by Lucy Langton
***
The Baron was down with veisalgia as result of the previous night out. He managed to relax and regain full consciousness at the balconette, just outside his bedchamber. He had been sleeping all day, particularly, for the fact that he was away almost all night gambling and enjoying the liquor with the men of suspicious reputation. With his skills, years of experience and knowledge in gambling, coupled with the fact that the odds were always in his favour, he was able to make a fortune from his fellow gamblers, most of whom were still amateurs in the game. He could vividly recall how he lost so many times to the champions of the game until he learnt from his losses. He had learnt that for one to win, he must have lost several times. He had become the champion and even had some amateurs coming to learn the art of gambling from him. He saw himself as a superhero who was indomitable. This, some people, especially the losers to the game might not want to take. Sometimes, they made trouble with him, just to ensure that they didn’t completely lose out on the game. Sometimes, the trouble escalated to the exchange of fisticuffs and breaking of bottles, of which he must reciprocate to avoid being termed a weakling, a name that never resounded with his personality. He was brave and strong and would definitely prove his worth to remain afloat on the water.
Usually, after the long gambling and drinking, he would end up with the kind ladies of the night who would be more than willing to lie with him. Though a man of bad reputation and high-risk profile, it had never been on record that he cheated anyone or did any transaction without fulfilling his own side of the bargain. That was a part of the major reasons why the prostitutes were always more than willing to have him screw them. Moreover, everyone saw him as a champion and always having some disposable money to have fun with. Therefore, the ladies were always available and willing to have a bite from the chunk of his pecuniary power.
However, the previous night was an exceptional case. Even as the half-clad ladies approached him, wriggling their waists on his sturdy loins, he resolved not to be with any of them to their uttermost dismay. Immediately after midnight and the time the owner of the tavern was to withdraw for the night, he mounted his horse and rode home. He still found his action absurd. What could make him, a man who was known for his sexual prowess and defiance regarding the bed, ignore the ladies and return home?
The answer was not far-fetched. The answer was hidden somewhere in his manor. He had had a fair share of his conscience murdering him for going back to gambling, even as he tried to resolve to give up on it. He knew that he had already had a bad reputation and would not want to continue nursing it. Perhaps, his sister recoiled to her shell because of his reckless, irresponsible lifestyle. Perhaps, if he had tried his best not to allow the incidence of that night to grab a better part of him, he would not have been seen this way in the eyes of the people. Who knows? He might have become a priest or serving in the sacristy.
He chuckled softly and shook his head at the thought of becoming a clergyman. He knew it would be an impossible mission because he found himself unworthy to serve in the house of God, a holy and undefiled place. Moreover, he had always fantasised about getting married and becoming a responsible husband and father. Yes, he loved it when his parents were alive. He loved their union and their little stay on Earth and wished to have that kind of union, though not wishing that either he or his wife should die young. He knew that his mother’s death shook his father and affected their family’s togetherness. His sister had no mother figure to look up to. She was left at the mercy of the maids and housekeepers. He was not going to die young; he was going to live for his family.
However, his lifestyle said otherwise. He was going to change, come what may if he must fulfill his obligation. He was not going to be a bad father or husband. At that moment, he remembered Isabel and prayed in his mind that she had no inkling about his escapades the previous night. He had begun falling for her and would not like her to see him in the other light. Yes, he was aware that she did not have a memorable picture of him; nevertheless, he was not going to let her catch him red-handed again, as a drunken fellow, a gambler, an urchin, or one who patronised the ladies of the night.
He was still lost in his thoughts when Rachel tapped on the door.
“Who is there?” he queried with an unarticulated speech.
“I am the one, My Lord,” Rachel replied.
“You can come in,” he ordered her.
She entered and curtsied before him. Then, she spoke, “My Lord, Lady Beatrice and her acquaintance sent me to you. They prayed you accompany them for a walk.”
“Lady Beatrice?” He was astounded by what he heard. He never believed his sister could leave the confines of her bedchamber to come outside. In order not to keep the maid waiting, he asked her, “Where are they, I pray you?”
She curtsied for the second time and said, “They are on the patio.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Tell them that I will be there in a twinkle of an eye.”
Rachel left, and he went inside, put on his hat, and walked outside, glad to meet the two ladies in a cheerful mood.
Chapter 17
His eyes met hers, and she was held spellbound by his striking looks. She looked away, only to find Rachel staring at her in a wicked and suspicious way. It dawned on her that Lady Beatrice was right after all. However, she dismissed it as a normal look and never saw it from the point of jealousy.
“My Lady, I greet you,” he said as he wrapped his arms around his sister, taking her in. He was overwhelmed when she remained in his arms, an act that showed that she was recuperating indeed.
“Good evening, Lord William,” Isabel greeted him, her voice shaky, even though she fought hard to conceal it.
“My goodness! How are you doing, my dear?” the Baron asked, momentarily leaving hold of his sister and focusing on Isabel.
“As you can see, I’m doing fine,” she replied, blushing.
He held her hand and lingered a bit, while his eyes searched hers. She reciprocated until Lady Beatrice cleared her throat, reminding them of her presence. They released their hold on each other, and the Baron said,
“Alright, ladies I got information that my services as the best male chaperone in this county are needed by my noble ladies. How, I pray you, may I be of help?”
They all burst into hysterical laughter as he led them away, feeling like a chaperone indeed.
“Tell me, My Ladies, where do we go from here?” the Baron asked as they left the manor.
“Do we head towards the jardin de château? Truly, I miss the blessedness of that cottage,” suggested the sister.
Jardin de château was an ancient cottage once owned by a French florist who came to dwell amongst the natives. He married one of the beautiful maidens, Mabel, and had two children, a boy and a girl. He loved his family to a fault. Alas, one fateful day, he returned from a trip to find his family all lying on the floor, dead. He wailed like an infant. A physician was invited, and a harmful vegetable was discovered in the soup they had, just that afternoon. He left the cottage to an unknown destination and never returned to this day.
That was the hidden secret behind the cottage, and no one had been brave enough to inhabit it. As a florist, the Frenchman, Monsieur Fabre cultivated different flowers and plants. Lady Beatrice used to seek comfort amongst the flowers, especially for the scent of the rose garden. It was a pale pink rose with beautiful petals. During her childhood, she was fond of decorating her hair with different colours of rose flower which brought out her beauty. She sang melodiously to herself and tried different dance steps. However, due to her ailment, she never went there again, not even once had she desired to seek comfort amongst the flowers. It was a great relief to her brother when she chose to go to her favourite hideout.
“Alright. If you say so, My Lady.”
“I have a different idea, My Lady,” suggested Isabel.
“What may that be?” Lord William asked, smiling sensuously at her.
“My Lord, I have come to enj
oy the coolness of the brook. It is my favourite, and I really wanted to go there with Lady Beatrice.”
“It matters not, My Lady. I hope you felt not offended?” the Baron asked while Beatrice slid her hand around Isabel’s waist, a way of buying her into going with them.
“Not at all, My Lord. Her wish is my command,” Isabel replied, squeezing her fingers comfortingly.
Beatrice smiled and said, “I loved the bloom of roses. It made me feel special in a way. It’s quite unfortunate that we do not have such flowers in the garden here. Though even if such were grown here, I would have still preferred to leave the confines of the estate to somewhere else.”
Isabel nodded.
They walked silently towards the cottage, walking past different flowers like violets, primroses, and daisies. Suddenly, they got to the gate of the cottage. It was a petite, beautiful, charming little cottage, though looking abandoned. However, it still retained its grace and charm.
“We will not go further from here, My Ladies,” announced the Baron.
“Why do you want so?” asked Beatrice who was always interested in ‘why’s’, her reason being that every ‘why’ had a deeper answer than any other question.
“I think it is for our safety,” Isabel responded. Lady Beatrice nodded, and her brother glanced at Isabel. However, she didn’t feel uncomfortable this time around. She was now used to him and had developed a special liking for him. Instead of the usually uncomfortable feeling ladies experienced in the company of a male admirer, she felt comfortable, relaxed, and protected.
“I was a horse girl when I was young,” she recounted.
“Really? Pray tell, dear Lady,” Lord William enquired, while Lady Beatrice reached out to a cluster of floribunda rose and plucked out two flowers. She looked at its apricot-yellow colour and admired it for a very long time. Then, she brought it closer to her nose, inhaled, and smiled, taking in all the scents at once.
“Do you know what I love most about this particular rose flower?” she asked no one in particular.
“Nay, My Lady,” the Baron said.
Concurrently, Isabel said, “Tell us, My Lady.”
“Its compactness. It is resistant to the powdery mildew and rose rust. Oh! How I enjoyed to be lost amongst these flowers with their honey perfume!” The duo looked at her and smiled. It was obvious she was engrossed in her own little world.
In order not to disturb her, the Baron asked Isabel to tell him more about her experience as a horse girl.
“It was an adventurous experience,” she said. “Father made it so. I would not forget countless times he took me out, teaching me how to ride on horsebacks. I would never take that love for granted.”
The Baron nodded and urged her to continue, at the same time, putting an eye on Beatrice. He held Isabel’s hand and gently stroked her fingers, feeling the softness of it.
She smiled. That was exactly what she longed for, his touch. Though, she would have preferred it in a special way, just the two of them.
“Hey, My Lady, what are you thinking about?” he asked her.
She smiled and said, “Nothing, My Lord. Just remembering the past experiences I had with Father. He was a peaceful man.”
He looked piercingly into her eyes, cold flames escaping from his eyes. She reciprocated. Conscious of the presence of Lady Beatrice, she looked away and slowly, but carefully disengaged her hand from his.
“I’m sorry, My Lord,” she added, her voice hushed and shaky. “I was talking about the horses.”
The Baron made a smiley face, enjoying the torture his presence sent to her body. Suddenly, Lady Beatrice turned around and said, “I’ve had a fulfilling day. Coming to the jardin de château is a great medicine.” Her facial expressions were comforting and satisfactory.
“I love that. Do we call it a day, then?” her brother asked.
“Yes, My Lord.” Turning to Isabel, she asked, “Would you mind, My Lady?” reaching for her hair and caressing it. She arranged it properly, removing a dry leaf. Her brother tucked in a stray strand of hair from her temple back to the right position.
Isabel felt loved by the brother and sister standing beside her and working on her hair. “Not at all, My Lady. Shall we go now?”
They all headed home, with Beatrice’s hair full of floribunda and purple roses which gave her a beautiful look.
“You look more beautiful in those flowers,” her brother teased her.
“Really? I was hoping you would scold me like you once did when I was a child,” she replied.
“That was then. You were obsessed with your floribunda that one could build a castle with them,” he exaggerated.
Both ladies laughed at his silliness. He joined them, and one could see how much loved each of them felt in the company of one another. They reached the manor in twenty minutes. Beatrice climbed the stairs back to her room, giving both of them warm hugs and thanking them for making her evening a memorable one.
“Take care, My Lady,” Lord William said to her.
“And don’t forget to remove those floribunda pins from your hair,” Isabel added. There was a round of giggles. The duo stood there and watched her go out of sight, and then, they turned around towards the patio down to the pathway leading to the brooks.
“How do you see your sister now?” Isabel asked him the moment they were out of sight.
“Oh! She is clearly back to herself, and I must commend you for that, My Lady.”
Isabel rolled her eyes as she plucked the leaf of a daffodil stretching forth its hand towards her.
“Why did you roll your eyes? I expected an acknowledgement from you,” he teased her.
“Is that so?” she asked him. Before he could understand her, she went on her knees and bowed her head. “Thank you, his majesty.”
“Come on!” he replied, helping her to her feet as both of them released a hilarious outburst.
“You are sweet to be with,” he said to her, holding her hand.
She wriggled her hand out, not wanting to cause a stir in his system. Then, she said, “Tell me about your childhood, My Lord.” She raised her head, her eyes momentarily meeting his.
He exhaled heavily and said, “My childhood! It was fun and painful.”
“Can I hear the fun part?”
“No, My Lady. I will start with the painful part. Not so painful, but painful enough to leave a long scar on my face.” He paused, tracing the scar with his right index finger and added, “And cause a nervous disposition for my sister, Lady Beatrice.” He shook his head in grief as the last statement escaped his mouth. His hat almost fell off, but his right hand was handy.
Isabel exhaled softly but said nothing. She saw a deadwood and sat on it, expecting to hear more from him.
“Are you exhausted?” he asked her compassionately.
“No, not at all. You have been great company, I must confess.”
He gave her a little punch on the right ear and laughed. “You have been more than company; you are a great companion,” he appended.
She stretched out her right hand; he took it into his and helped her up.
“Where do we go from here, My Lord?”
“To the brooks, of course.”
“To the brooks? It’s still a bit far. The sun is gladly going down and darkness might come upon us before we can return.”
“You are right,” he concurred. “So?” He made an O-shape with his mouth and bulged his eyes, making him look funny, but attractive. To her.
