by GinaRJ
“—of course,” he quickly interrupted. “I would be honored, although for whose sake I cannot say.”
“The sake of the poor,” she decided for him, smiling at the arrangement. Coming closer she bent and reached beneath her gown, eventually raising up and bringing into view a rather large sack of coins. She did this a second time, untying the item from her lower left leg.
Marcus raised a brow at this. “You have been carrying these about?” He asked, taking the second bag of coins, examining its weight with the rise and fall of the hand.
“Since it was placed into my care.”
“I imagine it would have been safe in some other place…but now it’s a surety.” He raised his free hand, caressed her chin, and then turned to find a suitable place to stash the gift. “And when I reach Westerly,” he wondered, “who should I seek out?”
“A lady by the name of Agatha: Sister Agatha. You will find her easily, either at the chapel or the orphanage or the home for the widows…depending upon the time of day.”
“Is there a message also that I should pass along?”
“Only that I am well.”
“Is that all?”
Feeling a bit guilty for keeping this change of events to herself, she avoided his gaze. But then she remembered his comment about her being ashamed to tell them. Her chin went in the air. “I suppose you could explain what has happened.”
“Word travels, milady. I am sure they have heard it by now.”
“Not necessarily so. Westerly is—“
“—I know,” he interrupted, “a different sort of place.”
She agreed with silence, and after having quickly studied the situation said, “If you have the time I could write a message now explaining it.”
“I don’t really, no. Duke Norton is a very impatient man. I am already in arrears. The sooner I reach the Isles the better. I must leave now; which works in your favor. It doesn’t seem you want to tell them at all.”
“You must understand. The people of Westerly know me by this title.”
“That title,” he corrected, standing erect so as to stare her in the face.
“Yes,” she agreed, in some sort of daze. “That title.” She thought on it a moment before saying, “I am cautious, I admit. But not because of shame as you once insinuated. But it must be revealed one way or another. You may tell them I will remain here longer, and if they harass you with questions, then you can tell them the truth. No matter the case, I will begin writing a letter within the next few days explaining my new position.”
“This Agatha,” he aloud recalled, “do you trust her? This is quite a large donation. Will she be honest with it?”
“I trust her completely, even with my life.”
“Then I will also trust her,” he said, and reached to pull a satchel from its place.
As it seemed there was nothing left to say, she started toward the door, only stopping a moment to say over her shoulder, “Be safe, Sir Marcus.” And with that she was gone.
******
Safe, he mused, watching her leave, noting the way she closed the door, leaving it just as she’d found it. He considered the duty she had placed upon him…the coins she’d obviously guarded with all her life. It would arrive safely to its destination. He would see to it. In fact, the task became equally as important to him as the original…if not perhaps more.
With fluent motions he began tying the satchel in which he’d stashed the coins around his waist. He recalled the past two days; the wedding, how happy he was for Jacob. The man was in love, and rightfully. Rachel was perfect for him.
Indeed, as accused so many weeks before, he had scrutinized her, just as he would’ve any lady in her shoes, purposely looking for some fault…mainly to avoid not seeing one if, in fact, there was a fault—one purposely being concealed in order to be overlooked.
Jacob was a very wealthy man. The Great City was the greatest…large, wealthy. To be the lord of the city was an honor in itself, and the lady of it as well…which Rachel did not seem to acknowledge, no, not to any great extent. Any other in her shoes would’ve by now noted the significance of the position, but she could not have seemed to care less. The emperor himself would acknowledge and esteem her above any other lady because of the title.
Whether aware of it or not, she was already to a degree prevalent. People were familiar with Westerly. The town had been requested on several occasions, but the emperor consistently denied any direct ownership of it. For now the land on which Westerly sat simply was. It belonged to the emperor, although he didn’t pay it much mind. Had she known this, perhaps she would have requested monetary support from him. To the best of his knowledge she hadn’t done so.
No, it had not been the first time the emperor had heard of Rachel the Elder when Jacob sent word to him of the engagement. According to those he’d sent to witness the wedding, he’d been intrigued by the prospect of these two marrying. Absolutely intrigued…and pleased, for he’d heard so many good things about Rachel the Elder over the years.
It was also rumored that the emperor blamed the union upon fate…something Marcus had very little confidence in. Fate, in his mind, was one of those things that seemed to exist in the forms of blessings, and then end with some form of a curse. He couldn’t dare put fate on any pedestal in the situation, for fate, in his opinion, was merely the beginning of a crucial end. He did not want to think of Jacob suffering any more than he already had.
But the emperor was already satisfied with Rachel…that is Rachel the Elder. Whatever would become of her with this new position was yet to be known.
Likewise, he was extremely fond of Jacob, thought higher of him than any man upon the face of the earth so far as Marcus could tell; understandable since Jacob had been with him through thick and through thin—since the passing of his father left him guardian of the Great City, which was right around the time the emperor had been crowned in his great uncle’s stead. He’d stuck by his side through some critical disturbances amongst the nobles because of his reign, which was quickly abolished, and hatred from oversea rulers, such as the king of Roark—also quickly abolished. No matter the case, whomever Jacob chose as wife would be equally accepted and placed higher than the wife of any other noble. It seemed Rachel had already gained his approval, simply by way rumor of her overall dedication to Westerly and its people.
Westerly had also been left alone for other reasons. Actually, mainly for the simple cause that it proved a location for the outcasts. There they were accepted, which was better than to have them roaming about, relying upon criminal activity as a means of support.
It was evident that she hadn’t a clue; in certain cases nobles were known to rid their domiciles of unwanted people by somehow instilling word of Westerly’s being into them…this they did subtly so that it would not be openly known. When a man became hated no matter the place or cause, and suffered because of that hatred, news of Westerly would send him fast on his way. The emperor had sent a few men there, himself, when it seemed there was no hope for them anyplace else. Not directly lest it be rumored about that he condoned the resentment of any man for no actual cause, especially one who could not help physical abnormalities. What was a man in his position to do?
Keep Westerly as it was and use it as it was…a community for the outcast that operated simply under the Laws of the Sacred Orders, to which Rachel had been clearly and dearly committed.
Marcus recalled Jacob’s former wives. The emperor had accepted them although he had not exactly favored the overall behavior of either of them. The first had acted as superior as a queen, and the second as lowly as a servant…that is until she’d born Jacob’s first child. Then she’d discovered her confidence. Marcus sighed to himself. How could one woman be so well-rounded…proud, but not prideful, beautiful but not conceited, meager, but strong? Modest, but not obsessed with that modesty in an arrogant and prideful sense. How could she be so damned perfect?
Or so in his sight, anyway. For some reason
he was intrigued by her innocence and found himself wanting her to stay exactly as she was.
He considered the thing Jacob had confided in him…that the keeping of her virtue was a choice of her own. But when Marcus considered how very close they’d became….yes, he recalled the sight of them laying back in the bed, her snuggled so close to him, reading to him, laughing with him. Could anyone make Jacob Trent laugh out loud for pure sport? Jacob Trent never laughed except in particular events, such as if a noble or commoner requested something ridiculous of him. This he would laugh about—never the simple writings in a book. Yes, she’d brought out an even better side of him. The man would give her a reasonable amount of his time but still manage to keep all other priorities straight. He would not abandon them. But she would become his life, just as she already had. And she…well, Marcus could see she was already in love with him, that she’d married him for that reason alone.
He wondered how much time his dear friend had left. It was an event he dreaded with all his heart…the death of Jacob Trent which was expected, and would be expected all the more after the passing of two years. Every man of his bloodline who survived an older age at all generally died between the ages of fifty-two and five, all except the one.
He calculated, and frowned to think of the horrible loss it would be…nobody would truly know how valuable the man was until he was no longer with them. And Rachel…by then she would be all the more attached to him. Who would console her? Whose arms would give her comfort? Whose shoulder would invite her tears? For some reason, he imagined his own. But he couldn’t help wonder…who would console him?
He did not deal well with the death of loved ones. He actually didn’t deal with it at all. He had yet to even completely grieve the loss of his parents, and twenty years had passed since he’d been made an orphan. Jacob Trent would be no exception. But whatever pain he did allow would subside and he would carry on. What about Rachel?
And the emperor would surely be disappointed, terribly hurt, at a terrible loss. The man was nearing seventy, himself, but would outlive Jacob as those of his own bloodline usually lived to see long life.
When the chance arose he would meet Rachel in person, and automatically approve of and favor her. She was a favorable person. Marcus had noted so from the time she’d entered Harp until now, while he’d studied her searching for a fault. He discovered none besides the one…only the one. If Rachel Trent suffered a fault it was an unawareness of her own ability to be simply human…to indulge in worldly and mortal affairs, especially those derived from ordinary regard. Rightful affection. She was a married woman now, a rich one, and well able to indulge in just whatever.
Lady Trent was blameless except for one thing. She had an ability to indulge, yet hadn’t a clue it existed. Those things she had never experienced she would, things of various sorts, and in the end become a different sort of woman, just as Westerly was a different sort of place.
The question was, what sort of woman would she become? Arrogant? Ill-mannered?
He shook his head at the thought of it. She would not become either of those things or even a horrible person at all. She would simply become a woman unlike any worldly-wise woman he’d ever met…perhaps unlike any who’d ever existed. Or so he imagined, but who was to truly say what would become of her in this sort of lifestyle? It would mold her, surely, into another person.
He imagined her and Jacob making love, not for the first time—and not for the first time quickly did away with the thought. Just as the night before he wondered why the image disturbed him so.
The exact same reason he’d confessed to her, came the answer.
He pulled his satchel from the bed and carried it along. He would venture away, just as he had last night. But last night he had closed the door on something other than the room he was about to close the door upon—observance that he’d dedicated to this newcomer, Rachel the Elder. It was over. No more observing her. No more even letting his imagination wander away to sinful places.
Prior to leaving the night before, while the guests mingled in the courtyard, he’d stood up and beyond on a balcony overlooking the scene, drinking wine and watching her every move. She was, he’d again decided, perfect for the position. But he, himself, was quite imperfect, and in a way he could not decide what his feelings were. He could only consider the direction those feelings had led him; for he’d entered into Port Templeton for three simple causes, and mainly two. The first, claiming documents to deliver to the emperor, could have waited since it would be some time before he would actually venture that way. The other two; getting drunk and bedding an ordinary could not. He thought about Marie. He’d known her nearly as long as Patrice of Rowan. She was always available to him. After last night she’d claimed he’d done more than simply bed her…he’d actually made love to her, something so far as he knew he’d never really ever truly done.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Four days passed, and Jacob got well all over again. Just as he’d claimed, he made that unusual, speedy recovery…and also a remarkable comeback. He dedicated the first two days to making up to Rachel for lost time concerning the celebration of their marriage. So they dined together, rode together in his private carriage, strolled along the sandy shore hand in hand.
“Have you any complaints?” He at one point asked.
She actually did have a few secret distresses. She’d found herself feeling agitated toward the maiden, Holly. She could’ve complained about Roselyn, for the maiden was forever peering at her as if she despised her. But she kept quiet about these things…and prayed for an even greater ability to tolerate unfavorable people. For some reason she felt bitter toward both of these, specifically Holly. Her behavior gave the impression she’d been closer to Jacob at one time than now. Perhaps she’d done more in the past than merely care for his physical ailments.
But she kept all of this to herself, and smiling softly at his profile told what she guessed was her first intentional lie to him. “No,” she claimed, “none at all.”
Their chambers had remained separate, and he did not so much as mention a consummation. He proved himself a keeper of his word. She was impressed, and respected him all the more.
In the days to follow, he was very busy with meetings amongst other nobles and travels here and there, even investigating this matter concerning the man “Pearce” whom she’d yet to meet and whom remained in hiding for some reason unbeknownst to her. He also took part in Fencing, a sport she’d by now come to realize was a favorite of his.
“It relieves aggression,” Zaria said one day as they sat beneath a pavilion watching while man after man took turns taking on a challenger. Jacob was very skilled…and it was not likely he won simply because his opponent allowed him to.
“I imagine so,” Rachel said, watching the fierce movements and expressions upon the faces. The sword of his challenger clanged to the ground. Rachel smiled at this, and stood to clap with the other onlookers while Jacob raised his arms in victory.
“Has he ever challenged Marcus?” She found herself asking.
“They challenge one another,” Zaria said as they reclaimed their seats, “And fight till they can move no longer.”
“So then a winner isn’t called?”
“No, lady, they are equally as strong and skilled.”
“I would not have guessed it.”
“Then you have yet to see Sir Marcus naked,” said Zaria.
Rachel’s eyes rounded at her. “I can’t see that there would be a cause to,” she snapped.
Zaria shrugged a calm shoulder. “I was merely proving a point, milady,” she said, “not that he and I have slept together, but I have saw him naked.”
Rachel bit her tongue and nothing more was said on the subject. She wished at that point she would’ve never brought it up, but curiosity had gotten the best of her…curiosity about Marcus that should’ve perhaps not existed.
In the passing of time, Rachel had also been encouraged to go and visit the manor, which s
he was now the sovereign of.
The residents had been notified of the wedding, and she was told they would await her arrival. According to heralds and messengers, they were eager and anxious to meet the new Lady of the Manor.
“There now,” Father Nelson soothed as they traveled the way. A trail of guards followed before and behind them and a second carriage transporting Tilly and Zaria and their belongings. A string of guards also trailed alongside the caravan on each side—in the case of incident—not what Father Nelson referred to when he advised, “don’t fear, child. It will be well.”
She had been staring out the window, studying the scenery, what little she could see for the guards surrounding them. She knew she was in good hands. The captain of the Guard, Sir Edward, had returned and Jacob seemed content to have him conduct the arrangements concerning her travels.
“I find this a difficult assignment…difficult to conceive let alone perform.”
“I imagine so. Being lady of Orland Manor is no small matter…more prominent than your previous title, indeed. But the weight of that title kept you occupied, I am certain. Not simply because of your obligations, but your dedication to the people and their needs. Now you must simply take that same dedication, that energy so-to-speak, and put it into this new role. Think of the manor’s residents as those of Westerly…in need of guidance and attendance, someone to simply care for them and their conditions, to defend and speak for them and their local causes.”
Quietly examining his words, she felt herself relax, and a small smile touched her lips, reaching up to her eyes and bringing a glow to them.
“You are a wise soul, Father Nelson. Your words have brought me peace.”
“I am an old man,” he reminded her. “During my many travels I have met and mingled with all sorts of people, and in every imaginable condition.” He fell into a reminiscent silence, which he quickly came out of. “This is not so anomalous a matter as you are making it out to be.”