In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  “I told Joseph that if you agreed to marry him, I would accept his offer,” he said. At this, Elizabeth felt like leaping for joy but refrained from doing so; she could scarce believe this incredible turn of luck. Never once did she think her father would allow her to marry a man in such a low position of life as Joseph; she did not view him thus, but knew her parents did.

  “You accepted?” she asked, still unbelieving. Hays chuckled at his daughter’s expression.

  “We made a pact,” he told her. “Harold was present to hear the news.” Elizabeth absorbed these words for a moment, smiling happily to herself.

  “I agree to marry him,” she said, quietly. “He is a good man and I would be honored to be his wife.”

  General Hays looked his daughter in the eye several seconds; she appeared sincere.

  “Your life will not be easy,” he remarked, standing up. He looked out his study window at the great bay; the sun was just setting, coloring the sky with shifting hues of deep orange and ruby-red. “You will not have the comforts you have been accustomed to.”

  Elizabeth smiled.

  “We have been without many comforts for some time, now, father,” she said, plaintively. “Joseph Asher is the type of man whom would take great care of me.” Her father turned back to face her with a broad smile.

  “Yes, I believe that,” he said. “That is why I accepted his offer. We can set the wedding for early summer.” His daughter jumped up from the chair and threw her arms about his neck. Drawing away again, she smiled; tears threatened to show themselves in her eyes, but Elizabeth held them back. A thought occurred to her, marring her newly-sprung elation.

  “Does my mother know?” she inquired, her heart filling with dread. Octavian Hays’ brow crinkled, slightly.

  “I will speak to her about it this evening, after dinner,” he said; going to his sideboard, he poured out a glass of liqueur and downed it in one gulp. He glanced at his daughter, whose concerned expression made him smile. “Do not worry yourself, child. I will speak with her. You are an engaged woman now; go and think happy things about your upcoming wedding. I will see you at dinner.” Elizabeth curtsied and left the study as bid.

  A serious look overtook the young woman’s face as she walked back to her room. Her mother’s dislike of Joseph—she knew—was no small obstacle to overcome if this marriage was truly to take place. Elizabeth’s one comfort was the knowledge that her father had accepted Joseph’s offer already, and in front of Harold. Surely, the General would keep his word, regardless of her mother’s disapproval.

  The evening meal around the Hays table that night began much like any other. Mrs. Hays talked incessantly of the Countess Beckenridge, her style and manners, her great knowledge of religious artifacts and foreign cultures. She lamented several times over the fact that they were not yet invited to the Stone Mountain Spring Ball and wondered if they would be able to go at all. Elizabeth sat nearby, stirring her food; happiness and dread mixed within her mind. She wished fervently that her father would just speak and be done with it. General Hays seemed quieter than usual; he drank several more glasses of wine with his food than normal.

  When dinner concluded, the family retired to their common room. Their musical instruments had long ago been sold so there was little to do but talk.

  Clearing his throat, Octavian Hays looked at his daughter.

  “You look tired, child,” he said, sitting up; he placed his glass on a side-table. Hearing this, Elizabeth gave him her full attention; a small smile hovered on her face. She hoped to impress upon her father that she had not changed her mind in the least.

  “I am, sir,” she said, nodding. “I wish to retire to bed, if you will excuse me.” Her father nodded, looking at his empty glass.

  “Off with you then,” he said, returning her smile. “A good night to you, my dear.”

  “Goodnight, father,” Elizabeth said, standing. Turning to her mother she bade her goodnight; her mother nodded, returning her attention to the small sample of silk fabric she’d taken from the dressmakers.

  Once Elizabeth was gone from the room, the General stood up and walked to the fireplace. Leaning one arm against the mantle, he fixed a calm, steady gaze on his wife’s seated form; feeling the cold night air keenly, he put another log on the fire.

  “My dear…” he began. “I have something of import to discuss with you.” His wife did not look at him, but nodded. “Do you wish to leave this place?” the General continued, smiling. If anything could get his wife’s attention, it was the possible improvement of their status.

  True to his prediction, Mrs. Hays’ head snapped up, regarding him with awe… and suspicion.

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked, incredulously. “Do not tease me with such words, husband. You know above all things I wish to be miles from this lowly position.” Still smiling, the general leaned on the mantle, feeling the wine’ he’d consumed calming his nerves.

  “I am in earnest, my dear,” he said, amiably. “Recent business transactions may allow us to buy a country estate and live comfortably for some time. You may even be able to purchase some new furniture.”

  Eyes wide, Mrs. Hays stood, the fabric remnants forgotten; she walked forward, searching her husband’s face for signs of falsehood.

  “This is wonderful news!” she said, smiling at last. “You have been reinstated in your position with the army?” The general shook his head, no. Mrs. Hays’ face fell a little but she went on. “You have attained a position in the Senate?” Hays chuckled.

  “No, my dear,” he told her. “I have been offered a bride price for Elizabeth. Two hundred and sixty silvers.” Mrs. Hays regarded her husband a moment, blinking.

  “That is not as much as I would have hoped for,” she said, at length. “However, it is better than nothing, I suppose.”

  “It will purchase a small estate and farm…” Hays went on. “… and a house larger than this. We would be in no-one’s debt.”

  “And, you would no longer be a steward,” Mrs. Hays mused aloud, beginning to pace. “You would be your own master once again.”

  “Yes, lord of my own estate,” Hays said, poking the fire. “A farm, which would produce more income. We could even take on a few more servants, eventually. What do you say to that, wife?”

  Mrs. Hays looked at her husband carefully.

  “Who is the man who offered the bride-price?” she asked, pointedly. “Is it anyone we know? Where will she live?”

  “One question at a time, my dear,” Hays said, filling his liqueur glass once more. “She would live here in Dorenvines. We do know the man, a fine, hard-working tradesman doing commissioned work for the King. He is known for his skill, as we can see from his bride-price our daughter would be well taken care of.”

  Mrs. Hays looked offended.

  “A tradesman? Surely not,” she said, with disdain. “We may as well marry her off to that peasant blacksmith you were so fond of.” Hays smiled, the alcohol making him a little giddy.

  “Funny you should say so, my dear,” he said, standing straight. “For, that is just who it is that asked for her. Joseph… formerly of Rishown, former Lieutenant in the King’s Army, now the respected smith of Dorenvines…”

  Mrs. Hays looked on her husband in horror. She searched his face, hoping to see a joke, a jest… anything. She found none.

  “I forbid it!” she screamed out. “Our daughter… married to a blacksmith! Never! How could you not consult me?! The shame of it… related to a peasant tradesman! He is not good enough to clean our shoes! How dare you…”

  “Enough!” Octavian Hays roared, causing his wife to cower, slightly; she was not used to such volume in her husband’s tone. The wine Hays had consumed all evening called forth a kind of hidden belligerence, triggered by his wife’s angry rant. “Before witnesses I have accepted his offer! It is done; they will marry in early summer. I will hear no more on the subject!” With that, he tossed the remains of his drink into the fire; the flames leaped up
, crackling. Turning, Hays stalked from the room to his own chambers, feeling the beginnings of a severe headache.

  Down the hall, Elizabeth silently closed her door. She had heard most of her parents’ discussion; though dismayed at her mother’s reaction, her father’s shouted words caused both surprise and elation to well up in her. She fairly danced around her small room, happy that nothing… not even all her mother’s disparaging words, would stop her from becoming Joseph’s wife. Faintly, weeping could be heard from the sitting room but Elizabeth did not pay it any mind. Fishing out her letter, she opened her inkwell and busied herself with writing.

  As soon as the General left the room Mrs. Hays threw herself onto a couch and wept, loudly. She clutched a pillow to her chest as if all her dreams were fast draining away.

  “The shame!” she sobbed out. “The shame! A blacksmith!” No one came to comfort her or offer relief; the servants stayed far away, fearing for their safety. Mrs. Hays was not a kind mistress, even when in a good mood. Eventually, the forlorn woman went to bed, but eventually drove her husband out to sleep on one of the couches with her sniveling.

  The following day brought no change; Mrs. Hays mourned and wept in the sitting room, refusing to eat or speak to anyone. Elizabeth was alarmed, having never seen her mother so distraught; she hovered outside the sitting room, her face dressed in worry. Her father saw this concern and drew his daughter aside.

  “She is overwrought,” the General told her, soothingly. “Soon, she will accept that it is a good match and be herself again. Look there… the sun is out, why do you not go for a walk? I am certain the fresh air will do you good.” Swallowing her tears, Elizabeth glanced out a nearby window; the sunshine outside did look inviting. Looking up into her father’s weary face, she smiled, a little.

  “I shall,” she said. “Thank you, sir.” General Hays kissed his daughter’s forehead and sent her out to get some air. Glancing again at his wife, he began to enter the room; immediately, Mrs. Hays began wailing and sobbing again. Turning, Hays stalked into his study and shut the door.

  Walking down the trail to the beach, Elizabeth fought with her emotions; she wanted to please her parents, to make them proud of her. She could conceive of no reason why her mother would hate Joseph so. Was he not a hard working man, decorated in battle, a worthy man of skill in his trade… an honorable man to want her hand in marriage? He was not unpleasant to look upon, nor was he a man of cruel or mean temperament. Confused and sorely dismayed, Elizabeth kept up her brave march to the beach; reaching her favorite spot beneath a spreading Cyprus tree, she sank down and let her tears flow unchecked.

  Some moments later, she heard the sound of approaching voices, as if two people were walking down the beach talking. Wondering if she should go or not, Elizabeth decided she was in no danger on the Lord of the Stone Mountain’s land. Wiping away her tears, she sat closer to the tree, hoping they would not notice her. Two figures strode around the bend, into view. One of the them was Harold; the other was Joseph Asher. Seeing the young smith Elizabeth felt her gloom lift and disappear; she smiled at the newcomers and made to get up.

  “Please sit, Miss Elizabeth,” Harold said. “We were just coming to find you.” Looking at Joseph, Elizabeth mustered up a brave smile. Joseph saw at once that the young woman had been crying. “I know you favor this spot to sit,” Harold continued, glancing at Joseph.

  “I confess I do,” Elizabeth said, smiling at the man. “I am glad to see you, Harold… and you, sir.” A faint blush came over the young woman’s face; she looked down at her hands.

  “If you will excuse me, I would like to study those unusual plants, er, over there,” Harold said, suddenly; with a short bow he strode off, stopping several dozen feet away, apparently intent on studying a large clump of shrubbery.

  Elizabeth looked after her father’s former steward in surprise, then back up at Joseph. Giving the young woman a kind smile Joseph sat down a little apart from her; his eyes never left her face.

  “I assume your father has told you of my visit,” he said; his steady voice filled Elizabeth with more confidence than she felt. Lifting her eyes to his, she beheld concern in them.

  “He has, sir,” she answered. Joseph looked out over the water; blue-gray waves rolled lazily in the calm of the Bay.

  “I know his answer,” he said, at last. “But, I wish to know yours.” With this, Joseph let his eyes fall on the young woman seated beside him. Elizabeth knew that if she refused him, her father would not make her marry him, nor would Joseph pursue her; it would made her mother happy, she knew, to suddenly be free of this arrangement.

  Looking up in Joseph’s eyes, Elizabeth knew that she would not be truly happy unless she was at his side.

  “As I told my father, I would be honored to be your wife,” she said, quietly. Her voice, though soft, did not lack sincerity. Joseph’s eyes grew bright with an inner joy, known only to men whom have won that which they seek. “And, please…” came Elizabeth’s voice once more “… I beg you not to speak of how hard my life will be and how many comforts I have that will no longer exist. My father has explained this to me and I have considered it. I am not afraid to work beside you.”

  Joseph smiled at her hurried tone.

  “I believe you,” he said. “Our life will not be very hard. I am not destitute.” Elizabeth smiled, giving a soft laugh.

  “I confess, I would marry you even if you were,” she said, blushing a little at her own boldness. Joseph took her hand and kissed the back of it.

  “Your father said we may marry in early summer,” he said, keeping hold of her hand. He felt lighter now, more apt to smile… even to laugh.

  “I must tell you that my mother opposes the match, with vigor,” Elizabeth said, gently. “She screamed at father, when he told her of it last night. To my amazement, my father told her to say no more of it and held to his agreement with you; she has been crying all day and eating nothing. I came here just to escape the sound of it.”

  Joseph considered her words for a moment.

  “She may change her mind, eventually,” he offered, though —even to his own ears—his voice sounded unconvincing. Elizabeth sighed, unable to reply. They sat on the beach in a pleasant sort of quiet until Harold had his fill of studying coastal plant-life.

  “I will still send you more letters,” Joseph promised, as he rose to leave. “It is only a few months until summer.” Elizabeth gave him a radiant smile, one that filled the young man with hope of a better future.

  “I will write back to you with joy,” she returned, shyly.

  Giving Harold and her fiancée a small curtsy Elizabeth walked back up the path, eventually moving out of sight. Joseph watched her go and then turned to walk back whence he had come. Harold grinned at the young man but said nothing. It was evident to him that summer could not come fast enough for the young Lord of the Stone Mountain.

  Mrs. Hay’s disposition had not improved. When Elizabeth brought her mother a cup of tea that evening the woman of the house latched onto her daughter’s arm, looking up at Elizabeth with red-rimmed eyes, her hair wild and unkempt.

  “You must.. tell your father that you will not marry this man!” Mrs. Hays demanded, hoarsely. “He can offer you nothing but squalor! You would always be despised… and pitied! Tell your father! I order you to reject this hideous proposal!”

  As much as Elizabeth wanted to be astonished, she was not. Looking at this disturbed woman before her, Elizabeth could see her mother would never accept her marriage to Joseph; it did not matter. She knew her mother had never seen her as anything but the means by which to attain more status and more money.

  Gently, she pulled her arm from her mother’s grasp.

  “Mother, I have accepted Joseph’s proposal,” she said, quietly. “Far be it from me to break my word, especially in so great a matter as an engagement.” Her mother’s face crumpled with grief and she laid down face first on the couch, sobbing once more. Seeing her thus, pity stirred in Elizabeth’
s chest.

  Kneeling down by the couch, Elizabeth hoped that by extolling Joseph’s quality, she may move her mother to reason.

  “Whatever you may think of Joseph, my dear mother, please know that he is a good man,” she began, gently. “I would not live in squalor, for his forge is well-kept and clean; he is well-respected in this town as a craftsman… and has done work for the King, himself. He would care well for me, mother. Of that I have no doubt. And father sees he is a good man. Does that not ease your mind?”

  “No!” her mother shouted, through her tears. “Your father is a simpleton! Oh, if we’d only been invited to the Spring ball… you would have attracted the eye of a nobleman and we’d hear no more of this blacksmith! How low have we fallen…” She looked over at Elizabeth. “Call me mother no more,” she said, wearily. “If you do not reject this peasant proposal you are no daughter of mine.”

  Shocked, Elizabeth stood up and slowly left the room. Outside the door, her father caught her arm.

  “How is she?” he asked, looking in the room; his wife’s still, sobbing form on the couch made for a pitiful scene. “She has not eaten all day; she will not say one word to me.”

  “She ordered me to reject Joseph’s proposal of marriage,” Elizabeth said, her voice sounding far away. “When I refused, she told me I was… not her daughter.” Her voice broke, a little; she dashed a tear from her eye with her hand. Hearing this, General Hays patted his daughter’s shoulder. Her tears cried out, Mrs. Hays grew bitter and hateful; the whole house felt her spite and anger for several days. General Hays stayed in his study with his reports and brandy.

  In the morning, Mrs. Hays arose and dressed herself, demanded that her manservant go fetch a guard from the castle to accompany her into town. An hour later, deep pounding sounded at the door; angry at being kept waiting, Mrs. Hays jerked the door open, angry words on her tongue. A thick cloud of smoke enveloped her; coughing she spied the gruff-faced aging captain of the guard, smoking his pipe.