The Fancy

by Mercedes Keyes

She would say no more to Ellen; it was obvious that she didn’t understand the way of things as Sarah did. She didn’t know the kind of man Quinton was, he was very proud; good; God fearing with a drive to teach and talk. She was nothing more than all the things he could use, all rolled into one – and that, brought him pleasure, thus – his choice. And because she loved him, she would be all that he wanted, because he wanted it.

  “You don’t believe me, do you? I can see it in your eyes, I can read you so clearly, you don’t believe that he loves you.”

  “Quinton, is a good man. He has honor and wishes to do right, not wrong. That is why, he chose me.” The way she said it, Ellen could tell, she had shut down and did not wish to discuss it anymore.

  “You have spoken Lady Caine, I concede. Let us finish these baskets.”

  The rest of their time was spent doing just that, once all stew pots were filled, and all was placed within each basket, and tied with strong hemp, with notes of glad tidings and instructions on how to use the tinctures and tea with each, and a prayer that all could read; the men suited up, loaded the baskets into the carriage, with Moose riding along, they headed out, delivering them; that night and the next, the Murray’s stayed with them, getting closer, getting to know each other better and making plans.

  Together, they attended the church service on Christmas day to find that most of the town’s folk, greeted the Caine’s with smiles of acceptance. The baskets of venison stew – tea and tinctures were a hit as too many of the families had a need for them – the food as well the rest – the kindness given them was not easily forgotten. To Sarah’s surprise, not one person avoided them, but thanked them, especially her, because they knew that she had been the one to prepare it.

  Such a response gave Sarah doubts about whether they should leave in the spring for England – she wasn’t so sure. The Murray’s had gone home and just in the nick of time as they were facing a fierce snow storm – thankfully, they didn’t have very far to travel.

  Sarah was lying on her side in bed watching Quinton at his desk doing what he did every night, journaling; Moose out cold beside his chair. Nothing but the crackling of the fire broke the peace within their room with Sarah waiting for him to complete his thoughts – because she had thoughts of her own swirling about her head. Soon he rose, stretched, blew out the candle there and made his way to bed.

  Sitting on the side of it, he pulled his night shirt off and slid in under the covers, nude. He was aroused because she’d had her monthly and was now clear of it once more – making love to her was paramount in his mind. Moving to the middle of the bed, he pulled her close to him, leaning over to kiss her. Sarah tucked her chin into her neck turning from him just a bit, a clear enough indication to let him know something was not yet right, “I thought – your menses had passed?”

  She nodded in response and murmured low, “It has.”

  Quinton propped his head in his palm lying on his side gazing down at her in the soft glow of the lantern light beside their bed. “I see, hmmm – are you not well?”

  “I am well.”

  His finger tapped her nose, and lightly caressed the corner of her mouth, “Tell me then, why do you deny me?”

  “I would deny you nothing.”

  “Ah, so – you have something you wish to discuss with me, is that it?”

  Her eyes then met his, nodding her head, and then, “Yes, I would discuss, what is on my mind.”

  “Very well, go ahead, let’s hear it.”

  “Must we, go to England?”

  “Ah – I should have known. Yes, they were all very kind to us. Were they our only problem, I would say, here we shall settle to make our home. In truth, what you must know is that they aren’t our only problem. There are others – who consider themselves in places of power – who feel that they are the law, they are the ones we must concern ourselves with.”

  “They married us; surely they will leave us alone now.”

  “I would not chance it – I know men. Before I disclosed who I am, they saw me as one of them, now – since I laid bare a truth that may even now be festering away with them and since I also have you – we have not seen the last of them. Winter, cold, the struggle to endure such harsh conditions – that and that alone has given us this break.”

  “However, with the arrival of spring, they will have grown restless, bored – and will seek me out for only God knows what purpose. Not for a moment, do I believe it will be for the need of good – no, not at all. My decision stands – we will leave this place first chance.”

  Sarah sighed, nodding and giving up any hopes of avoiding an uncertain future among his people.

  “There is more, I can see it. You are my wife and I would not have secrets between us, what more is there?”

  “I am afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “The unknown – England – dinner parties – greetings – table settings – servants. Who am I that I should direct a household and be called, Lady?”

  “My wife! That is who you are, my wife, Countess of WhistHirst!”

  “I do not feel those things – I am a slave, a fancy, I am darkness, you are light – they will not accept me.”

  “They will have no choice!”

  “I can still be with you, if you so desire. Many have done so, a wife and then, me – a fancy.”

  He grabbed her jaw, turning her face up to him, “YOU – are my wife! I will have no other! Do you hear - no one but you!”

  “Why Quinton? Why me? It is not done-…”

  “How do you know it is not done? What knowledge have you other than this nonsense they have tricked you into accepting? Where have you traveled but in the bowels of a ship from one master to another that you can be so certain, it is not done? How many men do you know that you can be so adamant in your decision to give up? Well?”

  Sarah shielded her eyes once more, looking towards the end of the bed, unable to answer him. He was angry with her for saying those things, and yet, there was no way to make him understand that she must be the one to stand before all his people and know that they would see her as nothing more, than a common slave, a bedwench, a fancy. How did one face so many with the face that God had given her? The face of a slave! There was no disguise to be had that she could hide behind in which to trick them. They would all stand before her and think, ‘Who are you to carry the title, Lady, to direct us, order us and think that we will blindly follow, who are you? You are a slave, a negro slave!’

  “Look at me.”

  She could not.

  “Did you hear me, I said – look at me.” He forced her head back into the pillow so that she would.

  “I cannot do this thing you ask of me!”

  “You can read – already! Getting better with each day! You can write already – improving day by day! There are many, white women who cannot read or write! Yes, and even among those of the elite, this is so! Yes, you heard correctly.” He eased the pressure of his fingers and caressed where he was certain he may have hurt her.

  “You, already have an advantage over many. You have learned and you will continue to learn-…”

  “I do not wish to fail you – bring you shame, dishonor!”

  “Good – then don’t. It is as simple as that – the moment that you decide that you will not fail, you will not. The moment you decide that you will no longer wear the cloak of a lesser person, but the garb of someone to be called, Lady – you will then wear it and do so proudly! You lack nothing in what is required of you – nothing! I have made my choice – and it was the right choice. The rest is up to you.”

  He turned from her, lifted the glass panel and blew out the lantern, shaping his pillow for comfort and flopping down into it with hopes that sleep would take him quickly since he was no longer in the mood for making love.

  Sarah was not used to him turning his back to her, the gesture made her stomach ache. She wanted to reach out for him, touch him, make him turn back to her, but she would not.

&nb
sp; Chapter XI

  Sarah lay breathing deeply, unsure of herself and what was happening to her. She knew how to be a slave, a servant, her mother’s daughter, rushing about the woods, gathering all that they needed. She knew what was expected of her, how far to go, who to trust, who not to trust. She knew her place.

  Quinton, was making changes to her place, changes she was unfamiliar with – she wasn’t sure she could cope with all the things that came with the new place. Reading, writing, speaking a certain way, taking the lead in matters she always thought belonged to white women – now here he was telling her, that everything she knew and understood, was a lie, a trick – and that she must now walk away from it all, into his new world, that frightened her.

  “I have asked a question, I wish an answer. When have I ever made you feel, you are unwelcome?”

  For the first time ever, he watched his wife cry – “I do not want this thing – I do not want it! I am a fancy; that is all – I am to do nothing more, than offer you pleasure, join you in bed – see to your comfort, I cannot do this-…”

  He jumped out of bed and went directly to his night shirt, pulling it on over his head.

  He began pacing at the foot of their bed, his mind racing, his heart hammering. Sarah sat up once more, her back to the head board of their bed, watching him pace back and forth.

  Finally he stopped, turned and looked at her.

  “If I can be this thing that was thrust upon me as a ten year old boy – you too, can be this thing, as you call it!”

  She stared at him, uncertain of what he meant.

  “You think that I was born this way? An Earl? No, I assure you, I was not. I was born a bastard. The bastard son of Lord Horace Thaddeus Caine the third from one of his bloody chamber maids! My mother – Lilith! She bore him two bastard sons and a bastard daughter. We were poor, his cast offs!” He vented, as he took up pacing once more thinking about it, telling her about it.

  “He is the reason, the bloody aristocrat – the very cause of my sister’s death! Cold, hungry, in dire need – you think that he could care about her condition? She became sick and weak. I would have done anything to save her, anything! He never gave us a second look, never mind the first! We lived like commoners – in a one room thatched cottage, while just up the hill – he lived in such opulence – it was beneath him to wipe his own arse!” He spat with contempt, pacing still.

  “They thought us common, peasants, beneath them, yet – there was no loyalty to be found among them! No honor, no restraint, hypocrisy at its highest!” He stopped pacing to gaze at his wife, “There is one word I have not yet taught you – discretion! To be discreet! It means, when you first find yourself going from my bed, to another – it should be done discreetly – in secret, subtle, yes, sneak as you go. You see, the aristocracy is especially skilled at being whores and whore’s sons! Sleeping about, lifting a skirt of any one who tickles one’s fancy because most all marriages are arranged, political affairs – marriages of

  convenience, ceremonies of grand style – in a system that makes the women in truth the most common prostitute!” He bit out showing how bitter he was from it all.

  Sarah could not believe her ears.

  He stopped, staring off into space as if under a spell.

  Sarah remained quiet, watching him as her mind spun with all that he was telling her. More than a couple of minutes passed before his eyes focused back on her, “His wife – was barren. She could not bear him heirs. He was getting up in age, as he had philandered for years and realized that one day he would pass away with no one to whom he could leave all of his possessions. Know this, I am not his only bastard – there were others - however, I was his first bastard, and of course that made me, his first born son. I was born, Timothy – nothing before it, nothing after – just Timothy. Also, I won this place not only for being his first born, it was because out of all his scattered oats of bastardy – I was one who looked the very spit of him. With me, there was no doubt – thus I was chosen. At the age of 10 years old, I was plucked from the world that I knew – renamed – and sent off from my mother and brother – to an entirely new world with not a soul to look after me. From the very beginning, I was bullied; spit upon, labeled ‘bastard’ and treated like the common shite shifter they thought I was. Alone, I fought and stood up to many who thought themselves better than me. But when you hate, as much as you fear, you soon learn, that your hatred serves you better – it equipped me for a fight I refused to lose!”

  He finally came back to the bed, and sat sideways – staring off still; one leg bent on the mattress as he leaned with his forearm on his thigh – lost in thought – remembering what it was like.

  “While I was away, his wife died. He brought my mother in and married her. My mother was on top of the world – nothing meant more to her, than being part of the elite class.

  She and my brother came into the better life, while I was away, being put through hell – to become worthy of being called, Earl of WhistHirst. I came to hate them all for it.”

  “All I had left to hang on to was the pledge I made to my dying sister that I would learn this mystery of life, disease and death and maybe, I would be able to save another, from the claws of the grim reaper. I continued on in my schooling, learning because it kept me away from them. When I finished in all there was to learn, I returned – lived upon the estate for two of the longest years of my life. They tried to set in motion, an arranged marriage for me.” He threw his head back laughing at the mockery he made of it all, “I told them, you will not saddle me with one I have not chosen – who has not chosen me!”

  He smiled thinking back on it, “My mother was so angry with me, she accused me of, not trying – she said my actions were all deliberate acts of rebellion and that she wanted me to cease in my fits at once! We are blessed, she said. We have a chance finally, she said – and all of it rested upon me – all I had to do was cooperate, and the world would be ours for the having. So I played along, but I would not take part in the promise of an engagement to the daughter of Lord Fitzallan.”

  Once more, he paused, thinking getting his thoughts in order, “My father, took some adverse delight in my rebellion – in either case; it would seem that he had his own hidden angst against the order of things and granted me my inheritance before he passed – stating, if I did not wish to marry – there was no need in forcing me to do so.” He stopped once more, thinking back to that day, wondering why his father had said such a thing, releasing him. “I was there at his death and the next thing I knew, all who had gone to him, began coming to me. I could not take any of it seriously and passed all on to my mother to

  see to, she wanted it so badly; after all – I had no wife – did not want one. I also gave certain responsibilities to my brother, who had been living there all along. I woke one morning feeling that time was wasting in my vow, it was then that I decided to travel, to learn and try to understand more – to be a doctor.”

  “My man servant at the time was very loyal to me, in fact, admired me for some reason – when I left, he left with me. It has been 3 years since.”

  He went quiet and looked at Sarah.

  “You are my wife. I have chosen you. You will do this, just as I did. I will return, and you – will be by my side. You are, Lady Sarah Abigail Caine, Countess of WhistHirst – that is that. I have spoken. You will never leave my bed; you will never seek the arms of another because…” However, something made him pause – considering his own words that he had earlier stated, in truth, she had not chosen him as he had her; he looked into Sarah’s eyes, “To be fair, there is only one way out that I will give you. You must tell me, that you no longer wish to be mine and that you cannot hold yourself loyal to me, and only me. If you cannot do that – I will set you free – and all that I ask of you, you will be free from as well. Tell me now. Which will you choose? Me, or your freedom?”

  Sarah’s heart was hammering away disturbing her breathing; she felt as if she were being tossed from a
great ship into the ocean and had little choice but to swim, or drown. There was so much expected of her, but the one thing she did know; the one thing that she was certain of which sealed the pact.

  She would sooner drown, die than not have Quinton. She was in love with him – to have had him, love him, know the heady heaven of being in his arms, being in his favor, it was impossible to even consider the touch of another, for any reason.

  She could no more betray him, than she could change the color of her skin – to her, both deeds were impossible.

  Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling over to roll down her cheeks, “I would sooner tear my own heart from my body, than have another touch me. I want, no one but you – of that, you have my word, my vow.” Saying those words, she knew she had committed herself to being, Lady Caine – whether she wanted to be or not.

  Quinton moved forward onto his knees, palming the cheeks of her face, pulling her up to him as his mouth opened and moved over hers, taking it in a heat of passion. Moving the covers down, he made quick work of putting her back to the bed and moving over her – kissing her wildly, his body flexing and grinding between her thighs.

  Sarah spread herself wide, pulling the hem of the gown up to her waist as one of his hands was suddenly there – touching her bare skin and moving up her body to cup and squeeze her breast; leaving his night shirt to her to move out of the way for him to grip his swollen length and guide the dull hard knob of it to her wet folds – they moved together in a desperate roll for penetration, crying out from the ecstasy of their joining, their mating, pumping and grinding desperately as if racing to be the first to meet at the peak. She loved what he did to her, how he did it; wrapping her legs securely to hold him there.

  Quinton rocked against her, pounding his crotch against her hard and heavy, plunging and thrusting so that the bed creaked and shook. His mouth moved over her face, kissing her, sucking at her earlobe, at the side of her neck, nipping and pecking as if he’d turned into a beast that needed to devour her. His back curved above her as his pelvis slammed his hard length rapidly in and out –stroking fast and steady. Sarah grabbed the cheeks of his rear, tightening her thighs against his hips anchoring him to her as she cried out from an explosion so shattering she thought she would die.