Second Chances
Annabelle
“That which seems most feeble and bewildered in you is the strongest and most determined.” —Kahlil Gibran
Chapter Three
“Annabelle? Annabelle? Are you all right, my dear?”
“What? Oh, yes, Lady Havershome. Quite all right.”
I do not surmise it was the answer for which she had hoped, but at the moment, I found myself having trouble focusing, idling my teaspoon round my cup far more than necessary.
Our weekly tea time was the only refuge in which I could lavish, outside of my dreams, as it were. The Lady Havershome was always bright and cheery, but a small glimpse of sunlight in my darkened world. I was forever grateful for our visits.
Though I had confided in others about my dreams before, most looked at me as though I were inflicted with madness. Lady Havershome was one of the few outside Juliette, my chambermaid, who showed any enthusiasm and openness. Before her, I was beginning to think perhaps I was indeed hallucinating.
“Another troubling dream, my dear?”
“Actually it was quite…illuminating.”
“Oh? In whose dream did you wander this time? The baker? Oh, the seamstress again? Do tell me, does she harbor any new gossip?”
I chuckled, “I’m sorry, Lady Havershome, no secrets this time. At least not with the likes of Mrs. Horcroft. No, this time it was someone else. A stranger I’ve never seen before. A man.”
She guzzled her tea rather excitedly, “Oh, how intriguing! I wish to know everything.”
“I was walking along the shore, oh you should’ve seen it, Lady Havershome, it was beautiful. A night sky littered with more stars than I have ever set eyes upon, swirled with such a vast array of color. It was breathtaking. DaVinci himself could not have done better.”
“Yes, yes, very well indeed. What about the man, darling?” She bent over a little, raising an eyebrow, “Was he maddingly handsome?”
“Lady Havershome!”
She snickered. “What? It doesn’t hurt to dream, you know.” Leaning over slightly, she placed her hand gently on my wrist, her eyes turning more solemn. “Oh my dear, you get so few pleasures in this life, at least allow yourself this one. For me, then?”
I glanced down at my tea, trying to hide my flushing cheeks with the steam.
“I knew it,” she said, the air of triumphance in her tone as she straightened back up in her seat. “So, what’s he like?”
“Well, you are right about one thing. He is dashing. Hair of gold, like that of a sunrise. An ocean storm in his eyes. But that was not all.”
“Oh?” She perked up, ladling her teaspoon at a faster pace.
“I’m pretty certain he saw me.”
She gasped. “Oh dear, is that even possible?”
“I do not know. No one ever has. Or if they did, they made no mention or notion to me.”
“Do you at least know where to find him again?”
“You know, Lady Havershome, this may very well sound mad, but I believe he may have found me.”
His face had stayed with me all day. His voice, so clear. Not demanding, merely curious. Sounding just about as shocked as I. I had trouble loosening him from my mind, found myself wandering over and over into that dream. His dream.
Later that evening, I hurried myself getting ready for bed, anxious to see if I could find him again.
Juliette was giddy as well, running a brush through my hair at a feverish pace. “Do you think you’ll find him again, Miss?”
I smiled, “I do hope so.”
“Are you going to talk to him this time?”
“If I can work up the nerve, perhaps,” I replied, giggling nervously.
“He’s the first?”
“He’s the only. I still can not see how it is possible. All this time–”
“To be quite frank, Miss, walking in dreams ain’t exactly a normal thing to do.”
“I know. Which is why this one intrigues me most of all. If only–”
At that moment, the door to my room burst open, the Lord Cartwright barrelling inside, brandishing a bloody rag in his hand. Juliette immediately retreated to the wall.
“Another month! Another month and still nothing,” he screeched, throwing the rag on top of the vanity in front of me.
“What did you do this time? Did you poison it?”
“I would never do such a thing,” I snapped. Big mistake.
He took the back of his hand, striking it with great force against my cheek, knocking me from my chair. I crawled back against the vanity, my fingers bloodied by the scratch the sharp corners of his ring had left behind.
He came closer, crouching down, a stare most vicious about his eyes. “I did not have to marry you, you know. I could have left you to rot with your stable hand or to whomever you handed your virtue. A simple act of mercy and kindness, and this is how you repay me. After I have given you everything, taken care of your every need. Still, you refuse to bear me a son.”
“I am trying,” I whispered, the strength in my voice stolen.
He stood up, straightening his robes, glaring down at me over the crest of his nose, “Try harder.”
Turning away, he trudged back toward the hallway, making sure to have the last word as he left, “Be certain, once your monthly well has run, I do not care what it takes, I will have an heir.” Slamming the door behind him, Juliette finally stuttered back to life again, coming to the floor by my side.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
Slowly, I made my way off the floor, placing myself in a heap back in the chair, peeling my trembling fingers from my face.
“Yes, Juliette. Quite all right. Would you mind terribly fetching me a bowl of water and a clean rag, please?”
“Oh, right away, Miss.”
As she disappeared out the door, leaving me alone, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Another scratch, another scar. I had gotten used to the sight of my own blood by now, and all the colors it possessed. The red rubies as they fell, the umber stains left to rot, even the wedges of plum under my eye. Each had left their marks. Every one carrying a story. I hardly shed a tear any more. He had drained much of those long ago.
When Juliette returned, she had a tear of her own she tried to hide, her hand trembling as she set the bowl down on the vanity, picking up the rag to bring it to my cheek. I stopped her.
“It’s all right, Juliette. Thank you.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss,” she mumbled, the water beginning to flow as she wiped her face with her apron.
“Oh please, do not shed any tears for me. I will be all right.”
She sniffled a bit harder, “Why would God be so cruel, Miss, letting him treat you like that?”
“This is not God’s doing. Only that of a man.”
“A cruel man. You deserve better than the likes of him. How do you do it, Miss, day after day, and not want to just run away?”
“With hope, Juliette. With hope.”
After more encouragement and soothing, she finally felt at ease enough to leave me for the night. I was able to wipe the majority of the blood from my cheek before slipping into bed, hopeful it would not stain the pillow. Not that I cared all that much but Lord Cartwright did prefer a tidy household.
As I laid down, shutting my eyes tightly, I did my best to calm my nerves, otherwise I would never get to sleep. Though the streets of London were packed with all manner of folk for me to wander about, my mind was set on one alone. I filled my thoughts with his dream, thinking perhaps if I focused hard enough I could will myself to it.
Sure enough, as I followed the orbs out of the forest treeline, there it was, the beach in which I had placed my toes in the sand. And while the skies above our estate sat cloudy and stormy, in here, the stars were beckoning, not a shadow nor a wisp of a cloud to be found. I took more solace in it this time, breathing in the sweet air, squishing my feet, making certain to watch for sharp branches. Looking down the shore, there he was, once again under the same moonlit archway.
Only this time, he looked restless, pacing to and fro, running a hand through his hair. Nearly frantic. As I came closer, he suddenly stopped, his glance caught in my direction.
“It’s you.” He said it barely louder than a whisper to my ears, as if he did not believe what he was seeing. I had trouble believing myself.
“Then it is true, you can see me?”
“I can hear you as well.”
“Oh,” I gasped, raising my hand to cover my mouth, my nerves catching up with me as I turned to dash away again.
“Oh please don't go. I wish to apologize for last time, I did not mean to frighten you.” He straightened up his posture. “My name is Jonathan,” he said, straightening his posture before giving a small bow of introduction, “Jonathan Hornblower. Though you may call me Joe.”
“Annabelle. Annabelle–” I hesitated, all manner of worry filling my mind at the utterance of my last name.
He chuckled, “It’s all right. I was hoping you would return. I have…questions.”
Continued in Chapter Four (Coming soon!)
Oh I so hope that bastard of a husband gets what he effing deserves...
I also have editing notes but (a) you might not want them and (b) I am deep in edits mode myself which is probably why I mention them.