“My Liege, I had no choice.”
“Why? Oh Why? You foolish wretch.”
“I’m sorry... I.”
“You...” William dropped to his knees. Exhausted, he could hardly speak. “You wanted me dead? You betrayed me.”
“You stole the love I could never have. I couldn’t let you taunt me by making Beatrice happy.”
“You were to be a monk... No?”
Peter could barely speak for the blood pouring from his nose. “I was going to live my life as a monk in hope of cleansing my soul after killing you.”
“But this... it never had to come to this.”
“Kill me, as I no longer wish to live.”
Feeling faint, William could not muster the strength to pick up his broadsword. He instead unsheathed his dagger. As he went to slit Peter’s throat, his hand was met by Beatrice’s.
“No, let him live.”
“Why should I? He will not allow us to live in peace.”
Beatrice did not relinquish her grip. “Knowing that we’re happy while he is shackled in the dungeon will serve him better than the tortures of Hell.”
“You’re wicked, Beatrice.”
“No. I’m just a simple weaver.”
THE END
Falling For The Duke’s Brother
Water lapped the dull wooden edges of the Queen Elizabeth. It was one in a long line of ships waiting to depart for strange new lands, and the callous cry of seagulls pierced the air. They were the only life forms awake at this strange time of night, halfway in between day and night, or heaven and hell, depending on your pleasure, save for the less savory characters that lurked somewhere in the periphery of your vision. The ship bobbed in the water, and so did Olivia's heart.
How had she gotten to this moment, so far away from everything that she had ever imagined as a young girl? Olivia felt a sickness fill her chest, a remorse she couldn't quite place. David was so exciting, with his charm and banter, but something about the encounter felt just a smidge off, as if she was not meant to be there at all. Never mind that he was the brother of the duke, no, she would not think about that. For it felt, somewhere in the recesses of her consciousness, like a vast betrayal of something warm and dear.
And then a different emotion filled her body, one that emptied her body with such rapid-fire swiftness that it almost took her breath away. On the knife's edge of that remorse was the sensation of desperation. How much longer could she wait for the duke to speak his words? Olivia glanced down at the cameo brooch in her hand and traced the pearly white of the female face on it with her thumb. A bubble of indecision rose in her throat, and she pushed it down so she could no longer sense it at all. Her mind was made up. She deserved more, especially after what she had been though with Ben's betrayal. Gathering up the long folds of her gown, she swooped down to scoop up her bags, only to hear a long horn echo in the water.
When she looked up, the prow of the Queen Elizabeth was turning away from the dock and heading into the greater expanse of the sea. With a sharp cry, Oliva sprang forward, convinced that she could still bridge the distance with some amazing feat of strength fueled by adrenaline, and watched forlornly as her bags sailed into the wet depths below.
As one of the dock hands attempted to fish her bags out of the water, Olivia gazed out at the departing ship. On that vessel was her husband never-to-be. Heavens, he would think she rejected him at the end, when it was her own damn indecision that had stalled her hand. And in the tiniest corner of her mind, where just a moment ago, a light had gone out, it suddenly burst back into life. As the hand presented her with her dripping bags and offered to hail her a coach, the weight of everything that had occurred that evening fell upon her slim shoulders. Her ridiculous companions in the coach, not even counting that elderly countess who squawked like a parrot when her wig slipped from her head. The two and a half mile walk with her bags--thank goodness she traveled light--all the way to the docks. She thought that after all that, it might have been worth it, that she would have no moments of hesitation at all once she saw the ship.
She was wrong. It seemed that she was wrong about everything. How was she now to return to the duke after he read that letter she had left him in his study? She would have to apply for a new position somewhere, or--and the thought suddenly struck her that she might have been so willing to leave England not so much for the proposal from the duke's brother, but because she could simply no longer remain in Worchester Abbey. A flash of dark eyes and curling black locks came up as a stark image against her mind as she finally hailed a coach and gathered her belongings inside. Would they ever look upon her with tenderness again?
Olivia closed her eyes with a sigh and let her mind take her back.
* * *
The scandal rocked the delicately balanced scales of the upper crust, but it affected none so strongly as Lady Olivia Knightbridge. When she learned the full details of the betrayal done her by Benn Soothley, she plummeted straight towards an unknown abyss, and her decision shocked anyone who knew her in the slightest.
Lady Olivia was one of those cheerfully practical young ladies of the ton who everyone assumed would follow in the most accepted of social norms by all definitions of the term. It was expected that at her debut on the social scene of London, her affable charms would be in high demand, as well as her gently wavy brown hair and expressive hazel eyes that seemed to change color based on her mood, her gown, or the weather; it was precisely this unpredictability that captivated those who met her, as well as her slew of intellectual hobbies that ranged from star-gazing to chemistry to the fine art of embroidery, where her stitches were tiny enough to be second to none. No one could have ever imagined the horrifying turn of events that would so absolutely overturn the steady balance of her life, but it served as a reminder to both old matrons and silly debutants alike, that even the steadiest boat is never safe from the storm.
It began with the charming attentions of Mr. Ben Soothley. When Lady Olivia first arrived at the social set of London, she was taken in almost immediately. Her parents, Lord and Lady Knightbridge, had both perished in a riding accident when the girl was about three, so she never truly got to feel their love before they went. But they had cared for their child deeply, and signed over the whole of their estate to her once she reached the ripe age of eighteen, ensuring both that she would be taken care of and that she would never have to depend on a husband to provide her fortune for her. Until she was able to care for herself, however, they had assigned her under the guardianship of Lady Knightbridge's maiden aunt, who was more than pleased to be taking care of her vivacious young niece, never having had any children of her own. A known eccentric, and well admired for it, she had allowed the chubby-cheeked child to peruse her extensive library collection at will, and hired masters from abroad to tutor her in anything that happened to catch her fancy. There was the flamenco dancer from Spain who taught her how to wield the magnificently clacking castanets, the French ex-patriot from Russia who would sigh deeply, sad sighs and lament the difference between the crepes of his home and adopted countries. Thus, by the time Lady Olivia came into her title and fortune, she was a well-rounded individual who was very much ahead of her fellow ladies in terms of education and poise.
The maiden aunt had connections in London that stemmed from her numerous acquaintances, and, being of a certain age herself, wanted to ensure that her beautiful young niece would have company of her own age at all the best balls, events, and dances, someone who could tutor her in any time of need, on the required social niceties that she would have to acquire in order to survive the ruthless scene of man-mad matrons and fortune hunting debutantes.
"But why?" Olivia asked her aunt plaintively when the former announced that she would be sitting mostly on the sidelines and scouting out potential matches from a perch, much like an eagle.
"Because, my dear, you need to be around blood as young and fresh as your own, and my bones are weary," replied the aunt, only half serious, for her lim
bs were still supple and she possessed a healthy vitality of a woman half her age. She had eschewed the social scene for so long that she worried she was a bit out of touch for her niece, the only aspect she was able to keep up with these days being the most fashionable modistes available. These she secured visits with and outfitted her niece with the loveliest of garments for her debut on the London scene, never dreaming that it was precisely her years and experience that might have saved Olivia from the whole future mess.
This arrangement was precisely how Lady Olivia made the acquaintance of Cynthia Freeworth. Blonde, petite, and with guileless blue eyes, she had struck Olivia at first much like an angel descending from the sky. "We are going to be SUCH friends!" the effable Lady Freeworth had gushed upon Olivia's arrival to her rather shabby mansion in London. It was precisely for this reason, Cynthia explained to Olivia, leading her by the arm up to her room, that she would do her best this season to land a titled duke with, as she put, "simply bags of money and no wife to spend it all on!"
Olivia warmed to her gradually, thinking her new friend perhaps had different priorities than she did, but willing to forgive this gap between them nevertheless. Perhaps it was unpopular an opinion to have, hoping for a love match, but there was something about Cynthia's manner that invited such intimacies immediately and she told her all about it.
"How very interesting," the tiny blonde had cried, pulling down the front of her gown for a deeper décolletage. "I never imagined such a thing, although I suppose it suits for some." Suddenly, the thought crossed Olivia's mind that she had been, perhaps, a bit hasty in revealing her true nature to her new friend, but in the next moment, Cynthia was chattering on about a duke she set her sights on at the symphony who would be at the ball at Sootherley's that night, and Olivia consoled herself by thinking that even if the lady thought her a bit strange, she would forget about what she said within moments.
Cynthia, of course, counseled her on the best dress to wear, and although she was uncomfortable with such a low neckline, Olivia was admonished for her prudishness and told she was simply the height of fashion in her rose-patterned gown with a deep ruffle at the hem, waist, and bust. Upon arrival at Sootherley's, the most premier social gathering of the season, Olivia found herself experiencing a rapid-fire lesson on who was who, and who was worth deigning to give attention to and who was not. Duke Ellington with a sharp nose like a rat, for example, was well worth batting your eyelashes at, whispered Lady Freeworth, directing those sky-colored appendages in his direction as she spoke, for he had full coffers adjoining his lengthy title, and he never had to work a day in his life. Many of the gentlemen at Sootherley's experienced this measure of scrutiny by the inestimable Lady Cynthia that night, until a pale blonde chap arrived at the door frame.
He was handsome by any estimation, with laughing blue eyes and deep dimples at his cheeks. He had a cleft in his chin which many a gaze snagged on, and he towered well above the other gentlemen in the room. "Who is that?" Olivia had breathed, watching him strike up a conversation with a willowy young lady in gray at the far end of the room, his eyes creasing with good humor and cheer.
"Oh the one speaking to that mousey Mildred Kingsley?" sniffed Cynthia, not the least bit miffed to be torn away from the attentions of Duke Ellington, who on the whole looked rather put out by the intrusion. Olivia did not think the young lady mousey in the least, but was not about to say so to Cynthia, for it was she who held the information about the splendid young gentleman in her palm. "That is Ben Soothley," Cynthia continued, lowering her voice a bit, and Olivia could not help but notice how her voice colored with interest as she observed the young man in question. "Not titled, of course, but given his ranking, this is possibly forgivable."
"His ranking?"
Lady Cynthia's blue eyes widened in horror. "Why the ranking in Sunderly Times!" she cried. "Ten most eligible bachelors of this season?"
"My aunt does not allow me to read the gossip column," Olivia replied, feeling as if a vast portion of her education had been neglected. In that moment, Ben Soothley must have felt her eyes on him from across the room, for he looked up and locked eyes with her. "What exactly needs to be forgiven in him?" she asked, keenly aware that the handsome young man was now making his way across the room directly to where she was standing.
"Well, he is a self-made man, not a real gentleman," sneered Cynthia slightly, and Olivia felt her ire rise a bit at the lady's judgement. "But it looks as though it's up to you whether or not to let that bit go, because he is on his way over to you."
"He is not," hissed Oliva back.
"I hope that whatever he is not, he surely can make up for it,” said a friendly voice from just above her ear.
Olivia lifted her head and forgot how to breathe for a moment as she stared up at the clear blue eyes of Ben Soothley. Somehow, she managed to recover from her embarrassment, and it was not long before Ben had her laughing and smiling as much as he had Mildred doing just a few moments before. She would have been glad to let him speak forever, seeing as he had just gotten back from a Grand Tour in the Grecian Isle and had many interesting tales to share. She felt herself nodding and smiling, held at complete attention until a female voice cut the warmth between them like a knife.
"Why Lady Olivia, you have gone silent as a stunned beast in front of Mr. Soothley," purred Cynthia Freeworth as she positioned her curvaceous body in between the pair she was speaking of. Handing Ben Soothley her hand to kiss, Cynthia resembled a glittering queen, seeming to raise Ben from the ground with her imperious gaze. "Lady Olivia just arrived to London from Stratford and is staying with me," she told him with a light little laugh, completely ignoring the fact that the accommodations in question were less than glamorous. "Olivia, you are tired from your journey, are you not?" she asked, barely turning towards her guest.
"I am not that--" but Olivia broke off as Lady Cynthia scooped her small arm into the crook of Ben Soothley's and smoothly led him away.
She watched in dismay as her so-called friend led away the one interesting man in the room as deftly as she would surely pick out a fabric at the modiste's. "So now you know the real Cynthia Freeman," a quiet, musing voice said, and Olivia turned around to find the willowy Mildred Kingsley by her side.
"The real Cynthia?" she asked. Mildred blushed and Oliva realized that the young woman had spoken out of turn and was not nearly as prone to gossip as her faux friend had been. She warmed to her immediately, and the two spent the rest of the evening talking to each other about their childhoods and favorite books. The next day, Olivia moved her trunks into a spare room at the Kingsley's, where she remained for the rest of the social season. Her conviction that this was the correct choice was only strengthened when Lady Cynthia did not even ask why she was doing so.
It came as a great surprise, however, when Ben Soothley decided to pay her a visit at the Kingsley home on Friday afternoon. Heart pounding, Olivia slapped together an outfit in a matter of moments, hardly caring what she looked like, so excited was she that Cynthia's charms did not seem to have had the desired effect. Despite her smoothness and petite beauty, Ben had preferred Olivia's company. As Ben drove the hired carriage all around the park, Olivia was thrilled to be seen in the company of such a handsome and charming man. Even more gratified was she that not a single person they passed raised an eyebrow to see them together. All she received were gentle smiles and friendly waves.
The weeks that passed were a whirlwind. Every time she saw Ben, she wanted to see him more. She found herself in wonderful gales of laughter every time he told her a story, and the friendly warmth she felt coming from him kept her up whispering with Mildred into the wee hours of the morning, costing them both a hefty amount of beauty sleep; but Olivia did not care. Her life was coming together, and the people who mattered—her aunt and her closest friend—could not be happier for her.
So it was with a light heart that Olivia bounded down for breakfast that fateful morning. She did not catch sight of the stunned exp
ression on Mildred's face until she had cheerfully spread gooseberry jam all over her toast.
“Mildred, darling, you look as though you've seen a phantasm!” she cried, rushing to her friend's side.
“Oh Olivia,” gasped Mildred, and only then did Olivia notice that Mildred, too, perused the Sunderley Times, and the gossip section to boot.
“Oh my dear, did you read something that upset you?” asked Olivia, brushing away the flimsy pages. “That paper is such trash!”
“Olivia, sit down.” Mildred's voice was very grave and Olivia sat down, fully preparing for a lecture on the value of gossip.
“I do not know how to break this to you, but...” Mildred drew in a deep breath and Olivia felt her heart skip a beat. Whatever this was, it was far more serious than some silly gossip. “It appears as though Ben and Cynthia are engaged.”
Olivia's stomach plummeted to the floor. She had to touch her abdomen to ensure that it was still there. “Whatever are you talking about, Mil?” she asked nervously.
Mildred thrust forward the pages and Olivia skimmed through the column of slander and libel to the following:
HOW CAN A CERTAIN MR. S CARRY ON WITH O, ALONE IN THE WORLD, WHEN IT IS HIGH NEWS EVERYWHERE THAT A CERTAIN C.F. WEARS HIS RING ON HER FINGER?
There could be no doubt as to who all the characters in the riddle were. After all, had it been a different S, the paper would have at least prefaced it with a Lord or a Duke; in fact, the only reason Ben Soothley had even made it in the paper was because of his association with two gently born ladies. Olivia could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears. What was going on?
“No, it cannot be. This is rubbish. How could he be with her when he has been calling on me?”
Mildred was simply ashen. She rose from her seat and reluctantly fetched a cream-embossed card from the tray of letters on the end table.
Lady Olivia (read the card inlaid in the Soothley-Freeworth wedding invitation, written by hand by none other than Cynthia Freeworth herself and address directly to a now shaking Olivia),
ROMANCE: CLEAN ROMANCE: Summer Splash! (Sweet Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (New Adult Clean Fantasy Short Stories) Page 36