by GinaRJ
There was that word again. Adapt. She silently disagreed. Marcus was too much one of a kind. She was certain there was nobody else like him in the entire world.
Zaria urged her to turn and look at her. “People have their importance, milady, but when all is said and done, we disappear, we die, we flee, and those we leave for whatever cause, they adjust and continue on until it is their time to disappear, to die, to flee. Tis a cycle we all live by. Tis life. As with you coming here, as with others all over the world…they adapt. They always do.”
That night, while the dubbing ceremony was conducted, she found herself searching the room with her eyes for Marcus Wren, but did not see him…then she searched for Zaria, and exhaled a breath of relief when she spotted her. Better to see her in person than to imagine her alone with Marcus. At least in such a way as she’d admitted to having him.
How horrible of her to even think of it.
And later on, how horrible of her to think of him while her husband made love to her.
******
The following days went well. Jacob attended many meetings with the Higher Nobles in close range of the Great City. Still, there had been rumors of the king of Roark starting a war. The nobles were being safe opposed to sorry; concocting plans to retaliate if need be by joining their forces together, arranging to have their armies prepared in the case of a potential war. But this talk of battle did not mean life could not go on.
Rachel hired an expert painter to make portraits of herself to hang about the palace. She and Jacob even posed together for one of these. Franklyn De’Juan occupied the palace for an entire month, time well spent as he collected a generous wage for creating these likenesses. His work was exceptional.
She also updated the furnishings in her chambers, not that they were terribly outdated…she’d simply discovered a fondness for the most recent decorations, ones rumored to be very popular amongst the Noble Class.
She also embarked upon planning an event of her own for other ladies such as herself; to bring attention to the impoverished of not only those of Orland, but in all of New Ebony. It was an issue she felt inclined to do something about. She felt she could certainly win over the hearts of some of the other ladies, those who had manors of their own but doubtfully acknowledged the need.
She imagined her invitations would be accepted. She had, after all, received dozens and dozens from these same ladies, although kindly declining them but with reasonable cause. Surely they would be pleased to receive one from her in regards to any matter at all. Then again it dawned on her that they may have possibly tired of her rejections—which is what the declines may have appeared to bluntly be.
Nonetheless, she was willing to take the risk. Whether one or all…no matter how many accepted the invitation, it would benefit someone somewhere in some way.
She was in the solar sifting thru invitation cards, humming quietly to herself as she did so, when a voice interrupted her.
“Milady,” she heard the nonchalant greeting, and turned so as to see Marcus leaning in the doorway, hands in pockets. One could only wonder how long he’d been standing there.
She would have expected Tilly or Zaria or Percival, maybe a guard or squire or her husband upon returning. Not Marcus. He’d avoided her for a long while now. Perhaps he’d seized this occasion to speak to her as she was alone and the door without guard at the time. But there was sure to be one down the hall a pace.
She redirected her attention to the cards in her hands, inhaling a slow, deep breath. Her heart skipped a beat, palpitated, and then began beating faster than normal.
“Sir Marcus,” she casually returned and then without thinking added, “You finally choose to speak to me?”
“I did not expect you would want me to.”
“Your purposely avoiding me makes me uneasy, as if people may think something is being hidden.”
“I doubt they pay it any mind.”
Her hands moved a bit quicker as she shuffled through the cards. “I have heard you set a new date for your wedding,” she said as simply as possible.
“Yes,” he agreed and came inside. “I postponed it for the end of Fall opposed to the beginning. The seers are predicting harsh weather. I didn’t want to risk it.”
“Seers,” she mocked. “I wouldn’t have thought you the sort of man to rely upon their predictions.”
“On most occasions they have been correct.”
“They are malevolent and should not be condoned in any way.” She shuffled thru the cards feeling the peer of his stare upon her back.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Planning an event.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Just to bring attention to the impoverished. I imagine other noble ladies would join me in the cause. I must only bring it to their attention. I am planning an event for those I feel would take part in assisting the poor with their donations. Not just here but—“
“—it’s over, isn’t it?”
Her hands instantly went still, but for a very short time. She proceeded to sift thru the cards, now much slower than before. She placed a few of them to the right, most to the left, depending upon whom she would or would not invite. “What’s over?” She quietly asked.
“I notice yet another change in you.”
“You are imagining things…there is no ‘change’.”
“…change that is usually only brought about in a woman after she has given up her virtue.”
“As usual, you are out of line.”
“He walks about whistling. You walk about humming. The two of you behave as if you were just recently wed.”
She said nothing at all.
“Well?” He urged.
Still she said nothing.
“Would you answer?” It was a calm request.
“I cannot see where you have any right to make such a demand. This is not your business, Sir Marcus.”
“You are correct, milady, in saying so. But as I said before, I am a very curious man, especially when it comes to you.”
“Am I to be reprimanded for sharing my husband’s bed?
She heard the slow sound of his boots taking him to the cabinet where a generous assortment of wine and goblets were set out for the taking. He proceeded to fill a glass. “No,” he afterward said, and stood with his back to her, emptying his glass. He refilled it and she watched while he looked up toward the ceiling and spoke as if to God. “Why?” He asked. “Why am I disappointed? Why?”
“I, too, would like an explanation although it’s really quite plain. As if you were awaiting his death, thinking you may be the one to lie with me for the first time. While you frolic with maidens at random you expect me to be virtuous and deny my own husband.”
“Then you have taken thought for my love life.”
“Love life,” she mocked. “Is that what it is now referred to? As a love life?
She turned about and could feel him getting closer and closer to her. “Of course I knew this day would come,” he commented. “I even predicted it. Before he draws his final breath,” he recalled—a portion of what he had, indeed, predicted.
“It should not have been predicted at all, neither meditated upon nor anticipated nor dreaded. He is my husband, and I did what is even my duty to do.”
“He did not pressure you, Rachel, I know this.” He turned, glass in hand, a gleam of distress in the pupils of his eyes.
“He would not pressure me into doing anything nor would he disrespect me as you continually do, speaking to me as if I were a-a-a harlot or a whore.” She quickly turned away, calming herself and preparing her voice to be calmer before continuing. “Why are we even discussing this? I love him, Marcus, and I wanted to do this. I am glad I did. Now I can have some peace of mind and . . . “
“And what? Forget me?” He came to stand directly across from her. With each step, the air became harder and harder to breathe. He stopped, staring her deeply in the eye. “Look me in the eye and tell me
you have not thought of me.”
She did look him in the eye, searching them for a short time. She shook her head. “I have not.”
“This lifestyle has now made you quite the little liar.”
“You must think very highly of yourself, Sir Marcus, to suggest such a thing.”
“Do you think I was jesting when I said I could see through you?”
“You can see nothing.”
“What I do see is a woman who is too proud and pious to admit her own shortcomings. I can face mine. You, on the other hand, cannot.”
“You think you are so wise,” she began with slanted eyes, her teeth nearly ground together. “When you know absolutely nothing about me.”
“I know you have become quite skilled at deceiving even your own self. I imagine you have always been.”
“How dare you!”
“How dare I what? Speak the truth?”
“You verbally attack my character….for no reason at all other than a lust that you, yourself, cannot control. I am not the one with the problem, Sir Marcus, you are. So deal with it on your own. I want no part of it. You-you provoke me, and you criticize.”
“I criticize myself,” he loudly claimed. His gaze dropped but for a second before coming up to meet hers again. He was quieter now, finishing off where he’d left, “for feeling this disappointment, as if I had, indeed, hoped to be the one.”
“As if I would betray my husband.”
“As if I would betray my friend.”
“Then why are you speaking to me like this, probing into affairs you have no right at all to question.”
“Because I am disappointed. Is it my right to be? No. I cannot go about acting as if all is well. It becomes harder for me to do so with time.”
“All is well.”
“Perhaps for you. You’ve discovered a remedy that I, myself, have already resorted to, one that can only suffice for so long.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“You speak as if I have had desire for you and none at all for my husband, which is far from the truth.”
“Sharing his bed may appease your desires. Perhaps it will cure them forever. For your sake, I hope so.” Grief covered his countenance. He touched her chin. “I’m sorry, Rachel. The fact that you not only love him but are also his lover now makes me feel very alone.”
With that, after a long stare, he dropped his hand, step back, and left her alone. She made one well-deserved trip to the altar.
******
Marcus found a measure of solace outside on the upper roof. He stared down at the quiet and calm surroundings. Curfew was at the tenth hour this night, and by now it was the eleventh.
“Ah, Marcus,” he heard and turned to see Father Nelson edging his way toward him—with some trouble in his leg judging by the way he hobbled along. His cane did not seem near as helpful as once upon a time.
Marcus redirected his attention to the stars. The sky was full of them tonight.
“Father Nelson,” he greeted. “What are you doing out and about, up here this time of night?”
“I, too, am a man of sorrow, my son,” he said. Marcus looked at him again. Father Nelson, leaving a few feet of space between them, turned to get a look at the sky for himself.
“A beautiful night,” he praised. “Rare, it is, to see so many stars this time of year.”
He’d thought so himself.
Father Nelson did not admire the scene very long. His gaze lowered and he turned it upon Marcus’s profile. “What is this-this sad countenance?” He asked, and then observed a bottle of strong drink that Marcus had set upon the ledge. “And this…?”
“Surely you will not reprimand a man for indulging in something you, yourself, are known to indulge in on occasion.”
“No, no,” he quickly assured. “I was merely going to ask if you would spare an old man a sip from your bottle.”
A lazy grin touched Marcus’s lips. With a hand, he slid the bottle toward Father Nelson, who with a smile of his own raised it up, staring at it for a time before taking a large swallow. He lowered the bottle, smacking his lips to analyze the flavor.
“Ah, good, very good”
“From Port Templeton,” he told him.
“Well deserved to be known for producing the finest, and smoothest I might add, in strong spirits.”
“That they are,” he slowly agreed, and took the bottle to take a generous swallow for himself.
“You do not look so well, Sir Marcus. Tell me, what ails you?”
Marcus continued to look up at the stars. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Love,” he repeated. “I suppose we have all loved….and lost at that.”
“Then you have been in love.”
“A man of my age is bound to have felt the sting of love for a woman…..perhaps even more than once. I must say, Sir Marcus, I do not have five children for nothing.”
His brows rose at him. “Five?”
He helped himself to another drink. “You didn’t know?”
“No, I…” He stopped, commenting simply, “Five.”
“Well, it is not something one goes around pointing out. It is comforting to know that those I have entrusted with such secrets have been faithful in not repeating them. Not that I would ever deny my past. I am not the slightest bit ashamed.”
“Five children,” he repeated, staring out into the night.
“Two girls by one—twins…and two others, each by a different mother, and a son by another.”
“Five,” he repeated again before asking, “Did you love them all, these four women?”
“Oh, yes, very much so. Still do, in fact. One does not merely stop loving once they have begun.”
“How is that possible?” He quietly asked, as if to himself. “To love so many women? To truly love them…would you not love one least than another and another more?”
“You are a wise man, Sir Marcus, for you could not have said it any better. There are those you love more, those less. I will say this. The one you love the most will likely be the one you have most reason not to.” He took another drink, lowering the bottle back to the ledge. “Yes, love is a very mysterious thing. Boundaries do not apply to it, rather they are crossed. It draws people from various types together, and all too often drives the heart toward those who are not even available to love.”
“Was this the case with the one you truly loved?”
“I loved them all. God spare me, but I loved them all. But my Elizabeth was the apple of my eye. She was….” He grinned staring out, reminiscing, “….unlike any woman I had ever met, and to this day have yet to meet. In fact, while I was a saint, she was quite the little reprobate.” This seemed to amuse him.
“How so?”
“Well, I had just become what I am today, although there were a few dark spells where I thought I had lost my right as a sacred representative. Elizabeth was the beginning of that. She was quite the malicious one, greedy and flamboyant and provocative, so spontaneous and carefree. I’ve never known a woman to be so ambitious. And, my, such beauty. She was very beautiful. And she did not care what anyone thought of her. No, not at all. She did not pretend or try to be anything other than what she was: quite the little reprobate.” He chuckled. “Now, don’t get me wrong, she was not dark and sinful. But compared to me, she was very sinful, and very different from anyone I had ever acquainted myself with. I fell in love with her immediately.”
“Did she love you as well?”
“Oh, yes, very much. But I departed that place before things could go any further than was acceptable. I travelled on…met the others in-between. Yes, I loved them. Each and every one of them, but I winded up transgressing even worse than if I would’ve just given in and taken heed to her and her alone. I fought my inner man, in the end lost. I lost terribly.”
“Then you never knew her.”
“Two years passed. I could not shake her from my mind,
rather my heart that had fallen so harshly in love with her. I was smitten. Terribly smitten—to the point I even became ill with love for her, so I returned in search of her. She had gone to some other place. After a few weeks travelling to and fro, going by word alone of others who claimed to have met her and knew something about her, I found her.” He grinned big up at the heavens. “It was quite a reunion, one I shall never forget. It was she whom I loved the most. It was she who bore my twin daughters, and she who died giving birth to them.” Although sad an ending, he did not frown at it. “So, you see, although I was cursed by my affections, I was blessed just the same. I have children, although I hear very little from them. None of these women are yet alive, save one. We write from time to time. But at my age, I’m content to be as I am. At your age…well, that was quite a different story.”
A space of silence fell while they passed the bottle between them, and until Father Nelson came to say, “What caused you to ask? Surely you, yourself, are in love.”
Either the old man could see the truth, or Marcus’s conscience was working against him. Not something he was accustomed to.
“I have loved nobody but myself,” he found himself saying. “For many, many years. Now I am truly in love.”
“And engaged to be wed,” he acknowledged. “This lady should consider herself blessed. You are a fine man, Sir Marcus. Now, it is also my understanding you will be wed the first of Fall.”
“The end,” he corrected.
“Ah, the end of Fall. Winter comes quickly. It shall turn cold and you into a father in no time.”
Marcus grinned at him, patted his back. “I’m sure of it,” he said, handing the bottle to him. He then thanked the elder for the conversation before going away to his chamber to rethink his priorities.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The event lasted a total of four days and went very well. The noble guests stayed in their own private chambers; Of course, the husbands came as well. So while she entertained the ladies, Jacob entertained the males, usually with trips about his land, and hunting expeditions, things of such. As hoped for, she gained the support of the ladies. Donations were given then and there, and some afterward delivered by trustworthy messengers and guards. Rachel took delight in dispersing this money, rather the necessities purchased by it. Homes in need of repair were fixed. Materials for clothing were delivered. A trip to Orland brought about other necessities, and she received reports continually of the provisions being dispersed by the hands of servants via the ladies in their own domains. This made her happy. But there was something just not right. Something unsettling inside her. She was convinced that she was plagued…that Marcus would forever hold a tender spot in her heart, her inner woman, and that it would forever vex her.