annoyance swelling in his chest. “What is it?”
Wesley chuckled. “The music has stopped.” William’s eyes widened in embarrassment. “From where I stand,” his brother continued, a smirk on his face, “you’re quite a talented dancer and in no need of further practise.”
Swallowing, William reluctantly released Christine’s hand before his eyes glanced at his wife. A smile on her face, she stood by his brother’s side, and he was relieved to see no hint of displeasure or even anger on her face. Had she even noticed the intimate moment he had spent with her sister?
As reality came rushing back, William bowed to the ladies and then quickly excused himself. Feeling the need to be alone, he made to rush up the stairs when his brother’s voice startled him once more.
“Is something the matter?” Wesley asked, drawing him into the adjoining parlour. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
Rubbing his hands over his face, William couldn’t stand still. He strode up and down the length of the room, aware of his brother’s confused eyes following him. “I feel as though I am losing my mind,” he admitted. More than anything he wished he could speak to someone about this. But could he confess such a thing to his brother? What would Wesley think of him? Clearly, he was very protective of Catherine. Did he truly care for her? Or was it only out of regard for his brother?
“What are you talking about?” Wesley asked, his brows drawn down in concern. “I thought you were starting to feel better. I thought Christine’s company had helped.”
Helped? It had doomed him to live a life of lies and betrayal, of whispered secrets and forbidden love!
“Talk to me, Will!”
Raking his hands through his hair, William spun around and stared at his brother. “Before we got married,” he began, “did you court Catherine as well?”
“What?” Wesley’s eyes flew open in shock, and yet, William thought to detect a hint of guilt in his brother’s eyes before he turned his head away. “What gave you that idea?”
William threw up his hands. “I don’t know. You look at her as though…”
“As though what?” Wesley pressed, seemingly back in control. How William envied him!
“As though you care for her,” William finished, uncertain why he was laying such an accusation at his brother’s feet.
“Of course, I care for her. She’s family. She’s my sister-in-law.”
William shook his head. “You don’t look at her like a brother does,” he insisted, unable to help himself. “You look at her the way I…” He broke off. …the way I ought to.
Wesley looked stunned, and he opened and closed his mouth without saying a word.
More guilt and shame crept into William’s heart, and once again, he wondered about his motives. Maybe a part of him hoped for his brother’s confirmation. Maybe if Wesley cared for Catherine the way that he, William, cared for Christine, then… Then what? There was no maybe! There was no solution! No matter what, he was doomed!
Brushing past his brother, William stormed out of the parlour.
Chapter Ten − Another Wakeful Night
The next few days after the dance practise were a torture for William as the abyss between what he ought to feel and what he really did feel grew wider and deeper with each breath he took. He could barely meet Christine’s eyes, let alone his wife’s. Hopelessness filled his heart, and he mostly kept to himself.
Whenever he would stumble upon the others, they were often standing grouped together, their heads inclined to one another, whispering. However, when they noticed him approach, they would quickly break apart, such innocent expressions on their faces that William got the distinct feeling that something was wrong. What did they not want him to know?
For all the gloomy thoughts that wreaked havoc on his heart, William found that life at Harrington Park had taken a strange turn. Now, that his wife had returned, he had assumed that she would seek his company or at the very least that he would see the desire to speak to him on her face−even though she dared not to. However, when he would lay eyes on his
wife, William always found her chatting with his brother, smiling and laughing, discussing masks and evening wear. If they became aware of his presence, they would almost flinch, their faces immediately turning to a more serious expression, a hint of embarrassment in their eyes as though they had been caught doing something untoward.
Once again, William found himself wondering about his brother’s feelings for his wife as well as hers for him. Strangely enough, William didn’t think he’d mind.
Contrary to his brother and wife, Christine seemed rather glum, a sadness clinging to her eyes that felt like a stab to the heart whenever William’s gaze happened to meet hers. As though mimicking his behaviour, she appeared to avoid him as well.
Unable to sleep, William lay awake most nights, raking his hands through his hair, sometimes pulling so hard that his skull ached and he feared fistfuls of his hair had come off. Occasionally, he would get to his feet and pace the length of his chamber until exhaustion forced him to bed. Sometimes, he would even venture downstairs and sit in the library for a few short moments.
Strange, how comfortable and welcoming the large vaulted room had felt with Christine sitting by his side, her warm, glowing eyes smiling at him as they had shared a laugh here and there, discussing family life at Harrington Park. Even topics that ought to have been rather uncomfortable or even painful had not made him feel as poorly as when he set foot in the empty room all by himself.
Feeling defeated, William climbed the stairs and turned the corner, heading back to his bedchamber when soft footsteps echoed to his ears.
Instantly, he froze, straining to listen. Then he quickly slipped into a doorway and peered around the corner.
As he saw Christine’s long, undone hair flowing past her shoulders, swaying gently as she tiptoed down the corridor, his heart stopped before it started hammering at a frantic pace that for a second William felt certain he’d faint any moment.
Despite knowing that he ought not to, William quietly sneaked after her. After days of keeping his distance, he felt her pull stronger than ever before. Like a beacon she called him home.
Heading down the way he had come, Christine opened the door to the library, but then stopped. For a long moment, she stood on the threshold, her eyes gazing inside before she sighed and her shoulders slumped.
William felt the desperate need to comfort her for he thought to see a flicker of the pain he had felt earlier cross over her face. Did she feel the coldness of the empty room as well? Did she, too, wish he was there with her?
When she turned back, William shrank back into a doorway, hoping she would not see him. However, when moment after moment passed and she did not walk past him, he carefully peered around the corner.
For a second he glimpsed her back before it vanished around the corner on the other side of the corridor. Obviously, she had changed her mind about where to go, and so William quickly hurried after her. He could not say why, but the thought of losing her and returning to his own bed filled him with dread so unbearable that he felt as though his life depended on catching up with her.
And so he followed her to the back of the house until after yet another corner, she was suddenly lost from his sight. His eyes went wide with a hint of panic as he glanced up and down the narrow corridor before he noticed a faint glimmer of light reaching out from under a door toward his right.
Approaching the door, he frowned. Wasn’t this the kitchen? He wondered. What was she doing in the kitchen and in the middle of the night no less?
He took a step forward and pressed his ear to the door. From inside, he could hear quiet footsteps walking here and there, the soft clinking of kitchen utensils, some metallic, some wooden, some ceramic, and every now and then a languid sigh.
Was she cooking? William wondered. An intrigued smile came to his face at the thought of the many things he did not know about Christine, but dearly wished to.
Deep down, he knew that he did not have the willpower to return to his bed, and so he gathered his courage and lifted his hand to knock on the door. As dearly as he wished to see and speak to her, he did not want to frighten her by barging into the room.
After a quick rap on the door, everything fell silent, and William imagined her staring at the door, wide-eyed, wondering who was up and about at such an early hour. Maybe he should have gone back to bed? If only he could have.
“Christine, it is me,” he called out. “May I come in?”
Another moment of silence followed before the door slowly slid open. In its frame stood Christine, her eyes shyly gazing up at him, a soft smile on her lips. “What are you doing here?”
William shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I.”
He glanced behind her at the table in the centre of the cosy kitchen, which was filled with different-sized bowls, jars as well as bags of flour and sugar. Spoons and forks lay strewn about, and the spicy aroma of chocolate filled the room. “Are you baking?” he asked, taking in the gentle warmth that emanated from the oven in the corner.
A sheepish grin on her face, Christine nodded. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about−” Abruptly, she broke off, then cleared her throat. “I mean I had a bad dream, and so I came here. When I was a little girl, Cook always let us help her whenever she baked. My sister didn’t like it so much because she would worry about her dress.” A longing smile came to her lips. “But I loved it. The smell of sweet dough and chocolate is just wonderful. It always helps me relax.”
A warm glow had come to her cheeks as she spoke, and William could see the deep emotions that memory held for her. More than anything he wanted to be a part of it. “Would you mind some help?” he asked, feeling suddenly nervous that she might reject him.
Contemplating his request for a moment, Christine looked up at him, searching his eyes, before a soft smile lit up her face. “Of course, you may help,” she said, then stepped aside and allowed him into her sanctuary.
After walking up to the table where she had carefully laid out everything she would need, he looked up at her. “What can I do?”
As her eyes swept over the ingredients, she caught her lower lip gently between her teeth. It was a gesture of deep thought and consideration. However, William’s breath still caught in his throat and he quickly dropped his gaze.
“You could start sieving the flour,” she said, handing him a large bowl and a sieve. “The flour is over there.”
Nodding, William set to work, trying to remember if he had ever even been in a kitchen, much less worked in one. Naturally, he could not account for the past five years. However, he could not recall memories of helping Cook with her baking. Then again, boys were more strongly discouraged to show an interest in something that was considered a female occupation.
However, inhaling the smells of the kitchen, William thought he might have enjoyed it as well. There was something peaceful about the stillness of the room, the gentle smells mingling in the air as though they were dancing as well as the comforting warmth of the oven that seemed to set everything aglow. No wonder Christine had come here to escape the thoughts that tortured her! Was it presumptuous of him to assume that the thoughts that had robbed her of her sleep had been the same ones that had sent him from his bed as well?
As he carefully let the flour run through the sieve into the bowl, he glanced up and found her measuring sugar and nuts, chocolate and milk and setting them aside in individual bowls. “What are we baking?” he asked, hoping to catch her eye again.
“Biscuits,” she said with a mysterious smile, and when her eyes met his, his insides turned to pudding. Stifling a longing sigh, he returned her smile, then dropped his gaze and once again tried to focus his thoughts on the task at hand. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult, and when he scooped too much flour into the sieve at once, a puff of the fine white particles rose into the air.
Coughing, he waved his hand, trying to disperse the cloud and almost dropped the bag of flour.
Before he knew w
hat was happening, Christine was beside him, saving the bag with a skilful hand and pushing the bowl farther onto the table before it, too, would tip over. “I believe this is plenty,” she laughed, gazing into the bowl. “I assume you have never done this before.” Her eyes shone with childish delight as she looked at him over her shoulder.
Feeling the tension fall from him, William laughed. “Not once. At least not that I can remember,” he added and laughed again, cherishing the ease he feared they had lost but seemed to have found once more.
A deep smile on her face, Christine turned to face the table, her quick hands carefully arranging the individual bowls around the larger one into which he had sieved the flour. When her left hand couldn’t reach the small ceramic mortar containing the nuts, William stepped to the side and leaned forward to help her.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, turning around. “I forgot the−”
Suddenly standing face to face, their eyes locked ever so suddenly. With her lips only a hair’s breadth away from his, William froze.
As did she.
And then time stopped. Reality vanished. Right and wrong evaporated into thin air.
All that was left were her smoky green eyes, radiant in their purity, as they looked into his, and William abandoned all thought.
Gently, he cupped her face, his fingers leaving little puffs of flour on her cheeks, as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.
***
As his lips touched hers, Catherine froze. Was this a dream? Had she fallen asleep and was now merely dreaming of a wakeful night in which she had come to the kitchen to distract herself?
And yet, this didn’t feel like a dream. As terrifying and emotional as dreams could be, they were usually centred on one aspect, drowning out all sensory perception.
Right then and there, however, her senses were far from unreceptive. On the contrary, breathing in his familiar scent of soap and fresh air, her body relaxed into his embrace, recognising the familiar way his hands held her face. Her lips began to tingle as his kiss deepened and his arms slid down, pulling her closer.
