This man was changing something within her, Ebrielle realized, but she did not understand what that something could be. Already, she looked forward to his visits the way a starved man would hunger for a crust of bread and salivate over the promise of a banquet, but now, she wanted more.
She wanted more...from life, and from herself.
But most of all, she now almost desperately wanted to wake from the slumber which held her back from experiencing life as she once had known it...and all that was Ananias...to the fullest degree.
Chapter Seven
“This is rather nice,” Ananias admitted several evenings later, and then hastened to explain precisely what he had meant so that Ebrielle could understand. “This togetherness we have been sharing, it is nice. Every day, I find myself looking forward to joining you here again, and anticipating a future filled with many such evenings spent by the crackle of a rolling fire at Avenleah Downes.”
“Our own special moments,” he elaborated. “A peaceful, quiet time for sharing the joys and pains of life and the events of our day with each other – something my parents never did, mind you, though Moira and I often shared our own once Mother and Father had retired for the evening.”
Lost in thought, he imagined Ebrielle happily ensconced in the parlor at Avenleah Downes, curled in his favorite chair with a book open upon her lap. A smile would light her eyes and wreath her lips when he entered the room, and maybe, she would even rise to give him a kiss of welcome...
Stifling the untoward direction of his thoughts, Ananias turned his mind, and the conversation, to the evenings he had spent together with his sister Moira as a young lad. Lost in memory, resting in the upholstered chair beside her bed with his legs outstretched comfortably in front of him, Ananias recounted to Ebrielle those first, happy days when Sir Geoffrey Dalgood had first entered their lives.
“Geoffrey was a good man, and that he loved my sister was plain for anyone who cared to look to see. He doted on her, and she him. He made her smile, made her eagerly look forward to the coming of each new day, and, well, she fell in love with him.”
He told Ebrielle of the moment Moira had confessed to him the magic of having found a special someone and also of how he had shared in her heart-rending pain at being denied the consent of her father to marry the love of her life.
“Whether during casual afternoon rides along the borders of the fens or a quiet evening in the parlor after dinner, she and Geoffrey often discussed the future, when the two would be married. But when Grandmother arrived down from Kent to meet him and then convinced Father to deny Geoffrey's suit, even going so far as to threaten to cut Moira off if she continued to see him, she was crushed.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, peering across the bed where Ebrielle lay to the window on the other side, his eyes shuttering.
“She never smiled much after that,” he recalled. “Instead, I would find her curled upon the window seat in the parlor, staring out over the lawns while tears spilled down her face. She was so heartbroken and lost without Geoffrey, it pained me to see her turmoil.”
Shifting his feet, Ananias resettled himself in the chair. Forcing the unhappy memories away, he continued.
“One night, I found her in the parlor, edgy and practically beside herself, bursting with a secret so splendid she simply had to share. She and Geoffrey were going to elope. Everything had been prepared, but she had waited for me, to share her happy news.” His grin spread wide, remembering the ensuing chaos. Poor Geoffrey was not as good a planner of elopement as one might hope. He intent had been to scale the walls at Avenleah Downes, find and steal away with his bride-to-be, but instead he had missed his target and fallen from the second story balcony outside Moira's window.
Memories of what had followed wiped the grin from his lips.
“Father discovered them, of course,” he told Ebrielle, “but Moira would not be detained. And so, Father denounced her, cutting her off from the family without a farthing. I do not think I will ever forget the agony I felt when she told me she was no longer allowed to be a part of my life.”
Ananias had hated his father for that, but more than that, he had hated his grandmother for pushing him to it. The two had gone, instead, to Geoffrey's family.
Then, when Geoffrey had died unexpectedly from a fever, leaving Moira with a daughter for which to care, Ananias had fought with his father until he won his acquiescence to bring Moira and little Lydia home to Avenleah Downes. It had been a terrible row, but he had been adamant.
Their father, unable to face his daughter after all that had been said and done, had repaired to his estate in Kent – the one place Ananias was certain Moira would never go.
Leaning his head against the back of the chair, Ananias closed his eyes and sighed. To lose Avenleah Downes to the creditors who harassed him continually since the day before Sir Charles had come to him meant he would be unable to keep her safe...from neither the cruel hand of poverty nor the vicious gossip of scandal-mongers who fed on tender hearts like hers.
* * *
Ebrielle was surprised by Ananias's admission that he not only intended, but looked forward to sharing so much of his life – of himself – with his bride. Most men preferred their women to fade into the wallpaper, but Ananias...he seemed to share her own parents idea of what truly made a good relationship.
Not only that, she could sense from his words and his tone as he recounted the tale of his sister's life that he loved her very much. It was obvious, too, that he had been deeply hurt by his father's decision to send her away, cutting her off from familial support both financially and emotionally. She had run the gamut of emotions right along with Ananias as he talked, and by the time he rose to say his farewells, she thought she might be crying.
His thumb brushed against her cheek as if wiping away a tear and she hoped it was so, but there was no word from him and she did not know. She wanted to reach out to him, to squeeze his hand in a gesture of comfort, wanted to gaze consolingly into his eyes, but she could do neither because her body still was not within her mind's control.
Long after Ananias had gone for the evening, Ebrielle thought about the heartbreaking story he had told her and she could not help but recognize similarities in the tale to her own situation.
Only recently, her father had brought several doctors in to assess her condition, each of them eager not to encourage him as to the temporary nature of his daughter's illness, but rather, of the appropriateness of their fine institutions to see to her continued care.
Would her father someday soon decide to send her to a hospital far away?
The very idea horrified her.
Having only just begun to think of life outside the confines of her mind once again, Ebrielle knew to be sent away, her well-being left in the hands of strangers whose care would extend only as far as the limits of her father's wealth, would likely smother the newly tendered flame of life Ananias's return and daily visits had managed to light within her.
To be forced to try and survive without him again...
Sadly, Ebrielle believed she understood exactly what Moira Quinn had felt when she had defied her father to be with the man she loved, only Moira had been fit and able to carry out her decisions, while she lay confined to a bed, her eyes sealed and her body still, while her mind...
Frustration and despair ate at her, infuriating her until her thoughts raged against the unfairness of her situation. Blast this wretched “thing” that continued to keep her from the things she wanted! There had to be some way to break this cursed sleeping spell she had fallen under, Ebrielle thought, a renewed sense of desperation driving her thoughts. But for the life of her, she could not fathom how to do so.
Chapter Eight
His visits having evoked no noticeable change in Ebrielle's condition, Ananias felt the cold chill of defeat bearing down upon him like a specter, its icy breath blowing down his neck with every move he made. Discouraged and more than a little afraid, though he would never admit
to such, he wondered if perhaps James's theories were wrong after all.
Every time he had visited Ebrielle, he had employed another of the strategies James had suggested, certain that, given time, she would at least begin to show signs she was aware of his presence, but thus far...
Unwilling to allow himself to dwell upon the looming possibility of defeat, Ananias slowly made his way to Ebrielle's day chamber.
The sound of his boots in the hallway rang hollow in his ears.
He felt empty, like a man lost, with no hope for redemption when in truth, he was merely a brother upon whom his sister could no longer safely rely, and an uncle who would, out of necessity, send a small child to live with a tyrant of a woman who hated her for merely daring to exist.
A low sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head, fighting back the depressing sense of loss creeping in to distract him from his purpose.
Courting Ebrielle was supposed to have resolved his problems.
All he had to do was wake her.
But somewhere along the way, his strange courtship had become something quite different, at least to him. In the chaos of uncertainty his life had become, his visits with Ebrielle had been the one thing that had not changed, that did not interrupt his life or trouble his soul. He felt free to be himself with her, there in the privacy of her chamber, and he realized he had come to treasure those quiet moments he spent with her each day.
What had begun as a sort of hopeful game to stave off the harsh truth of reality had become a private, special kind of shared separateness between himself and Ebrielle that he was not yet willing to relinquish, and yet, if he followed James's promptings, he knew tonight may well be the end of it all.
What to do? What to do? The litany played through at the forefront of his thoughts while, behind it, he knew he would do exactly as James had said. Crossing resignedly to stand near the side of her bed, Ananias stood simply staring down at her for the longest while, thinking.
He was supposed to tell her he was leaving and would not be coming back for some time.
During his last visit at Avenleah Downes, James had insisted if Ebrielle were reminded of the years before he came into her life, if she were reminded of her loneliness these past years while Ananias had been away, it might well jog some portion of her brain into wakefulness that had slept until now.
But Ananias was no longer sure James was on the right track with his theories and suppositions, and so he decided to do things his way.
After a quiet dinner, during which he once again fed her from his hand and from his lips, Ananias sat beside her on her bed and whispered to her about yet another thing her sleeping state denied him – the opportunity to seduce her. Were she awake and had he been able to court her normally, he assured her, he would have taken her along with him on the shortest route to marriage known to man – he would simply have taken her to his bed.
“You will be a magnificent lover, Ebrielle,” he vowed low, his hand gently smoothing her hair back from her cheek. “And I will teach you all the things you do not yet know. I will be patient while you teach me how you would like to be pleased, and I...”
His voice caught on a fierce wave of desire. Forcing himself to control the passion simply looking at her seemed to evoke within him, Ananias continued on in a hoarse whisper. “I will delight in every moment of teaching you to please me in turn.”
His fingertips brushed along the curve of her cheekbone, across her lips and down to her neck where they rested against her pulse.
“Together we will ascend to such heights of passion you will forget where your own existence ends and mine begins,” he promised. “I will love you slowly, Ebrielle, and then quickly, in a fiery burst of passion the likes of which either of us will be helpless to control.”
Eyes closed against the erotic images his words conjured in his mind, Ananias whispered to her of his desire, told her how very much he craved to taste the soft sweetness of her, how he yearned to hold her close, and that he would gladly do so – if only she would open her eyes.
Looking down at her again, fists clenched tightly against the waves of fierce emotion sweeping through him, Ananias finally understood how desperately he needed this woman in his life.
Not only was she his last recourse for staying out of debtors prison and for restoring his good name, he simply could not imagine any other woman in his life – by his side as his wife, as the lover in his bed, and the bearer of his children.
In complete stillness and utter silence, only this woman still somehow managed to bring joy and light into his life, and no matter how hard he tried, Ananias could not imagine living out the rest of his life without her.
“For the love of God, Ebrielle, please wake for me, love. I-” He squeezed his fists tight, fighting to hold back the rush of words, but despite his efforts, they burst from his lips in a groaning confession he could not deny. “Heaven help me, I need you, Ebrielle. So damned much!”
He had not meant to pour out his soul, and yet, it lay bare before him. Cold and alone, it shuddered on the wings of a desperate hope only she had the power to fulfill.
* * *
Ebrielle knew if she were awake she would be blushing fire.
The things he had spoken of – nay, promised – had set her body afire with yearning and sent her thoughts burning after in curiosity. Within the privacy of her mind, she had imagined, she had reciprocated, and yes, she most certainly had wanted...everything. Her blood pulsed like flame through her body, and her throat ached from the pressure of needing to groan aloud, and yet no sound passed her lips.
Over the course of the past weeks, she had come to know the firm pressure of his lips against hers, the gentle touch of his hand on her brow, her cheek, the powerful feel of his fingers clasped with hers, but she longed to know more.
His aching confession of desire and of his need for her mirrored her own for him.
As a lover, she knew he would be all he had promised, and more – and she desperately wanted to experience all the wonder and passion and magic of her first time with him...only him...but though her mind demanded, commanded, begged and pleaded for obedience, her body refused the desperation of her pleas.
How she craved to open her eyes, to lift her fingers to his cheek in a gentle caress, to wrap her arms around him and give him the assurance he so desperately seemed to need from her.
Fighting the limitations of her immobile state, Ebrielle attempted to move, to speak, to reach out to him in some way, and she tried so very hard. Her body ached from all her trying, but it was her heart that lay battered, bruised and breaking for all the pain she had heard in his voice.
Chapter Nine
When the time came for him to leave, Ananias knew he had grown far too accustomed to spending his evenings with Ebrielle. Though she neither spoke nor reacted to his words in any way, he found her presence comforting.
He likened the feeling as akin to the way Moira must have felt with Geoffrey because often she talked to her dead husband when she thought no one was listening. It seemed to give her ease, and so, too, had his time with Ebrielle given Ananias succor he had not even realized he needed.
The thought of leaving her again, if only for a few days, made him feel lost, alone, and strangely unsettled. Still, James had deemed this harsh, final step in the process of her awakening important – crucial, even – and so Ananias decided it best to simply see the matter done.
“I am going away, Ebrielle,” he told her after dinner the following evening, and it was true. Though, unlike last time when her father had asked him to leave, this time he was merely going to London to meet with his solicitors, but he did not explain this to Ebrielle. Instead, he said only what must be said and that he was uncertain when he would return.
He was sitting beside her bed in the upholstered chair, his fingers tangled with hers. With his thumb, he caressed the smooth skin of her knuckles, circled her palm, traced the line of her thumb to where her pulse thrummed at the base where it joined
with her wrist while he studied her face, hoping for a sign that she had heard him and that she did not wish to see him go.
All he needed was the simple flicker of an eyelash, a quick flush of anger, an increased rhythm of her pulse, or even the tearful quiver of a lip to keep his hope alive, but there was nothing for him to see.
Standing, he gently cupped her chin in his hand, ran his fingers along her cheek in a gentle caress, and then reached up to smooth her brow, hoping – all the while hoping, until there was nothing more left for him to say, nothing more that he could do, and though it hurt to admit it, there was no more reason for him to wait.
With a dismal, final sigh of regret, he bent low and pressed a kiss her brow, whispering his goodbye against her temple, and then turned to quit the room.
* * *
Nestled against the pillows, Ebrielle felt a cold wash of terror unlike any she had ever known pour through her at his words. A disconsolate sense of dread settled over her and, panicked, she frantically willed her fingers to move, her eyelids to lift, her voice to give sound to the violent scream of denial echoing against the closed walls of her mind, but neither seemed wont to obey.
No, no, no! You cannot leave me, her mind raged, yet still, her body remained the same and she knew Ananias had taken her continued stillness, her silence, as more than enough reason to give up hope. She could feel the pain of his lost faith, his yearning along with the deep edge of regret and a finality in his touch, and she became almost frantic to find a way to show him that she was still here, still with him, and that she wanted him to stay.
Focusing to the point of pain, she willed her mouth to move, but it would not do so. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed in the quiet room, and deliriously afraid that if he walked out her door she would never see him again, Ebrielle tried to pitch herself from the bed.
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 23