Lady Trent

by GinaRJ

  “Well, I suppose it depends. He can be quite stern…but at the same time he is adaptable.”

  “Is he old?”

  “Yes, but he still has his senses about him. He is possibly the greatest ruler New Ebony has known or ever will for that matter.”

  “I often wonder about his acknowledgments of the conditions of Westerly…why he has done nothing to help it.”

  “There is something that very few are aware of, that I, myself, do not feel at ease mentioning, although I do sense an urge to do so.”

  She raised her glass, and simply held it there, the rim so close to her lips. “What is it?”

  “I can only say this, my dear, over the years the question has arisen as to what should be done with Westerly, and then how it had managed to succeed without proper government. The name Rachel the Elder came up and it became rumored that you were most responsible for keeping it as it was…a peaceful place where the man or woman with little ability could actually live and possibly contribute something to a community. So, you see, when he heard that you and I would be wed, he was astonished. He had already accumulated enough proof to feel a sense of respect and gratitude for you.”

  She felt as if he had not actually said what he’d originally meant to. She thought on this answer, raised her glass and took a sip of wine. She lowered it, still thinking on what he’d just told her. “Well, then,” she finally said, “had I known I was so respected I would have perhaps sent a message to him opposed to you in regards to the monetary support the community required.”

  “Do you regret you did not, and that you requested it of me opposed to him?”

  Her eyes sparkled. A small grin touched her lips. “No, not at all.”

  As they sat at the table, her things, which had been packed that night and early morning, were delivered to the carriage. They walked hand in hand and began their good-byes. His embrace was comforting, and the touch of his lips a reminder of the kiss they’d shared the night before.

  She was then escorted to the carriage by Nicholas, one of dozens who would travel along. Marcus was there holding the door of the carriage opened for her. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of him. “Sir Marcus,” she stiffly greeted, and then all the more frank asked, “What are you doing?”

  He looked her up and down before bringing his eyes back up to meet and settle with hers. “Jacob didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” She demanded.

  “He asked me to escort you to Orland, and to be your companion for the event. Your safety is his number one concern and you are certainly safe in my hands.”

  She pulled the hem of her gown from the ground, distracting her attention from him and stepped upward. He took her elbow and she allowed him. He helped her inside. She felt dismayed when he, too, got into the carriage and seated himself. While he closed the door she peered at him.

  “Should you not take part with the guards?”

  “I’m sure they will do well enough without me, milady. Besides, Jacob requested I remain by your side so much as able.”

  The horses before them began moving and the carriage gave a slight jerk as it too started forward. Rachel felt very uncomfortable. Remembering her husband, she looked out and waved as the horses trotted away, taking her further from him. She peered out the window as they passed onlookers along the street, many waving as they passed.

  “You look very well-to-do,” he eventually commented. “Extravagant.”

  “You disapprove?” She raised a brow at him. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

  “And this expression of arrogance upon your face…” he remarked.

  “Do you take pleasure in scrutinizing me, Sir Marcus? If so, you may find me giving you even more occasion to take pleasure in doing so.”

  He looked away, and she feeling as if she had succeeded in besting him, did the same. There was silence, nothing but the sounds of the guards calling out one to another, laughter on occasion.

  “I feel as if you have intentionally kept a distance from me lately,” he eventually said.

  “What do you expect?” She asked with the raise of a brow. “Should I make it a point to speak with a man who continually criticizes me and has since day one? You, yourself, are a man of the world, yet you condemn me with every chance to do so. You seem obsessed with my character and disturb me all around. And your good deed confuses me. I find it troubling it has not been declared to my husband. Therefore, I feared as time went on to mention it myself lest he think something odd of it.”

  “There’s nothing odd about it,” he said. “I simply did a good deed. Is that no longer acceptable by your standards?”

  “Standards,” she quietly mocked, “As if mine had anything at all to do with it. You reacted according your own standards, whatever those are. I have yet to comprehend. Then again I have not since entering the Great City been able to comprehend you at all. Considering the circumstances…” She stopped and then snapped at him, “Why did you agree to be my escort?!”

  “Of all the years I have known him, I have yet to turn down a request from him.”

  “This should have been the exception.”

  “When it comes to Jacob, there are no exceptions. He makes his requests and I honor them. In this instance I felt he was correct in saying you would not be safer in the hands of any other.”

  “You have too much confidence in yourself.”

  “Only so much as has been proven.”

  “You bare proof of defeat on your chest.”

  “Not defeat,” he corrected, “But mere reminders that I can survive no matter the cost, and also of several men whom this world certainly became better without. The last will be no exception…in due time,” he added.

  “For every man there is another who may overpower him.”

  “I much more fear the ability of a woman to do the same.”

  She was not sure what to say, so she too diverted her attention to the scenery beyond her window. She felt unsettled, and without thinking eventually asked, “What woman has ever overpowered you?” To which he gave no reply.

  Silence fell, and despite it the ride went by quickly.

  They arrived, and at the manor house her things were transported to her quarters. She was kindly greeted and guarded at all times. The entire estate was alive with excitement. She stood out on the veranda, up above on a platform, completely guarded, and applauded by the people.

  This lasted a very long time, and did become tiring, but it was also very uplifting, although she was not even sure herself what to do with the energy she received from this applause and admiration.

  Some disagreements were afterward brought to her attention, cases between the residents that had not been resolved. As it was yet a bit early, she took this opportunity to sit in the judgment hall and hear the matters. Those with these sorts of issues were beckoned upon and brought before her. The first an elderly lady who would not stop bowing.

  She came down from her seat and took the woman by the shoulder, urging her up.

  “You needn’t bow,” she told her. “We are both women, you and I. You, elderly. You have paid your dues, and if any should bow it should be a youngster like me.”

  This made the elder very happy, and the onlookers. The room was packed. But it was guarded well. Only she wondered as time went on. Where exactly had Marcus gone to?

  ******

  Of course he was present, peering at her thru a slit in the curtain overhead, looking down below. It was as he watched that someone came up from behind, popping up at his left. Roselyn. She, Tilly and Zaria had accompanied them to care for Rachel and whatever needs she required.

  Marcus loosed his gentle hold on the curtain, turning his body so as to face her. She appeared very troubled by something or another. But he didn’t speak. He simply waited for her to do so first.

  She took his arm, leaning inward to speak so that only he could possibly hear. “I must speak with you, Sir Marcus. It is urgent.”

  “What is it?”


  “Please, may we speak elsewhere? In private?”

  He glanced about, considering a place, and discovered a room rarely occupied so far as he could tell—especially now seeing as to how all emphasis was on Rachel and her activities. He took her by the elbow and ushered her into the room. He closed the door quietly and then turned for an explanation.

  “This-this is hard to say.”

  “What is it?” He demanded to know.

  She shook her head and swung around. “I-I do not care to say it.”

  He took her by the shoulders, forcing her back around and lightly shook her. “What is it?” He demanded a second time.

  “I am afraid this-this woman…this-this wife of Lord Trent…she is betraying him. She-she does not mean well at all.”

  His brows drew tightly together while he studied the expression of the frazzled maiden. “What do you mean?” He very firmly asked.

  “In the beginning you ask that I observe…and I did. I do not…I cannot trust her.”

  “In the beginning, yes, but you did not claim to find any fault.”

  “She does not mean well, only to defy Lord Trent, and to gain his trust, and to take from him. To do him harm. She will. I now know it. I know it.”

  “How? How do you know? Dammit, Roselyn, tell me what you are talking about. If you have discovered anything at all, tell me!”

  “A man who is an enemy of Lord Trent’s will attend and be present here during this visit.”

  “Who? What man?”

  “Victor Trent,” she dreadfully announced. “Invited here…invited by the lady herself.”

  He searched her eyes, dumbfounded by what he’d just heard. The name was least expected.

  She continued.

  “I was present when the letter was written. And when she stepped away from her table, I read what she had begun to write, that she would be here, and that she wished he be present as well so that they may converse…and that was all. I did not see all that was written. She completed it and sealed the letter, and late in the night I saw her with my very own eyes go out into the night, and hand the message over to another.”

  Marcus was terribly stumped by this report. He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. He replayed the maiden’s accusation over and over again in his mind. Victor Trent…a very distant cousin of Jacob’s and a very unwelcomed man…an enemy. Also a master of disguise. ‘Twas the way in which he travelled.

  How would she have any dealings with him? Why would she have any dealings with him?

  “Who received this message?” He came to ask.

  “I do not know. I could not see his face.”

  “His?”

  She inhaled a quivering breath, her eyes round with what appeared to be pent up anxiety. Tears even brimmed there, as if so close to falling. “Please, do not make me say anymore.”

  “What else is there to say?” He asked, and then took hold of her arm when she did not respond. “What else? What did you see?”

  “The two of them…well, they embraced. I think they may have been…have been lovers by the sight of them. But I turned away. I could not watch it.”

  He shoved her arm away, angered by her words. “You are telling me the truth?”

  “So help me, I am. I would not lie to you. I swear it.”

  He stood there the longest time, the damsel’s zealous eyes never leaving his face. Then he remembered his duty…no matter what to keep Rachel safe. He had departed that duty long enough, but perhaps he had departed the most important duty of all…that of keeping his eye upon her to be sure she was not concealing anything, plotting anything, getting away with anything.

  He went back out to the curtain and watched. She was being friendly with the people, although elegant and extravagant. She was befriending them…she was being a kind ruler. It dawned on him, what if perchance this, all of this, was a hoax. What if Rachel the Elder was a literal imposter?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The following day the festivities began. There were speeches in her honor, and one by one, as she sat ahead of the crowds, she was greeted by the most noble men and women of the community who, although not extremely wealthy, were like small versions of wealthy nobles.

  There was food, wine, entertainment, dancing…and a portrait of her was painted while she sat and watched. An image that pleased and impressed her. She wanted to take it for herself, but it was to be placed upon the wall of that very room where judgments were made, and the most notable people often met to discuss important matters.

  By the end of the day she was exhausted, and had no difficulty falling to sleep at all.

  The following day was just as enjoyable, and more-so. Kind regards were exchanged, and honors. She had never felt so important in all her life, not even in Westerly where the people had continually expressed their gratitude. This was somewhat different…well, it was very different. She was Lady of the Manor…not a mere vestal.

  These people made her to feel like a queen being appreciated and honored for merely caring, and she decided it was well to be there in that place at that time.

  Today she looked every bit a queen all over again, decked in queenly apparel, jewels draped about her neck and wrists, a tiara that sparkled when she moved. Even her shoes were golden although one could not see them.

  Marcus was continually standing back, simply awaiting the arrival of this ‘secret guest’. He’d spent the greater portion of the night pondering and watching, pondering and watching. He hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. Roselyn’s declaration had settled into his mind, his heart and his very soul. He felt strange, suddenly thinking “What if? What if? What if?” He imagined the worst scenario. Was this the reason he had not saw it? Because it was right under his nose? Was she actually a part of the plot against Jacob? A man she swore she loved and cared about? A man whose heart she’d stolen, just like everyone else’s. Just like these people. Just like…just like him.

  He spotted the newcomer immediately…dressed as usual in disguise. And he was certain it was him. The fake mustache, hair…patch over one eye. All that cover-up didn’t fool Marcus. Victor was a tall man, and had a certain walk that proved a dead giveaway every time.

  Marcus watched him come into the assembly, strolling along as if the master of the ball, tall and strideful. Roselyn was right at least so far about this one thing…that he would attend. There was no mistaken. That was him for sure.

  What would Jacob think of this? And Rachel…had she truly invited and planned to meet him here? Was there more to Rachel the Elder than met the eye? Could it be the two of them were alliances or even lovers?

  The newcomer instantly made himself available to her, and even sat beside of her in a chair that was only occasionally occupied; up until that moment only certain members of the council had dared to sit there. Just where were they? He wondered. Were they not concerned? Did they recognize the man sitting next to her?

  His heart began to pound, and his insides hardened with a mixture of things, one thing feeding off another and gathering whirlwinds of strength. Anger. Disappointment. Jealousy.

  But he had to keep in mind: nothing had been investigated. Proven. Set in stone. But how else would Roselyn have known he would be there? If not by Rachel’s hand, even, how? And if no letter had been sent, exactly what were the maiden’s intentions?

  He was not sure what to believe, but gave himself time to adapt to the presence of the man and the overall situation so as to not react spontaneously and foolishly. He had more patience than he’d ever thought likely. He had to be wise. He had to remain calm. He had to approach the situation subtly just like any other of its kind…and how he hated she’d suddenly become part of a ‘situation’ at all.

  But his inner man would not believe she was at fault. His heart of hearts would not at all believe it.

  He left his private little corner and approached Nicholas. “Keep a firm eye upon her,” he told him. “I will dismiss myself for a moment.”

  “Yes, sir,” he
agreed.

  And Marcus, without being spotted, left the room, making his way down hall after hall, thru room after room, until he’d reached Rachel’s private quarters. Without knocking, he burst thru the door. As expected, seeing as to how he had not seen her, Zaria was there in the chamber, and in the process of preparing herself for the evening—to switch places with Tilly if perchance too many hours passed and rest was needed. She stood, the top of her dress still hanging around her waist. She was covered, but the silk underclothing left little to the imagination.

  She didn’t appear the slightest bit alarmed or shaken by the sudden disruption…as if she’d expected it all along. Perhaps she had been waiting for someone.

  “Sir Marcus,” she slyly began, “how very…bad-mannered.”

  He closed the door behind himself. “My apologies, but—“

  “No need to apologize. I find this sudden intrusion quite… enticing.”

  He cast his eyes about the room and came closer. “Are you alone?”

  Her eyes slanted so very provocatively. “I am.”

  He took her upper arms. She tilted her head back. “Shall we lock the door so as to not be interrupted? This will not be such a swift union, milord. I am quite skilled in the art of lovemaking. I could please you for many, many, many hours—although I am quite certain Lady Trent will come in search of me. I am the most favored of her handmaidens, you know.”

  “I have perceived it.” He took her arm and eased them both down to sit on the nearby settee. “Zaria, I—“

  The feel of her finger circling his ear and his jaw interrupted him. He raised a shoulder, and then took her hand, pulling it away from him. “Zaria, listen to me.” He turned toward her. “This is a matter of consequence. I did not burst into the chamber in hopes of bedding you, although you do have a way of making it quite tempting. I must ask you some questions in regards to Lady Trent, and also Roselyn.”

  With a look of innocence she cast her gaze to the ceiling. “Roselyn. She is not favored in my eyes, nor should she be in those of the Lady’s.” She stared at him quite seductively. “Why are you asking these questions, Sir Marcus?”