by Lynn, J. S.
“I have the perfect one,” he said.
***
I met him at the bookshop the next day. I stood outside of the bookshop wearing a white day dress and straw hat. My brown hair was down in curls. “You look beautiful,” Lord Augustus said as he approached me.
He took my hand and we walked inside. We leafed through books together. He pulled out a book of poetry. “This is the one I wanted to show you.” He opened the book and started to read the words out loud.
“What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The luster of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Is it to feel our strength,
Not our bloom only, but our strength decay?”
I saw a woman approach us. She had on an elegant pink dress. She did not look happy to see us. Her look was one of intense anger as her eyebrows tensed and her face started to get red. Lord Augustus started to look pale and extremely worried. Suddenly, I realized, this was no stranger. This was Lord Augustus’s own wife.
“Lady Frances!” Lord Augustus cried.
Unlike my stage of shock and crying I felt with Lord William, Lady Frances showed only anger. She picked up a couple books from the bookshelf and threw a book aimed at Lord Augustus’s head. She did not stop there. She took the other book and threw it at me, yelling. The book missed me and fell down to the floor. I was about to pick up a book to defend myself, or even throw a book back, but I didn’t. I just stood there for a second, wondering what to do and where to go. I knew this would happen one day. Why did I not let it stop sooner?
“Us, you ruined us!” she yelled. “Almost ten years of marriage! It is all gone now, wasted on this whore.” She looked at me briefly, a state of anger.
"It is my fault," I said. "This is all my fault!" Maybe things would work out.
“This woman is a whore,” she continued. “She has had this type of an affair with other men!”
“I have not!” I yelled, starting to get angry. She must have been referring to my wedding. It was not me who had the affair, she must have been confused.
“She is just a whore,” Lady Frances said. “Nothing good, but a whore is all she is.”
I could not help myself as I started to pick up a book to aim at her. Lord Augustus held my hand down and stopped me. “Now do not go doing that,” he said. I drew the book anyway. She got out of the way right before it hit her.
“Listen, it has been hard on us over the years anyway,” he said now addressing his wife.
The bookshop owner, an older man, walked over to us. He was angry with all of us. “What is it you are doing to my store?” he said, yelling and getting angry. He fiercely picked up books that were on the floor. “You are ruining my bookshop, causing a scene. Take this nonsense elsewhere!”
I started walking briskly toward the door. I was the first to leave. Lord Augustus and Lady Frances followed after me, but they were yelling and talking. I looked behind me. What now? I did not want to anger Lady Frances anymore and did not want to get involved in their fight about their relationship.
I noticed crowds started to gather around us as they noticed Lord Augustus and Lady Frances yelling. I did not want to be part of this scene. The town would surely hear about the whole thing tomorrow. My reputation would have been ruined twice. I decided to just leave and make a run for it. I walked away, lightly running with my feet, and did not turn behind me to wonder if anybody saw me leave.
***
I lay in bed that night. I wondered what had happened with Lord Augustus. I tried not to think of it, but I kept replaying the events over and over. I thought of our affair and the good moments we had. Then I thought of the bookshop and how angry his wife had been and how he talked to her like he knew her for years. The affair had happened quickly as passion swept over me and now it had stopped so suddenly, like a knife cutting in to us.
The next day, I walked to the Carlton House. I walked outside, remembering the events of the night. I sat down on our bench. I thought of the Waltz and how we danced as he held me softly. I expected to see him appear, like he did in the bookshop the first time we saw each other. An hour went by and he never showed up. I left, thinking the whole thing was ruined.
At dinner, I sat down to eat with my family. I started to head back to my room for bed, when I saw my father talking to someone by the door. He called me over. There standing at the door was Lord Augustus, here to rescue me.
“Lord Augustus!” I said, as I walked over to him. My father had a stern look on his face. I started to walk outside with him. “I didn’t think you would show up here.”
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye?” I said. There were tears in my eyes.
“Yes, goodbye,” he said. “I know it is hard and we had a lovely time. I will never forget you and the love you made me feel. I will see you in my dreams or maybe another lifetime. But for now it is goodbye.”
I stood there. “Lord Augustus, our love is true,” I said. Now I was the one trying to seduce him. “You won’t find a love like mine. I will give you love that she can’t.”
“Goodbye, Lady Annabelle.”
“Just meet me one more time to say goodbye,” I said, sounding desperate. Just one time would not hurt. “At our spot in the Vauxhall Gardens by the bridge.”
“Okay, Annabelle. I will do this for you. I will meet you there tomorrow morning.”
He turned to leave. I stood there watching him walk away. His voice was serious today and he did not read me lines of poetry. I wanted to cry, but found I couldn’t. When I turned around, my father was there. He had his arms crossed.
“You will not see that man again,” he said sternly. I was surprised by the bitter tone in the voice. He was angry with me. He must have heard of our affair.
“Please, father. You do not know how it is.”
“I absolutely forbid you from seeing him,” he said. “You are upset over the wedding and you will not see a married man.”
I started to get angry. “I feel true love for him. He reads me poetry and we go to the gardens. He is a true romantic. Love overrules all.”
“If you see him again, you cannot come in this house again.”
I said nothing at that. At first, I thought of obeying my father. But the words came out. “If that is the way it is going to be, that is the way it is going to be. But I will be seeing him once again tomorrow. It is my life and I will do what I want.” I went upstairs, marching up the stairs loudly.
***
I met Lord Augustus at the Vauxhall Gardens like we agreed to. As I met him at the bridge, I smiled as I saw him. His face was a bit softer today, but he still looked worried.
“How are you today, Augustus?”
“I am not too well, love. Things seemed to have taken an even rougher turn.” He paused. “She tried to kill me. She picked up a knife and brought it into our bedroom. She tried to stab me several times. It was out of nowhere. I think she was upset over the whole thing. But I cannot stay in that house and leave my children there.”
I said nothing for a moment. I then thought of my father and how we both had broken families now. I thought of how the people in the town would turn on me again and how they would think I am nothing but a whore. “Come away with me. Let us runaway together. I never want to see this town again.”
“It is certain that is the only choice we have,” he said. “But the bitterness is not so bad as we will be able to be together without disturbance.”
“Yes, it is what we wanted isn’t it?” I said.
“We will be together, love,” he said. “But I cannot leave my children.”
“They will come with us,” I said. “If they are your children, they are my children.”
“So, that is the way it will be,” he said. “We will start a new life together in another town away from all our troubles. Nobody will tell us we can’t be together.”
“You will write me
poetry whenever you want,” I said.
***
Early the next morning, we met at the gardens again. The sun was a golden color and it lightly misted through gray clouds. This time, a carriage awaited for us and Lord William was there with his four children.
As we rode off, he whispered me a poem:
“And here we runaway
From our problems and old fortune
But we will be together no matter what they say
As this carriage gets in to motion.”
I smiled and said my own poem:
“Despite secrets, lies and scandal
Trouble and secret disguises were not too much to handle
Our romance is a true treasure
It is a love that will last forever.”
THE END
As promised here is your third free romance story:
“Perfect Knockout”
NOTICE: This is a Contemporary Sports Romance story.
If you don’t like this type of romance you can scroll to the
end to get your free Scottish Romance eBook (sold on Amazon for 2.99 USD) which you can download at the very
end of this book – completely free.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Get your head in the game. In the zone. Get with the program. Come on, Cam, you can do it. This is all you.
Cameron’s inner mantra continued as such. This was only an important competition. No big deal. He had this. He had been practicing and training for this for years. He had been building himself up to this particular competition for months.
He looked his opponent in the eye. His opponent showed the focus and the drive that Cameron also hoped he was showing. He wanted to be intimidating, and he wanted to be feared.
His opponent aimed a few strikes at Cameron’s chest. Cameron rolled himself out of the way. When he came back up, he aimed a knee-jab at his opponent’s left leg. His opponent came down. However, he rolled out of the fall and sprang back up, rearing for more of the fight. But of course, it would not be that easy.
Cameron aimed a kick at his opponent’s chest, but his opponent grabbed his ankle and tried to yank him down. Cameron used his own momentum to stomp down, bringing his opponent’s arm with him. His opponent let go and Cameron was freed.
Cameron smirked.
The two of them feinted punches at each other for a few blows. Then Cameron dove in for a grapple. He wrapped his arms around his opponent’s legs and tried to bring him down that way. His opponent banged on his head a few times. The first couple of blows didn’t faze Cameron, but the subsequent ones started to get annoying.
Cameron shoved his opponent into the ropes. His opponent kept wailing on him. Cameron continued to try to get the feet out from under his opponent and he didn’t let go.
Unfortunately for Cameron, his opponent managed to get him in a headlock. He brought Cameron up so that they were both standing again. Cameron was still in the headlock. They grappled for a bit, Cameron trying to get out of the headlock and his opponent doing everything he could to keep him there. Including, but not limited to, a knee-jab to Cameron’s solar plexus in order to wind him.
Thankfully, Cameron was only slightly winded. This wasn’t the first (or the last) time he had been hit in the solar plexus. Cameron shoved himself upwards and was pleased to hear the satisfying click of his opponent’s jaw being snapped together. It would not down his opponent, but it was a small victory and payback for the strike he had received.
Cameron kept trying to get himself out of the headlock, but he was at an awkward angle to punch. (Or kick, really). His opponent kicked him in the solar plexus again, and landed a good punch in Cameron’s side. But Cameron didn’t go down. Cameron would not be knocked out. He would hold out until the end, or knock his opponent out. He would win. He also needed to get an advantage.
Cameron backed them up against the ropes again. It was probably a different set of ropes. But it was all a bit disorienting when all he was doing was looking at the ground. He needed to get out of this. His opponent would win purely by getting him into submission.
Cameron finally managed to wiggle out of the headlock. He came out of it and went straight for a double box to his opponents ears. Cameron needed to get himself ahead on the score cards. His opponent buckled after the ear-boxing. Cameron struck him again. His opponent went down.
Cameron held up, keeping his distance. He could not keep beating on his opponent while his opponent was down. There were too many risks of making an illegal move. He stayed just out of his opponent’s reach, so that way he could not be brought to the ground easily for more grappling.
His opponent got up. Cameron grinned. Now was his chance. Another box to the ear. A knee strike to the gut. He ducked out of the way of his opponent’s strike and got in another knee strike. Cuff to the ear. Wrist lock. Box.
In Cameron’s mind, this opponent was every single bully who had gone after Cameron during his childhood. This opponent embodied every one of them, and this was Cameron’s revenge. He wasn’t the little one any longer. He was one of the big boys now. He fought with them. And he would destroy them.
His opponent went down again.
The timer went off.
It was an agonizing thirty seconds as the judges put their heads together and determined the final score. Then, it was announced: Cameron had won the match! He would place first overall for the tournament.
Everything he had worked for up until this point had brought him to this moment. And he was victorious. He had gotten a little worried being in the headlock for so long, but it had worked out in the end. Grinning, he was truly pleased.
He cooled off in the dressing room with his favorite sports drink. As he toweled off, he readied himself to see his fans. They would want to see a tough exterior. They wanted to see the angry fighter that Cameron was. So that was what he would give to them.
The paparazzi came after him as soon as he was out of the dressing room. The paparazzi was awful, with their stupid flashing cameras, and voice recorders to get words from him so that they could spin and twist them into things he never actually said.
“Fuck off,” he told them. He raised both of his middle fingers so that they couldn’t publish the photos either. It was a trick he had learned from actors. When they didn’t want to be hounded by the paparazzi, they would just say and do crude things so that the paparazzi had no material to twist and publish. They couldn’t spin “fuck off” in any other way, nor could they publish it.
His handlers brought him safely through the paparazzi and to fans beyond. His fans crowded at the barricades as much as the paparazzi had, but with less flashy cameras. There were no voice recorders or pens and paper, trying to catch words he said.
“We love you, Cam the Crusher!” the fan girls screamed.
“We want to be you!” the fan boys screamed.
Cameron posed in gruff and menacing poses so they could take the pictures on their phones and upload them to social media sites. It was publicity, and he didn’t mind. He knew the paparazzi were pissed off that they could not get the attention that Cameron gave his real fans. But the paparazzi deserved to be pissed and they didn’t deserve the attention.
Cameron kept his distance from his fans. He truly wanted to connect with them, but he didn’t know how. Cameron only knew how to fight. This was his job, his life-long career as long as he was fit enough for it. This was his life, his very being, and he knew nothing else.
He went up to the stage and accepted his trophy. The paparazzi got pictures of that, but there was no stopping them there. They couldn’t stop every one of the bastards at every single point.
“You need to do this one interview tonight,” his manager told him when he was off the stage again.
“Okay,” Cameron replied gruffly. One interview. He could do one interview.
The fanfare ended, people began leaving. Cameron found himself faced with one reporter. It was a balding man in his fifties. He looked like he ma
y have once been in the sport, but physical limitations kept him from continuing. Or perhaps that was a mistaken assumption on Cameron’s part.
“What can I answer for you?” Cameron asked.
“Tell me,” the interviewer said, turning his voice recorder on. “What is it that drives you in the fight?”
“The desire to win,” Cameron said simply. This was always his answer to this question.
He could never hope to explain that in the heat of the moment, what drove him was revenge against bullies that he no longer saw. He fought against the bullies of the world in his mind. On the outside, of course, he wasn’t fighting a bully. He was simply fighting his opponent. He never went too far that he greatly injured whomever he was fighting. Sure, there had been some illegal blows in the past, but that happened to nearly everyone. His opponents never truly suffered in the way that Cameron wished the bullies did. Cameron didn’t necessarily want them to, anyways.
What mattered at that point, was that he won.
“Fans are saying that you’ve got a soft heart in there,” the interviewer said. “Can you shed some light on that?”
Heat rose in Cameron’s cheeks. “I confess, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said slowly. “They can think that all they want, I suppose. I don’t feel like I have a soft heart on the inside. I just enjoy the fighting. Its good exercise, and a good way to get out stress and aggression.”
