The End of Days

by A. E. Watson

  She steps forward. “Don't be angry. Promise me you won’t be.”

  “No”—I shake my head—“I will be pained, but I’ll also be happy for you.” Just not tonight.

  “All right. That's acceptable, I suppose. Shall we go back in?” She shivers.

  “I’ll be in right after you. I need a minute to digest that.”

  “Of course.” She gives me the smile that isn’t really a smile. It’s her version of forcing her face to be pleasant.

  As she walks inside, I step across the large patio to the railing and lean against it. My hands clutch to the cold iron as I force away the sadness that has overcome me.

  “You do realize the party is inside?” a voice speaks softly but that isn’t the way I hear it. It echoes in my head as if shouted. I gulp, turning and begging for the voice not to belong to the face I think it does.

  Seeing the count in the doorway, I inhale sharply.

  “I didn't mean to frighten you.” He lifts a hand. “I just didn't see you inside and when the girl you had been speaking to came inside, I assumed you might be out here.”

  A rogue tear leaves my left eye. I let it trail my cheek and dangle on my chin so as not to reveal the fact I am outside to weep at a party.

  He crosses the deck of the patio in a few short steps, lifting his hand gently to brush away the tear he shouldn't have been able to see. “Are you all right?”

  “My friend is moving away.” Saying it makes it worse. A second tear fills my vision.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I nod. I can’t say another thing on the subject or I’ll be flooding my face.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  I laugh. “No. Thank you.” It’s a ridiculous thing to ask. “I’m crying like a fool. Dancing is the last thing on my mind.”

  “It is an excellent distraction.” He insists by lifting his hand to me. “And we don't have to dance inside. We can do it here, under the stars.” He glances up at them, causing me to look up farther but only to see him. I couldn't possibly see the stars with him here. He is far too bright in my mind’s eye.

  When he lowers his eyes his stare burns mine until I divert my eyes to the ground behind him.

  “I’m sorry to be so forward, but where do we know one another from? You must refresh my memory, for it’s driving me to insanity.”

  “I don't believe we’ve met.” I say it but there’s a hint of doubt in my mind. “Like my father said before, I go to town twice a year usually.”

  “That's not it.” His accent is not thick but present in words that have the letters T and H together. It sounds more like a D, as if the word is dats instead of that’s.

  “Perhaps the market here. I do go sometimes.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I just feel like I know you from somewhere, perhaps my dreams. Or a past life.”

  That makes me giggle, and at the same time utterly aware of the fact we are standing far too close to one another and alone. I step back, hitting the railing and not really moving anywhere. “We should go inside.”

  Again, he offers me his hand, his bare hand. Bravely, as if I am someone else, I lift my hand and place it in his. He twirls me and I end up in his arms, waltzing to the song. It’s the wrong dance, but I can’t actually breathe again so I don't fight it.

  His chest is against mine and his eyes are boring holes into my stunned expression. “My whole life I have waited for this moment.”

  I have nothing to say. Everything I want to say is inappropriate, almost as inappropriate as us dancing outside alone on the eve of meeting for the first time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The punch drains into my throat as I tilt my head back and swallow the whole glass.

  Mother gives me a disapproving glare. “Why do you look so bothered?”

  “Marguerite is leaving. She’s going to marry a Scotsman and leave me forever.” I blurt breathlessly.

  My mother flinches, revealing the fact she’s already aware of the situation. Of course she is. Marguerite’s mother would have told her.

  “Why didn't you tell me?”

  She shakes her head. “I didn't know how. We knew when she returned from London, he’d proposed after they had only met twice. Her father is of course excited about it. The baron is very wealthy and his family is related to the Stewarts on his mother’s side.”

  “A baron?” I feel so betrayed. “He’s asked her to marry him?”

  “Of course, dear. Marguerite wouldn't be going there if he hadn’t. The wedding is in a fortnight.”

  “That’s why she has asked me to accompany her there?”

  “She didn't know how to tell you. She was devastated. She nearly turned him down. But he’s promised you may come and live there or visit as often as you like. He’s a very kind young man, titled early due to an accident that claimed his father’s life. He had to leave Oxford to return home and run the estate.” Mother’s eyes dart to where Marguerite and her family are standing, talking with my father.

  “And Father agreed to my going there? To Scotland?”

  “He hopes you’ll have half her luck.” She chuckles to herself, clearly the only one of the two of us amused by the entire deception.

  Handing her the glass, I saunter to where Marguerite is, taking her right hand in mine and looking for the ring I know will be there. A sapphire the color of the evening sky greets me. My lips press into a tight line as I lift my gaze to hers and nod. “Congratulations.”

  Her eyes widen. “I wanted to tell you. I thought it best if I did it in stages. Warm you to the idea first.”

  “Oh, be happy, Kate. Marguerite is engaged. That calls for a toast not a fit.” My father berates me, making the moment all that much better.

  “I wish you all the happiness in the world, you know that.” I force a smile, just like the one she gave me outside and leave their group.

  My feet don't head for the dance floor where I’ve danced several dances. They don't head for the back door where I danced several others alone with the count. Instead, they head for the front door.

  The doorman gets it for me as I hurry down the front steps, clutching my broken heart and forcing my eyes to remain dry.

  When I get to the end of the drive, I hear footsteps behind me and realize the grievous error I’ve made. I’ve left the safety of my friends and family and headed into the dark alone. I spin, preparing myself for an assailant.

  Instead, I am greeted by the breathless count that has run to catch up with me. “You—you can’t walk home unescorted. You’ve already danced with a scandalous count out in the garden. You’re at risk of being ruined as we speak.”

  It makes me laugh, even if I really don't want to. But laughing also brings a loss of control. Tears flood my eyes again.

  “It can’t be that bad, come on. Tell me what’s happening.” He points at me. “I can see you’re near tears again.”

  “I never cry at balls, I just want that to be stated. I don't even know why I’m so upset.”

  “Let me try to read your mind and see of I can guess what it is.” He taps his finger against his chin and fights a smug look. “Your friend is engaged to be married and you are the last to know?”

  “Apparently, I am.” I am truly shocked.

  “It’s not sorcery. I honestly heard you confront her and leave. She’s quite upset. Followed bad advice given by her mother to not tell you right away.” He laughs but I frown. “Don't be cross with her. The poor girl’s beside herself in there.” He points back at the light coming from his home.

  “I’m not angry. I’m sad. I don't want her to leave. I won’t have anyone. She’s my best friend. And I’m the last of us to be married.” I can’t believe I’ve just confessed that to him. “I’m sorry. I sound so pathetic and petty. I promise you, I’m normally a much jollier girl who is genuinely happy for her friends’ good fortune.”

  “You have me.” He says it so casually I almost miss the connotation mixed with the words. He walks to me, co
mposed and yet completely torn apart. His face devastates me with just a look. “You will always have me. And you will never be alone.”

  It’s intense and frightening, and yet exactly what I want to hear from his lips. Unfortunately, I am a girl inundated with common sense so I back away. “I don't know you well enough for you to say such a thing to me.”

  He swallows, stopping in his tracks. “Then I will wait until you do to renew my sentiment.” He offers me his arm. “Now let’s get back to the party before you’re missed.”

  I take his arm, leery of him and me and everything about the evening.

  We don't speak until we reach the house and then he only bows slightly and forces a soft smile. “Have a lovely evening.” He leaves my side just as my mother comes to it.

  “What on earth is going on with you and that count?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head, lying to my mother because I don't actually know the answer.

  “I’m ready to retire.” She waves at my father and nods her head at the door. “Your brother is dallying about with that Lila Parsons. You look like you might cry any second, thanks to that fool Marguerite not being able to keep her mouth shut one day longer. And if I have to hear one more battalion story out of Colonel Brown, I might run from the house screaming.” She takes my arm and leads me to the front door.

  “Mrs. Casey, Miss Casey, Mr. Casey, Frederick, it was lovely to meet you all. I hope I’m not being too forward or offering too short of a notice, but I was hoping to have you all to dinner tomorrow night, here.” Count Basarab is there, stepping from the shadows as we are about to leave.

  My father smiles wide. “We’d be delighted.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you then.” He shakes my father’s hand and my brother’s, and then kisses my mother’s hand. I do not offer mine. I do not know the game he is playing, but I intend to be coy until I do.

  I curtsey and follow my family from the house.

  “Excellent young man, Basarab is.”

  “What a gentleman he is.” My mother swoons along with my father.

  Freddy nudges me. “You all right then?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Might have been the lamb from last night. My stomach’s been off all day.” He pats his stomach.

  Sometimes I give him too much credit.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Giselle floats about the room, humming and bothering with things she never does, like dancing with my dress and hunting to the bottom of the pin bucket to find a few specific ones.

  My dress is finer than last night, also new. It’s the one I have been forbidden to wear for months. I assumed it would be my wedding gown. Clearly not.

  Knowing they’re dressing me in it to win a husband makes me hate the fine gown I’ve been fantasizing about.

  My hair is pinned and braided so it hangs quite long over my left shoulder. When I protest, Giselle swats and threatens me with grievous harm.

  When she’s done I hardly recognize myself. I can only hope the count won’t either.

  Thanks to him I didn't sleep at all, except to dream about him. I’m exhausted and worried about Marguerite marrying a Scotsman I’ve never met.

  When I’m not obsessing over Marguerite, Count Basarab’s face haunts my mind—his dark eyes and the way he stares. When I blink or close my eyes all I see is his face.

  And to make matters even worse, both my parents have been in a better mood today than I have seen in ages.

  “You look perfect!” Giselle clasps her hands together as my mother comes sauntering in. A sweet smile spreads across her lips when she sees me.

  “I have to agree, Giselle. She does look perfect.” She turns and nods. “Thank you.”

  I have never heard my mother say those words before. I dare say Giselle hasn't either. Her cheeks flush with color and she sputters, shaking her head, “It is the canvas and not the artist this time, I’m afraid.”

  Mother scoffs. “You are far more than just some simple artist.” She drags her hands down my porcelain cheeks. “You are a creator of fates tonight.” Her eyes avoid mine. Possibly because I don't agree with her sentiment.

  “It is the second time meeting him, hardly prudent for us to assume anything.”

  “There is no amount of time needed for a man to know when he must have a woman. It is all set from the moment their eyes meet. The count had that look in his eyes last night. He is enchanted by you.” Mother lifts me from the chair by my arm, inspecting me as she spins me.

  “It’s time, Estelle!” my father shouts up the stairs for her.

  “Yes, this will do nicely.” Mother whisks me from the room and down the stairs.

  When we get to the front door I notice Father has the same gleam in his eyes, matching Mother’s, whereas Frederick appears sour.

  Whatever he and Father have been discussing whilst waiting on us has put him in a mood. His dark-blue eyes have a storm in them.

  The ride over to the estate is silent. My parents both look like they’re daydreaming about the wedding and being free of a child. But Frederick and I look somber. I can’t help but wonder if he’s worried about me with the count.

  When we arrive and Father and Mother are walking to the house ahead of us, he leans in and I discover the source of his distress. “If I ran away with Lila Parsons would you disown me as well?”

  A weak smile makes its way across my lips as I realize he has been forbidden to love where I am being forced. “We could poison their soup and then just do as we wish.”

  He chuckles. “Don't tempt me.”

  In silent support of one another’s dilemmas, we stroll casually into the house where Count Basarab is standing in the foyer, just behind his butler.

  “Welcome. It’s lovely to see you all again.” His eyes dart to mine and again my stomach cramps. Something about him makes me uncomfortable in the best way. I hate it and my parents, and maybe him.

  “Thank you for having us. It’s remarkably different in here today, without the crowds.” Mother gives a spin in the foyer.

  “We had a small task of tidying before you came. I fear the help are all rather exhausted, and we may well end up fending for ourselves.” He chuckles, obviously joking.

  My parents don't get the joke.

  They don't have the same sense of humor as he does. They aren’t bad people, just dry like toast with no butter or preserves.

  Boring.

  Frederick laughs, quietly. He has the same sense of humor Count Basarab has. It’s dark and mocking.

  “Please come in. Drinks will be served in the parlor.” He holds a hand out as the servants escort my parents.

  My brother gives me a look like he might stay behind with me but abandons it when my father clears his throat and stares directly at him.

  Count Basarab steps close to me but not as close as the night before. “And how are you this evening, Miss Casey?”

  “I am well.”

  “Are you still conflicted about the engagement of your friend?”

  “No.”

  His stare softens slightly. “You look preoccupied. Are you sure you’re well?”

  “I’m confused, Count Basarab.” I don't know why I say it but I do, “I cannot hide it any longer. I too have the feeling that I know you. I can’t shake it and it’s been plaguing me from the moment we met. I cannot place where I know you from.”

  “Oh, thank God. I thought I was going mad.” He sighs, obviously relieved.

  “Maybe we both are.”

  His eyes sparkle with delight. “Then I am graced with good company for the journey into madness.” He offers me his arm.

  “I suspect it’s more likely that we have actually met.” I stare at his arm but don't move.

  “Perhaps, once upon a time.”

  “Perhaps.” Gulping, I take his arm. I don't want to but there’s little option.

  The act of us touching makes my heart leap, just as it did the night before.

  He walks slowly, almost lik
e he’s letting me set the pace. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  “What would you most like to hear?”

  “A random detail. Maybe a secret.”

  He looks hopeful but I decide to go for his jugular. “My brother and I are expected to marry well, against our will. We will have no say in the matter.”

  “That’s commonplace, I’m afraid.” He gives me a look. “The best any of us can do is to hope that we fall in love with someone they approve of.”

  The look makes me uncomfortable. “My poor brother loves a girl who my parents do not. Her name is Lila and because of her mother’s obscure birth, my brother can’t marry a gentleman’s daughter. It’s ridiculous.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, I agree.” He laughs, leading me to the parlor where my family is collecting a drink and gazing about the room we didn't come into the night before. Like all the rooms in the house it’s large and well placed with fine furnishings.

  His wealth oozes from each piece, even the artwork is incredible.

  “For a man who avoids the masters, you have some collection here, Basarab.”

  “Thank you, sir. They are great works of art. I enjoy looking at the work after it’s finished, not during the painting process.”

  My mother sighs seeing us together.

  “Frederick, do you like to shoot?” the count asks, letting go of my arm.

  “Very much,” my brother answers as politely as he can.

  “And you, Sir Casey?”

  “I adore it. Been told I’m quite the shot too.” My father’s chest puffs as pride fills his face.

  “We shall have to all go shooting sometime. I am told we have a great shoot here in early fall. Loads of birds.”

  “I’d be delighted.” Father grins and nods at Frederick.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The conversation feels forced and awkward.

  “Frederick, why don't you escort your sister to the ballroom so you may see it undisturbed? It’s actually quite a lovely room, more so when it’s not filled with people.” It’s less of a question and more of a request so Frederick takes my arm and leads me from the room.