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Hey, I thought maybe the professor friend of Nick can be Claire's contact. :) Just a suggestion. If course she will recognize him, but Nick will be clueless
"Trust, Claire. Trust. It's moments like these that I need you to trust me," he answered, squuezing her hand.
They had left the servants at the other side of Thames, because of the lack of passes, but in truth Nicholas didn't bother looking for extras. He believed that the two of them can manage to be without the comfort of being waite upon if only for oneHe noticHe noticed that she had forgotten to bring a parasol, maybe because she thought that there will be no need of one.
"Regarding your question earlier,"he started. "I can talk to my father about your proposal. I may look like I'm running most of the operations, but the final decisions all come from my father." But the truth was he couldn't give to the poor what he really don't have.
The arrival of the boy saved Nick from elaborating his answer. "Found you a carriage to the Royal Observatory, sir" announced the boy proudly.
"Thank you," Nick replied. To Clairehe added,"I hope you don't mind riding a hired carriage.I have reasons to believe that the experience is more or less the same, although there might be some exceptions."
Nick took Claire's hand and placed it on his arm. This way, she was closer and he could lean on her a bit. "It's not too far away from here," he assured her as they followed the boy. "However, I just realized that we might not see the night sky if we plan to make it back home tonight," he let her ride up the carriage first then sat beside her after the door closed.
The ride to the observatory wasn't too long and the person who had the reins knew the city all too well. soon enough, they Were dismounting and facing the imposing building of the observatory. "This is where the directions at Sea is being based, we re at the origin." He led her to the main entrance where he declared his presence.
"Might I see Professor White, please? Tell him that Mr. Rochford requests to meet with him."
The attendant at the front desk politely nodded. "I shall check if the Professor is available," she said. "In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable." She gestured to the sofa opposite the desk.
The professor, a middle-aged man of substantial size, walked into the room wearing his lab coat and glasses. His cheeks were flushed and his lips smiling wide. "Nicholas, my favorite boy," Professor White greeted. Then his eyes landed on Claire and a flash of a different kind of emotion showed for a fraction of a second before he was back to his cheerful self.
They had left the servants at the other side of Thames, because of the lack of passes, but in truth Nicholas didn't bother looking for extras. He believed that the two of them can manage to be without the comfort of being waite upon if only for oneHe noticHe noticed that she had forgotten to bring a parasol, maybe because she thought that there will be no need of one.
"Regarding your question earlier,"he started. "I can talk to my father about your proposal. I may look like I'm running most of the operations, but the final decisions all come from my father." But the truth was he couldn't give to the poor what he really don't have.
The arrival of the boy saved Nick from elaborating his answer. "Found you a carriage to the Royal Observatory, sir" announced the boy proudly.
"Thank you," Nick replied. To Clairehe added,"I hope you don't mind riding a hired carriage.I have reasons to believe that the experience is more or less the same, although there might be some exceptions."
Nick took Claire's hand and placed it on his arm. This way, she was closer and he could lean on her a bit. "It's not too far away from here," he assured her as they followed the boy. "However, I just realized that we might not see the night sky if we plan to make it back home tonight," he let her ride up the carriage first then sat beside her after the door closed.
The ride to the observatory wasn't too long and the person who had the reins knew the city all too well. soon enough, they Were dismounting and facing the imposing building of the observatory. "This is where the directions at Sea is being based, we re at the origin." He led her to the main entrance where he declared his presence.
"Might I see Professor White, please? Tell him that Mr. Rochford requests to meet with him."
The attendant at the front desk politely nodded. "I shall check if the Professor is available," she said. "In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable." She gestured to the sofa opposite the desk.
The professor, a middle-aged man of substantial size, walked into the room wearing his lab coat and glasses. His cheeks were flushed and his lips smiling wide. "Nicholas, my favorite boy," Professor White greeted. Then his eyes landed on Claire and a flash of a different kind of emotion showed for a fraction of a second before he was back to his cheerful self.
The voice that would be heard from the other side of the door was a man’s. If the person knocking had expected a response coming from a woman, then he might be surprised to hear Derrin calling out, “Come in,” as if it were his own room.
The healer was as tired as the rest of the riding party dispatched to answer to the flare that had roused Cannor the night before. However, his mind would not allow his body to rest. Perhaps it was due to his training as a healer, but he was generally more curious than most of the men that Cannor had adopted. Besides, this woman did what his years of work could not accomplish and it hurt his ego even though he would not admit it.
Derrin came after Ysabel almost as soon as he had secured the little belongings that he brought with him to the trip to the mountain pass. The guards that Fraym dispatched were standing in attention when he arrived, but made no move to stop him as he entered the room. Inside the small space, he found the woman asleep on her stomach on the bed. Her face was turned away from him, but the hood of her heavy cloak was pushed back such that reddish brown locks spilled on the white pillowcase. He remembered feeling a pang of pity for her.
If she were awake when he arrived, he could have asked her a few questions to quell his curiosity even for just a bit, but she wasn’t. With a sigh, the healer slowly and gently rolled her to her back before pulling the covers over her shivering body. He remembered her saying that she was sick, but he didn’t realize how sick she was until then. Derrin sat at her bedside since then. He asked one of the men at the door to fetch supplies from his own study, then proceeded on studiously observing his patient. Her skin had gone ghastly clammy and pale, but perhaps she had been ghastly pale even in the mountains and he wasn’t paying attention. She was gritting her teeth as if she was in pain even while she slept. He frowned at his observations. None of these showed when Olivere and himself first found her sleeping alone with a stolen bag, then at the rook where the Winter's Children had hidden, she was still enthusiastic and healthy. Everybody present could attest to that, especially Gilly. And then before they left, she started exhibiting symptoms of an illness -- symptoms that were disturbingly similar to the wound fever of one bitten by a warg.
But that was a few hours ago. “Come in,” Derrin called again in a calm voice, effectively masking the different emotions he was feeling all at the same time. By that time, he was still uncertain whether or not she was bitten by a warg, but what he could be sure of was that in such a short period of time, Ysabel had gone from shivering to a peaceful sleep. Her body temperature, which was disturbingly high when Derrin first came into her room, was now close to normal. This woman had a secret more intriguing than the concoction she made to cure Rannor.
Derrin got up from his seat and opened the door himself and there was the other curious thing that happened that morning. “Roran?” Derrin couldn’t help but say his name in a question, inviting the younger man to explain his presence. But his face broke into a knowing smile. Ysabel, save for her lack of breeding and sarcasm, was a rather beautiful woman anyway. “Can I trust you to look after our guest for a couple of hours? I am going to see the elders to report.” He leaned forward as if he was going to whisper to Roran, but Derrin's voice was loud and clear when he said, "I believe she's already awake. I wonder how long she plans on faking sleep."
Not that Ysabel thought faking unconsciousness would save her, but she did hope it would delay the inevitable. But now that she was found out, she stretched her legs and tentatively opened her eyes.
The healer was as tired as the rest of the riding party dispatched to answer to the flare that had roused Cannor the night before. However, his mind would not allow his body to rest. Perhaps it was due to his training as a healer, but he was generally more curious than most of the men that Cannor had adopted. Besides, this woman did what his years of work could not accomplish and it hurt his ego even though he would not admit it.
Derrin came after Ysabel almost as soon as he had secured the little belongings that he brought with him to the trip to the mountain pass. The guards that Fraym dispatched were standing in attention when he arrived, but made no move to stop him as he entered the room. Inside the small space, he found the woman asleep on her stomach on the bed. Her face was turned away from him, but the hood of her heavy cloak was pushed back such that reddish brown locks spilled on the white pillowcase. He remembered feeling a pang of pity for her.
If she were awake when he arrived, he could have asked her a few questions to quell his curiosity even for just a bit, but she wasn’t. With a sigh, the healer slowly and gently rolled her to her back before pulling the covers over her shivering body. He remembered her saying that she was sick, but he didn’t realize how sick she was until then. Derrin sat at her bedside since then. He asked one of the men at the door to fetch supplies from his own study, then proceeded on studiously observing his patient. Her skin had gone ghastly clammy and pale, but perhaps she had been ghastly pale even in the mountains and he wasn’t paying attention. She was gritting her teeth as if she was in pain even while she slept. He frowned at his observations. None of these showed when Olivere and himself first found her sleeping alone with a stolen bag, then at the rook where the Winter's Children had hidden, she was still enthusiastic and healthy. Everybody present could attest to that, especially Gilly. And then before they left, she started exhibiting symptoms of an illness -- symptoms that were disturbingly similar to the wound fever of one bitten by a warg.
But that was a few hours ago. “Come in,” Derrin called again in a calm voice, effectively masking the different emotions he was feeling all at the same time. By that time, he was still uncertain whether or not she was bitten by a warg, but what he could be sure of was that in such a short period of time, Ysabel had gone from shivering to a peaceful sleep. Her body temperature, which was disturbingly high when Derrin first came into her room, was now close to normal. This woman had a secret more intriguing than the concoction she made to cure Rannor.
Derrin got up from his seat and opened the door himself and there was the other curious thing that happened that morning. “Roran?” Derrin couldn’t help but say his name in a question, inviting the younger man to explain his presence. But his face broke into a knowing smile. Ysabel, save for her lack of breeding and sarcasm, was a rather beautiful woman anyway. “Can I trust you to look after our guest for a couple of hours? I am going to see the elders to report.” He leaned forward as if he was going to whisper to Roran, but Derrin's voice was loud and clear when he said, "I believe she's already awake. I wonder how long she plans on faking sleep."
Not that Ysabel thought faking unconsciousness would save her, but she did hope it would delay the inevitable. But now that she was found out, she stretched her legs and tentatively opened her eyes.
No worries. I was out of town last weekend anyway.
Nicholas couldn't even begin to describe how relieved he was that Claire refused his offer to accompany her to a shopping trip. The Observatory at Greenwich was a better option than shopping, plus the travel would buy him some time. Besides, he liked watching the night sky especially under a powerful telescope. It just happened that one of the new friends he made as Nicholas Rochford was a professor who also worked at the Observatory.
He followed his wife to the carriage, climbing in after her and they shared the same bench. Nick noticed that Claire sat closer that time. She was seducing him again, though she might not be aware of it herself. Nevertheless, he followed her lead and leaned closer to her, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder.
"How are you feeling? Your side. Tell me if you need to go home, I wouldn’t mind."
"No, no..." he was starting to say. Words used to come easy for the gentleman. In fact, his wit was one of his assets, but when he felt her soft lips touch the sensitive skin on his neck, he was shamefully reduced to a blabbering fool. "Bloody..." What was he going to say? Thankfully, she withdrew and instead leaned her head back on his shoulder.
"I would love for you to continue what you are doing," he teased, snaking am arm around her waist so she could pull get her closer against him. "If we're in a more private place. Perhaps later when we get home?" He winked at her.
Then she told him about her observation on the roughness of his hand and how she liked that it made him more masculine. He smiled at that, though ababsently, a different scene playing in his head. "Whose hands have you been holding before mine, hmmm? You tell me this as if you have held hands with some other gentlemen before."
And again she changed the subject, directing it to the topic of the masquerade ball that she was organizing. He was amused at the fantasy tale she had made up in her mind. It showed him a different side of Claire - the romantic, sensitive lady that was more common in London. "I'm not going to tell you what I plan to wear then. I don't expect you to reveal yours either. I like the idea of mystery and the thrill of hunting for my wife in a sea of masks and false faces. Howerver," he paused to plant a quick kiss on her head. "However, you must promise not to get mad if I fail to identify you. There's also the possibility of mistaking someone else as you. I'll try my best, but no promises."
Timothy, however, had not yet mentioned anything about attending a masquerade. Perhaps he had not yet received the invitation or maybe he intended to keep him out of the operation that time. "I haven't spoken with my cousin yet. But perhaps he has a"Claire, I'm sorry," he muttered.
Time passed as their carriage travelled the road towards th port that will take them to Greenwich. It was only when the carriage slowed down did Nick woke up. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes then looked outthe windthe window. "Here we are," he said to no one in particular. "Wait for me here," he told her then got out of the carriage. It just occurred to him that they didn't have any reservations so Nick did What he does best. He charmed & bribed his way to the next ferry to Greenwich.
When he returned to the carriage. he was grinning. ''I procured for us two roundtrip passes." Nick offered his arm out for her. "Shall we board the next ship, my lady?" He asked, immitating the gestures of a knight.
He followed his wife to the carriage, climbing in after her and they shared the same bench. Nick noticed that Claire sat closer that time. She was seducing him again, though she might not be aware of it herself. Nevertheless, he followed her lead and leaned closer to her, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder.
"How are you feeling? Your side. Tell me if you need to go home, I wouldn’t mind."
"No, no..." he was starting to say. Words used to come easy for the gentleman. In fact, his wit was one of his assets, but when he felt her soft lips touch the sensitive skin on his neck, he was shamefully reduced to a blabbering fool. "Bloody..." What was he going to say? Thankfully, she withdrew and instead leaned her head back on his shoulder.
"I would love for you to continue what you are doing," he teased, snaking am arm around her waist so she could pull get her closer against him. "If we're in a more private place. Perhaps later when we get home?" He winked at her.
Then she told him about her observation on the roughness of his hand and how she liked that it made him more masculine. He smiled at that, though ababsently, a different scene playing in his head. "Whose hands have you been holding before mine, hmmm? You tell me this as if you have held hands with some other gentlemen before."
And again she changed the subject, directing it to the topic of the masquerade ball that she was organizing. He was amused at the fantasy tale she had made up in her mind. It showed him a different side of Claire - the romantic, sensitive lady that was more common in London. "I'm not going to tell you what I plan to wear then. I don't expect you to reveal yours either. I like the idea of mystery and the thrill of hunting for my wife in a sea of masks and false faces. Howerver," he paused to plant a quick kiss on her head. "However, you must promise not to get mad if I fail to identify you. There's also the possibility of mistaking someone else as you. I'll try my best, but no promises."
Timothy, however, had not yet mentioned anything about attending a masquerade. Perhaps he had not yet received the invitation or maybe he intended to keep him out of the operation that time. "I haven't spoken with my cousin yet. But perhaps he has a"Claire, I'm sorry," he muttered.
Time passed as their carriage travelled the road towards th port that will take them to Greenwich. It was only when the carriage slowed down did Nick woke up. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes then looked outthe windthe window. "Here we are," he said to no one in particular. "Wait for me here," he told her then got out of the carriage. It just occurred to him that they didn't have any reservations so Nick did What he does best. He charmed & bribed his way to the next ferry to Greenwich.
When he returned to the carriage. he was grinning. ''I procured for us two roundtrip passes." Nick offered his arm out for her. "Shall we board the next ship, my lady?" He asked, immitating the gestures of a knight.
It was impossible to guess how much time had passed by because the sky was perpetually dark, but when the man who had been helping her – she learned that his name was Gilly – gently shook her awake, the camp was already breaking up. “Are you feeling alright, miss?” he asked, to which she nodded in response. He didn’t say anything more, and instead proceeded with his next task.
Ysabel checked herself. She was still breathing, which was a good sign, plus she wasn’t feeling nauseous anymore, but the cold to her was unbearable. Her body shook on intervals, and she clamped her teeth closed to stop them from chattering. She pulled her cloak tight around her and slowly got up. That was when she realized that she was wrong about the nausea. Instinctively, her gloved hand covered her mouth and she breathed long deep breaths.
The man she healed, Rannor, was already conscious. He had mounted a horse and was sitting with his back straight and an arm sling to limit the movements of his injury. She met his dark eyes, but his expression was unreadable, partly because of the beard that had grown thick. Was he thankful? Did they tell him how she got him healed?
Ysabel was guided to a horse by the Winter Children’s healer. “You are going to ride with me,” he declared in a tone of voice that wouldn’t honor any objection. “Greymount wanted the pleasure of riding with a woman, but both he and you in one horse will exhaust the animal. Besides,” he turned around and pushed back her hood. The cold wind bit on her skin sending shivers down her body. Ysabel immediately tugged it in place and hugged herself to conserve body heat. Whatever Derrin was about to say was lost.
“I – I’m n-n-n-ot feeling w-well,” she stammered. “Fever.”
Derrin shrugged and helped her up the horse. “We don’t have enough supplies,” he explained to her. “So you will have to wait until we are back in Cannor. Fevers are not uncommon and it is very unlikely that you will die because of it.” He smiled up at her then mounted. “It’s more likely that you might die on Greymount’s sword because of your impudent tongue and his infamous temper.”
He might have heard the short conversation she had with Greymount. However, before she could answer, Fraym gave the signal and the riders wasted no time and galloped into the night, leaving the three on foot.
*******
The riding party arrived at Cannor before the sun was up. It was a long hard ride without a pause, which made Ysabel feel sore. She had slept through most f the journey, allowing her body to shut down and rest as it fought against the infection in her bloodstream. This was the reason why she missed the view of Cannor from the mountain pass.
When she woke up again, the horses were already inside the gate and Derrin was nudging her. “If I were you, I will take advantage of the fatigue we older men are feeling right now and sleep as much as I can. At dawn, I predict that no matter how sick you are, you will…”
“Derrin,” Olivere called, walking towards them. As it seemed, Derrin and her were the last of the riders to arrive. Ysabel saw the Fraym was right behind Olivere. No matter what happened, they should not know about what really healed Rannor.
Derrin dismounted from his horse and helped her down. She was feeling a bit better, at least, she wasn’t dizzy and her head was a clearer. They were met by Olivere and Fraym. The others, including the intimidating Greymount had already dispersed, while the ones who were on foot were not yet expected to arrive any time soon. “We have prepared a room for you for the night,” said Fraym. “Sleep well. We will see you in the morning.”
She was dismissed just like that. Olivere and Derrin walked with her to the empty room, although it was a younger orphan who really led the way. The room was a simple square space with a single bed, a table and a closet. The window was high and narrow and the walls and floor were gray. It reminded her of a prison cell, except that it was clean and dry.
“Somebody will guard the door,” Derrin told her before leaving. “For your safety and to make sure you don’t run away. Have some rest.”
She was definitely a prisoner. They were just polite enough not to throw her in the dungeon, perhaps because of the favor she did for one of their brothers. But even thinking was exhausting her. She needed her strength that her passive magic was using up as it healed her body. Banishing all worries, she crawled to the bed and almost instantly fell asleep.
Ysabel checked herself. She was still breathing, which was a good sign, plus she wasn’t feeling nauseous anymore, but the cold to her was unbearable. Her body shook on intervals, and she clamped her teeth closed to stop them from chattering. She pulled her cloak tight around her and slowly got up. That was when she realized that she was wrong about the nausea. Instinctively, her gloved hand covered her mouth and she breathed long deep breaths.
The man she healed, Rannor, was already conscious. He had mounted a horse and was sitting with his back straight and an arm sling to limit the movements of his injury. She met his dark eyes, but his expression was unreadable, partly because of the beard that had grown thick. Was he thankful? Did they tell him how she got him healed?
Ysabel was guided to a horse by the Winter Children’s healer. “You are going to ride with me,” he declared in a tone of voice that wouldn’t honor any objection. “Greymount wanted the pleasure of riding with a woman, but both he and you in one horse will exhaust the animal. Besides,” he turned around and pushed back her hood. The cold wind bit on her skin sending shivers down her body. Ysabel immediately tugged it in place and hugged herself to conserve body heat. Whatever Derrin was about to say was lost.
“I – I’m n-n-n-ot feeling w-well,” she stammered. “Fever.”
Derrin shrugged and helped her up the horse. “We don’t have enough supplies,” he explained to her. “So you will have to wait until we are back in Cannor. Fevers are not uncommon and it is very unlikely that you will die because of it.” He smiled up at her then mounted. “It’s more likely that you might die on Greymount’s sword because of your impudent tongue and his infamous temper.”
He might have heard the short conversation she had with Greymount. However, before she could answer, Fraym gave the signal and the riders wasted no time and galloped into the night, leaving the three on foot.
*******
The riding party arrived at Cannor before the sun was up. It was a long hard ride without a pause, which made Ysabel feel sore. She had slept through most f the journey, allowing her body to shut down and rest as it fought against the infection in her bloodstream. This was the reason why she missed the view of Cannor from the mountain pass.
When she woke up again, the horses were already inside the gate and Derrin was nudging her. “If I were you, I will take advantage of the fatigue we older men are feeling right now and sleep as much as I can. At dawn, I predict that no matter how sick you are, you will…”
“Derrin,” Olivere called, walking towards them. As it seemed, Derrin and her were the last of the riders to arrive. Ysabel saw the Fraym was right behind Olivere. No matter what happened, they should not know about what really healed Rannor.
Derrin dismounted from his horse and helped her down. She was feeling a bit better, at least, she wasn’t dizzy and her head was a clearer. They were met by Olivere and Fraym. The others, including the intimidating Greymount had already dispersed, while the ones who were on foot were not yet expected to arrive any time soon. “We have prepared a room for you for the night,” said Fraym. “Sleep well. We will see you in the morning.”
She was dismissed just like that. Olivere and Derrin walked with her to the empty room, although it was a younger orphan who really led the way. The room was a simple square space with a single bed, a table and a closet. The window was high and narrow and the walls and floor were gray. It reminded her of a prison cell, except that it was clean and dry.
“Somebody will guard the door,” Derrin told her before leaving. “For your safety and to make sure you don’t run away. Have some rest.”
She was definitely a prisoner. They were just polite enough not to throw her in the dungeon, perhaps because of the favor she did for one of their brothers. But even thinking was exhausting her. She needed her strength that her passive magic was using up as it healed her body. Banishing all worries, she crawled to the bed and almost instantly fell asleep.
Nicholas was not surprised that she did follow him out of the shade of the tree, what surprised him was how gentle her voice sounded in his ears. That doesn’t count, you know,” she said as she stood beside him on the riverbank. Both their eyes were watching the gentle downstream flow of the water, not once straying to the other person’s face. ”I already won, no second chances.”
He didn’t comment, but soon felt her hand seeking the warmth of his, gently squeezing as if telling him that she understood. But she would never understand. The story he told her was a cliché, a story between two persons living in different worlds – star crossed, like Romeo and Juliet. In a way, they were like that, two characters from different worlds, but unlike the heroes and heroines in the story, neither of them loved the other.
“I have thought of you as a lot of things, Nicholas, but below me was never, not once, one of them. Is that it, then? You see me the way you do and put a wall between us because we simply don’t belong together?” Claire explained.
Nick nodded. He didn’t love her. This woman who sat by him when he was too sick to move, even after he pissed her off by disappearing for two weeks, he couldn’t love her. He was a total stranger and yet she cared for him as if he was her lover. She held on to him and told him her deepest secret and insecurity, but he could never bring himself to do the same. She was all sincerity and warmth, anger and laughter, but he was a fabricated shell with nothing but hollowness inside. In the end, it was not really that she was a high born lady and he was a commoner, it was that he was not really meant to be with her. Agents like him could not afford to be attached.
She was just a mystery to him, he decided. And perhaps once he had solved the mystery he would stop being curious about her. And after his curiosity was satisfied, then perhaps he would stop caring.
“I’m sorry. You were right…again, though I don’t enjoy admitting it. I will not judge and assume you want to leave the room as soon as I enter it. Forgive me? I'm new at this thing called marriage we have between us.”
Nick squeezed her hand. “I’m as new to this as you are,” he admitted. “But perhaps we could start by learning how to trust each other.”
Claire used her free hand to run over his hair. He was fond of the gesture that he thought he understood why puppies, no matter how excited they were, would be tamed once scratched at the side of the face or behind the ears. “ Tell me what you were going to say before. You were going on about contradicting yourself…I don’t understand, and it is important. You said you would be honest.”
He used his other hand to catch hers. Without breaking eye contact, he brushed his lips over her knuckles then let go. “I believe I have married a very smart lady,” he flashed her a lopsided smile. “You can figure it out yourself.”
What time was it? Nick put a hand in his pocket and brought up his pocket watch. It was only a quarter past three in the afternoon. They had so much time to spare before sunset and he promised Mr. Bennett that he and Claire would be out of sight until it was dark. Thankfully the effects of his hangover were fading or else he might find more reason to turn back home. “It’s too early to be heading back home,” he said thinking aloud and still holding her hand in his. “Have you been to the Royal Observatory?”
He started to guide her from the river and up to where their carriage waited for them. “I know somebody who will let us in to watch the stars tonight. If we leave now, we might be able to catch a ferry to Greenwich. Do you want to go there? Or perhaps do you prefer to go to London and shop. I haven’t taken you out shopping and I would like to learn your taste.” He shrugged. “As a reference for the future.”
He didn’t comment, but soon felt her hand seeking the warmth of his, gently squeezing as if telling him that she understood. But she would never understand. The story he told her was a cliché, a story between two persons living in different worlds – star crossed, like Romeo and Juliet. In a way, they were like that, two characters from different worlds, but unlike the heroes and heroines in the story, neither of them loved the other.
“I have thought of you as a lot of things, Nicholas, but below me was never, not once, one of them. Is that it, then? You see me the way you do and put a wall between us because we simply don’t belong together?” Claire explained.
Nick nodded. He didn’t love her. This woman who sat by him when he was too sick to move, even after he pissed her off by disappearing for two weeks, he couldn’t love her. He was a total stranger and yet she cared for him as if he was her lover. She held on to him and told him her deepest secret and insecurity, but he could never bring himself to do the same. She was all sincerity and warmth, anger and laughter, but he was a fabricated shell with nothing but hollowness inside. In the end, it was not really that she was a high born lady and he was a commoner, it was that he was not really meant to be with her. Agents like him could not afford to be attached.
She was just a mystery to him, he decided. And perhaps once he had solved the mystery he would stop being curious about her. And after his curiosity was satisfied, then perhaps he would stop caring.
“I’m sorry. You were right…again, though I don’t enjoy admitting it. I will not judge and assume you want to leave the room as soon as I enter it. Forgive me? I'm new at this thing called marriage we have between us.”
Nick squeezed her hand. “I’m as new to this as you are,” he admitted. “But perhaps we could start by learning how to trust each other.”
Claire used her free hand to run over his hair. He was fond of the gesture that he thought he understood why puppies, no matter how excited they were, would be tamed once scratched at the side of the face or behind the ears. “ Tell me what you were going to say before. You were going on about contradicting yourself…I don’t understand, and it is important. You said you would be honest.”
He used his other hand to catch hers. Without breaking eye contact, he brushed his lips over her knuckles then let go. “I believe I have married a very smart lady,” he flashed her a lopsided smile. “You can figure it out yourself.”
What time was it? Nick put a hand in his pocket and brought up his pocket watch. It was only a quarter past three in the afternoon. They had so much time to spare before sunset and he promised Mr. Bennett that he and Claire would be out of sight until it was dark. Thankfully the effects of his hangover were fading or else he might find more reason to turn back home. “It’s too early to be heading back home,” he said thinking aloud and still holding her hand in his. “Have you been to the Royal Observatory?”
He started to guide her from the river and up to where their carriage waited for them. “I know somebody who will let us in to watch the stars tonight. If we leave now, we might be able to catch a ferry to Greenwich. Do you want to go there? Or perhaps do you prefer to go to London and shop. I haven’t taken you out shopping and I would like to learn your taste.” He shrugged. “As a reference for the future.”
“Why would you not spare your time? Because you would not do it before, why would you now!”
He couldn’t believe he was arguing with Claire about it. What was it to him anyway if she thought he didn’t care about her? Nevertheless, the words escaped his mouth. “I already apologized. Would you have me beg for your forgiveness too?” He barked a humorless laugh then added, “Because I will.”
And they she licked those lips before she started recounting the wrongs he did her, which he thought were all very valid. Nicholas listened to her, keeping a passive face and then staring her in the eyes when she dared to look at him. He let her say everything she wanted to tell him – her impressions of him and his actions. All of it was true. He had been lying to her ever since they met. His goal was to earn her trust and keep her quietly at home while he run around London doing whatever it was that he had to do. Her feelings should not matter to him. It was her name that he wanted and he already earned it. Then why argue with her?
“Our first night together,” he said slowly as if watching the events of the night happening right before his yes. “Claire, I might have been a dear friend of the Farleys, but I am from the trade. I may be rich, but I don’t have even a single drop of the precious blood that runs in your veins. I am a commoner, Claire, and you are the daughter of a duke. No matter how hard I think about it, you and I just do not fit together in one picture.” He felt that it was still true even after they were already married. “I walked away before I got attached,” which, he thought was what he should be doing. He had done it countless times to a number of women whose tally he already lost count. “And you neglected me too after our engagement. Not even a note.” His smile was sad. “I had thought you were negotiating with your father on how to get out of the marriage and was thankful that you showed up at the altar. My angry, but terribly beautiful bride.”
“You continue to give kisses, but keep your hands to yourself with sweet words I feel you do not mean. After flirting that you do want more than that, of course, but make no move to prove otherwise. I want honesty, but all I feel is distance. So now I am putting up my own defenses. I would rather not expect much from you and be pleasantly surprised than expect what I want, what you say you will give, and be disappointed. So please. Please do not push me to dream of being loved again, because it hurt when it was proved to be a fantasy. Why are you doing this, aren’t things going well? If you believe I am wrong to doubt, that I should trust your charm and promises, and that children will one day come and we will smile in each other’s arms with whispers of ‘I love you”…then prove it. Give me a reason to have hope.”
She must have been lying to him as well if she was thinking of him the way she described it. All those smiles, those moments of laughter that made his heart feel light, the concern that dimmed her eyes back in the carriage when she learned that he was shot – all of it must be as unreal as the wall of lies he built around himself.
Nick was silent for a while as he watched the emotions play on her face. Claire must be unhappy with him. It might be just his ego, but Nick was not content that she was unhappy with him. To be honest, it bothered him that he felt that way towards this woman whose hat had blocked the sun from his face. And when he found his voice, he said very quietly, “I’m sorry that you feel that way about me – that I’m a charming liar who freely gives empty promises. I hope in the future that will change.” If there was a future for them. He sighed.
“I would like you and me to work, if not in a romantic way, then as friends. However, that will not happen unless you let go of your prejudices about me. I will be honest with you.” Nick sat up and leaned forward so they were at the same eye level. He touched her chin with a gloved finger and gently directed her face to look into his. “I do not like highborn ladies,” he confessed, barely speaking louder than a whisper. “I don’t like the way your kind look down on us with inferior bloodline. I don’t like that you are all spoiled girls whose ultimate goal was to be fashionably pale. I don’t like that your greatest achievement may be to marry the most eligible bachelor, preferably one with a title. I can go on and on on the things I don’t like about highborn ladies, but then I will only contradict myself because I --”
Nick hesitated. What was he doing? He immediately looked away and let her face go. “Never mind,” he covered his hesitation with a long, heavy sigh. “It’s not important.” And then he got up, picking up a random rock, and walked to the riverbank. The gentle breeze caressed his hair, but it was nothing compared to when Claire ran her fingers through it. He stood there for a while, absorbed in his own thoughts, then before his wife could walk up to him – if she planned on joining him – he bent his body, angled his arm to be parallel with the water, and with a quick flick of the wrist, released the stone. It bounced on the water, creating ripples, and did two more before it finally surrendered. He smiled absently at Thames.
He couldn’t believe he was arguing with Claire about it. What was it to him anyway if she thought he didn’t care about her? Nevertheless, the words escaped his mouth. “I already apologized. Would you have me beg for your forgiveness too?” He barked a humorless laugh then added, “Because I will.”
And they she licked those lips before she started recounting the wrongs he did her, which he thought were all very valid. Nicholas listened to her, keeping a passive face and then staring her in the eyes when she dared to look at him. He let her say everything she wanted to tell him – her impressions of him and his actions. All of it was true. He had been lying to her ever since they met. His goal was to earn her trust and keep her quietly at home while he run around London doing whatever it was that he had to do. Her feelings should not matter to him. It was her name that he wanted and he already earned it. Then why argue with her?
“Our first night together,” he said slowly as if watching the events of the night happening right before his yes. “Claire, I might have been a dear friend of the Farleys, but I am from the trade. I may be rich, but I don’t have even a single drop of the precious blood that runs in your veins. I am a commoner, Claire, and you are the daughter of a duke. No matter how hard I think about it, you and I just do not fit together in one picture.” He felt that it was still true even after they were already married. “I walked away before I got attached,” which, he thought was what he should be doing. He had done it countless times to a number of women whose tally he already lost count. “And you neglected me too after our engagement. Not even a note.” His smile was sad. “I had thought you were negotiating with your father on how to get out of the marriage and was thankful that you showed up at the altar. My angry, but terribly beautiful bride.”
“You continue to give kisses, but keep your hands to yourself with sweet words I feel you do not mean. After flirting that you do want more than that, of course, but make no move to prove otherwise. I want honesty, but all I feel is distance. So now I am putting up my own defenses. I would rather not expect much from you and be pleasantly surprised than expect what I want, what you say you will give, and be disappointed. So please. Please do not push me to dream of being loved again, because it hurt when it was proved to be a fantasy. Why are you doing this, aren’t things going well? If you believe I am wrong to doubt, that I should trust your charm and promises, and that children will one day come and we will smile in each other’s arms with whispers of ‘I love you”…then prove it. Give me a reason to have hope.”
She must have been lying to him as well if she was thinking of him the way she described it. All those smiles, those moments of laughter that made his heart feel light, the concern that dimmed her eyes back in the carriage when she learned that he was shot – all of it must be as unreal as the wall of lies he built around himself.
Nick was silent for a while as he watched the emotions play on her face. Claire must be unhappy with him. It might be just his ego, but Nick was not content that she was unhappy with him. To be honest, it bothered him that he felt that way towards this woman whose hat had blocked the sun from his face. And when he found his voice, he said very quietly, “I’m sorry that you feel that way about me – that I’m a charming liar who freely gives empty promises. I hope in the future that will change.” If there was a future for them. He sighed.
“I would like you and me to work, if not in a romantic way, then as friends. However, that will not happen unless you let go of your prejudices about me. I will be honest with you.” Nick sat up and leaned forward so they were at the same eye level. He touched her chin with a gloved finger and gently directed her face to look into his. “I do not like highborn ladies,” he confessed, barely speaking louder than a whisper. “I don’t like the way your kind look down on us with inferior bloodline. I don’t like that you are all spoiled girls whose ultimate goal was to be fashionably pale. I don’t like that your greatest achievement may be to marry the most eligible bachelor, preferably one with a title. I can go on and on on the things I don’t like about highborn ladies, but then I will only contradict myself because I --”
Nick hesitated. What was he doing? He immediately looked away and let her face go. “Never mind,” he covered his hesitation with a long, heavy sigh. “It’s not important.” And then he got up, picking up a random rock, and walked to the riverbank. The gentle breeze caressed his hair, but it was nothing compared to when Claire ran her fingers through it. He stood there for a while, absorbed in his own thoughts, then before his wife could walk up to him – if she planned on joining him – he bent his body, angled his arm to be parallel with the water, and with a quick flick of the wrist, released the stone. It bounced on the water, creating ripples, and did two more before it finally surrendered. He smiled absently at Thames.
Nicholas offered his hand to her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He smiled all the while as he led her closer to Thames, her reaction to him saying that he wanted ten children playing over and over again in his memory. The way her cheeks reddened at his suggestion, he wondered if it was anger, embarrassment, or utter surprise. Nevertheless, blushing was better and infinitely more normal than blanching upon the mention of ten children. If the latter happened, Nick couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t laugh at her.
He watched her bent down to pick a rock of her choice and prided in himself for choosing a fairly difficult task for the lady. Surely she didn’t have the time he had as a kid practicing to make rocks skip on water. Besides, Thames was not very calm that time of the day. Then again, a different kind of pride swelled in his chest when she took him up for the challenge. He was smiling when she said, “Soon you will be well enough to return to your work. I know I cannot keep you away forever, and our time together hasn’t been perfect, but I would like to request one thing.”
“What is it?” he asked, thinking perhaps she would ask him about his previous plan to sail away to France. Nick could not promise that they would be allowed after another person was already sent for the mission, but he could try to talk to Mr. Bennett.
”One day a week, you are mine. When I wake in the morning, you are still at my side. We can order breakfast in bed, and plan out our day together as we eat. After I steal a few kisses from you. We shall get up and do whatever it is that pleases us. Of course in a few years it may be multiple children jumping on the bed to get us up. We could go shopping together, or travel to Brighton and leave the next morning. Or perhaps all we want is to stay in that warm, cozy bed beneath the covers all morning.”
The silly grin slowly faded. Claire was serious. What he intended by suggesting a wager was to enlighten the mood. Nick realized, although he initially didn’t think he did, that he wanted to see the playfulness of the woman he married again, and not the worried, dull-eyed doll that London made up. That, he understood, was what set her apart from the other ladies. Claire was full of life. She was not afraid to say what she wanted to say and she joked with him even if their joking sometimes turned scandalous to others. After what happened that morning, he wanted to bring out that Claire.
He let her walk towards him. “All I ask is for one day a week. I do not even have to see you the rest, if that is what you wish. One day, Nicholas.” And he let the kiss be. Nick didn’t move, failed to react to her words and her tender gestures. What should he tell her? That he promised one day per week to spend with her? And then what? They would grow fond of each other until the day that he had to break her heart. He wasn’t certain if by then he would only be breaking hers, because…
Her rock leapt once, then twice, the sound muffled by a passing ship and her laughter. He turned to her, a mixture of surprise and happiness on his face. The happiness won over and he cheered with her, even if it meant he lost to the bet.
“Do you believe that? You didn’t think I could do it, did you?”
Nick laughed and placed his arm around her as she touched her still blushing cheeks. When she put her hands away, he leaned over and kissed her. “I never dreamt you could do it. I am so proud of you, Mrs. Rochford.” He laughed again, wanting to lift her up and spin her around, but he couldn’t. Not yet, at least, or else he might just crumple to the ground and bleed to death.
“I’d like to make a bet with you, now,” Claire proposed, her face a little more serious than before. ”If yours can go further than mine, more than two skips, you can take back what I just won. You can work as much as you like, no promises made.”
His grin instantly turned into a frown. She doubted his promises, that much was clear. He shouldn’t be offended because he never meant to keep those promises anyway, but he was offended by her silent accusation. It was the same accusation she made last night when they had their first ever fight – that he only married her for her title.
Nick looked away and sighed. He turned his body away from her then raked a hand through his hair before he picked up a rock. Without saying a word, he deliberately tossed it in an arc so it landed with a single plop only mere inches from the bank. “There you go,” he faked a smile, but chose not to look at her. “I lost again. Looks like the butterfly didn’t bring me luck.”
The sun was still high up in the sky. It would be a few hours more until sunset. “I feel tired, Claire. Can I lie down under the tree?” He walked her back to their blanket and waited for her to settle down. Nick was lying on his back, with his arm as a pillow while she sat beside him. Moments passed with both of them absorbed in their own thoughts, not minding to share with the other until Nick broke the silence. “Why do you doubt me so? Why did you have to think that I will not spare part of my time to spend with you? Have I done you wrong?” The questions were thrown into the air as he stared at the shifting patterns of the leaves. Without him knowing, it was James asking her the questions and not the spy. “What am I doing wrong, Claire? Tell me. Tell me why you have to give me a chance to win back the favor you won?”
Perhaps he had an idea why. Perhaps she could feel that only a few days into marriage, that she was not the center of his world, that his world revolved around his work. She would be correct in assuming so, but he didn't want that. He didn't want to make her feel bad that she married him.
He watched her bent down to pick a rock of her choice and prided in himself for choosing a fairly difficult task for the lady. Surely she didn’t have the time he had as a kid practicing to make rocks skip on water. Besides, Thames was not very calm that time of the day. Then again, a different kind of pride swelled in his chest when she took him up for the challenge. He was smiling when she said, “Soon you will be well enough to return to your work. I know I cannot keep you away forever, and our time together hasn’t been perfect, but I would like to request one thing.”
“What is it?” he asked, thinking perhaps she would ask him about his previous plan to sail away to France. Nick could not promise that they would be allowed after another person was already sent for the mission, but he could try to talk to Mr. Bennett.
”One day a week, you are mine. When I wake in the morning, you are still at my side. We can order breakfast in bed, and plan out our day together as we eat. After I steal a few kisses from you. We shall get up and do whatever it is that pleases us. Of course in a few years it may be multiple children jumping on the bed to get us up. We could go shopping together, or travel to Brighton and leave the next morning. Or perhaps all we want is to stay in that warm, cozy bed beneath the covers all morning.”
The silly grin slowly faded. Claire was serious. What he intended by suggesting a wager was to enlighten the mood. Nick realized, although he initially didn’t think he did, that he wanted to see the playfulness of the woman he married again, and not the worried, dull-eyed doll that London made up. That, he understood, was what set her apart from the other ladies. Claire was full of life. She was not afraid to say what she wanted to say and she joked with him even if their joking sometimes turned scandalous to others. After what happened that morning, he wanted to bring out that Claire.
He let her walk towards him. “All I ask is for one day a week. I do not even have to see you the rest, if that is what you wish. One day, Nicholas.” And he let the kiss be. Nick didn’t move, failed to react to her words and her tender gestures. What should he tell her? That he promised one day per week to spend with her? And then what? They would grow fond of each other until the day that he had to break her heart. He wasn’t certain if by then he would only be breaking hers, because…
Her rock leapt once, then twice, the sound muffled by a passing ship and her laughter. He turned to her, a mixture of surprise and happiness on his face. The happiness won over and he cheered with her, even if it meant he lost to the bet.
“Do you believe that? You didn’t think I could do it, did you?”
Nick laughed and placed his arm around her as she touched her still blushing cheeks. When she put her hands away, he leaned over and kissed her. “I never dreamt you could do it. I am so proud of you, Mrs. Rochford.” He laughed again, wanting to lift her up and spin her around, but he couldn’t. Not yet, at least, or else he might just crumple to the ground and bleed to death.
“I’d like to make a bet with you, now,” Claire proposed, her face a little more serious than before. ”If yours can go further than mine, more than two skips, you can take back what I just won. You can work as much as you like, no promises made.”
His grin instantly turned into a frown. She doubted his promises, that much was clear. He shouldn’t be offended because he never meant to keep those promises anyway, but he was offended by her silent accusation. It was the same accusation she made last night when they had their first ever fight – that he only married her for her title.
Nick looked away and sighed. He turned his body away from her then raked a hand through his hair before he picked up a rock. Without saying a word, he deliberately tossed it in an arc so it landed with a single plop only mere inches from the bank. “There you go,” he faked a smile, but chose not to look at her. “I lost again. Looks like the butterfly didn’t bring me luck.”
The sun was still high up in the sky. It would be a few hours more until sunset. “I feel tired, Claire. Can I lie down under the tree?” He walked her back to their blanket and waited for her to settle down. Nick was lying on his back, with his arm as a pillow while she sat beside him. Moments passed with both of them absorbed in their own thoughts, not minding to share with the other until Nick broke the silence. “Why do you doubt me so? Why did you have to think that I will not spare part of my time to spend with you? Have I done you wrong?” The questions were thrown into the air as he stared at the shifting patterns of the leaves. Without him knowing, it was James asking her the questions and not the spy. “What am I doing wrong, Claire? Tell me. Tell me why you have to give me a chance to win back the favor you won?”
Perhaps he had an idea why. Perhaps she could feel that only a few days into marriage, that she was not the center of his world, that his world revolved around his work. She would be correct in assuming so, but he didn't want that. He didn't want to make her feel bad that she married him.
It might be because she was hiding behind the pretense that she was normal, but Ysabel had always found it difficult to trust a person. Even if it was the person who she owed her life to. This was just the way she was raised by people who were not her real parents.
“With all due respect,” Ysabel turned her attention to Fraym, she fought to keep her voice even. “I find no reason to trust you entirely. The information I have – the information which you wish to acquire – is mine to use as I please. And right now, with your men outnumbering me, I have this piece of information to trade for my safety.”
Greymount barked a humorless laugh. His eyes caught the light from the fire making the hazel spark like gold. His beard covered most of the bottom half of his face, but was unable to diminish the sharp lines of his features. His cheekbones, for example, were high and pronounced, especially when he grinned like an evil mastermind. “Such high spirits for a small creature. It will be fun to break you,” he mused then snapped his head towards Roran’s direction. “You, boy.” Greymount commanded his attention. “Have you nothing better to do than stand here all night?”
“Don’t pick on the young ones, Greymount. You are certainly jealous of their youth,” Fraym cut in. “I understand your concern –“
“Ysabel.”
“Ysabel. However, I am the one assuring your safety among my brothers. Not a hair on your head shall be touched.”
Even promises didn’t work for her. She was more at east in situations which she could control and that night was not one of those situations. There may be something they wanted from her, but what was to stop them if they wanted to abandon her in the middle of the road or worse kill her, because she was someone who would offend the king. The blonde was correct, she was not safe around these men.
“The storm has cleared all of a sudden,” Fraym said, looking up at the night sky. “Makes me believe that the gods are making a return.” Even the winds had calmed down. Ysabel noticed it for the first time just as a wave of nausea washed over her. She swayed on her feet, but managed to keep her balance, cursing herself and her series of bad decisions. She felt lightheaded, and cold, colder than when the storm was raging on, and decided that her body was already feeling the effects of the Warg’s infection.
“May I leave you three men alone? I feel tired.” Ysabel walked back towards the rook, where the others stopped their animated conversations as she came close. Eyes followed her every move, she could feel their curiosity through their stares. They all wanted to hear how she managed to cure Rannor. This was what she was warned against. She was not supposed to use her powers outside her group – the group that had all been left dead in the snow. She pretended not to notice them and went to sit against the wall near Rannor, closed her eyes, and asked for sleep to come and take her.
“With all due respect,” Ysabel turned her attention to Fraym, she fought to keep her voice even. “I find no reason to trust you entirely. The information I have – the information which you wish to acquire – is mine to use as I please. And right now, with your men outnumbering me, I have this piece of information to trade for my safety.”
Greymount barked a humorless laugh. His eyes caught the light from the fire making the hazel spark like gold. His beard covered most of the bottom half of his face, but was unable to diminish the sharp lines of his features. His cheekbones, for example, were high and pronounced, especially when he grinned like an evil mastermind. “Such high spirits for a small creature. It will be fun to break you,” he mused then snapped his head towards Roran’s direction. “You, boy.” Greymount commanded his attention. “Have you nothing better to do than stand here all night?”
“Don’t pick on the young ones, Greymount. You are certainly jealous of their youth,” Fraym cut in. “I understand your concern –“
“Ysabel.”
“Ysabel. However, I am the one assuring your safety among my brothers. Not a hair on your head shall be touched.”
Even promises didn’t work for her. She was more at east in situations which she could control and that night was not one of those situations. There may be something they wanted from her, but what was to stop them if they wanted to abandon her in the middle of the road or worse kill her, because she was someone who would offend the king. The blonde was correct, she was not safe around these men.
“The storm has cleared all of a sudden,” Fraym said, looking up at the night sky. “Makes me believe that the gods are making a return.” Even the winds had calmed down. Ysabel noticed it for the first time just as a wave of nausea washed over her. She swayed on her feet, but managed to keep her balance, cursing herself and her series of bad decisions. She felt lightheaded, and cold, colder than when the storm was raging on, and decided that her body was already feeling the effects of the Warg’s infection.
“May I leave you three men alone? I feel tired.” Ysabel walked back towards the rook, where the others stopped their animated conversations as she came close. Eyes followed her every move, she could feel their curiosity through their stares. They all wanted to hear how she managed to cure Rannor. This was what she was warned against. She was not supposed to use her powers outside her group – the group that had all been left dead in the snow. She pretended not to notice them and went to sit against the wall near Rannor, closed her eyes, and asked for sleep to come and take her.
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