I'm not sure at all about this fic. It is Guy centered, starring only Guy, and set in the past. I think it may be a bit boring, but I'm posting it anyway. Perhaps someone will like it. It is not Guy romantic and doesn't ship Guy/Marian.
A father's sin – Guy's tale
York, 1190
"Miller's road?"
The carriage hit a bump in the road and jerked to the side, making Guy's elbow hit the wall with a tingling pain radiating up his arm as a result.
"What?" he sneered in response to the driver's question. The landscape outside the window was rural, out of the deepest wilderness but still far from York.
"Or was it Mason's road?" the driver yelled back to his grumpy passenger.
"No," Guy sighed. "No, it's Miller's road. I told you before! Pay attention."
"Well, I'm not familiar with York you see," the driver started to ramble in a jovial tone. He had to shout to be heard back to the carriage and thus his voice came in slightly muffled bursts. "Born and raised in Nottingham I am. Mine mother, God bless 'er, is born and raised in Nottingham—Mi dad too. Have all mi brothers and sisters there. Yup, Nottinghamers all of us. No reason to go to York really - not with all them northerners everywhere."
Guy gave out a short snorting laughter at the notion of northerners and rubbed his sore elbow.
"Peasants," he jeered at the driver. "You think everything north of Nottinghamshire is Scottish wilderness."
"Ay, that may be so, Sir," the driver chuckled. "Not one to take offence I am. No shame in being poor." He started to whistle and Guy leaned back in the seat, watching the landscape shake by as the carriage jolted forward on the bumpy road. No shame in being poor. How odd that he would choose those words, just like someone else had done all those years ago. He knew it now more than ever to be a lie. When you were born into a certain position – a position that expected you to be well off - then poverty was a mental spell in the stocks, although one that could not simply end once the crime was repented.
Men like Guy were donkeys under their name; it had to be carried even when it was scorned and ridiculed. Humanity still suffered under the crimes of Eve and men were crafted after God's image. Thus there was no escaping all the Eves of your family, not as long as their legacy was visible. It was in the eyes of commoners and noblemen, judging you not for the mistakes you made but the mistakes of your fathers. His father, Sir Godric. A proud man, hard and callous but strong even faced with the demise of his fame and fortune. York was the scene of his final days. When Guy had left it behind he had left it with his heart filled with ambition, following the road to London with his mother like a pale ghost by his side. He had wished to throw her off the cart, to leave her with the remnants of his old life, and she received his scorn with her normal meekness. In the folly of his youth he had believed that history could be escaped simply by taking the straightest road out of York. Yet history was like a shadow. Only a fool would try to shake it off.
Guy leaned out and saw the city walls at the end of the road, the same familiar silhouette. He knew every turf here, every street and every house, every shabby brothel and every dusky tavern. This used to be his home and he hated it. His family's guilt and shame was buried here. Yet he had not returned for history; it was the future that pulled him back. There were mistakes of your fathers and mistakes that you only had yourself to blame for. The latter kind could be repented. Within these walls Guy had unresolved matters, and 1190 was Gisbourne's year. He had a fortune once again. Some foolish young nobleman had left his home for the crusades and thus Guy was no longer doomed to pitiful landlessness. He had committed crimes to get to where he was and in truth he didn't always sleep well. Time had come to set the future straight, and it had to be done in York.
York, 1176
"There is no shame in being poor."
Guy turned to the female shape that lay sprawled over the bed, her thin limbs white and frail against the coarse linen sheets but her face slightly flustered. The round cheeks gave Linnet the Miller's daughter a rather childish appearance, yet the roundness had always been part of her attraction. Everything about her was soft. The skin seemed velvety and her lips were big and inviting; her eyes a bit bulging and seemed constantly surprised under the perfectly arched eyebrows. He put a hand on her naked abdomen and gave it an absentminded stroke, feeling the muscles contract under his touch. A chirping laughter escaped her and the round face was split by a smile.
"Guy! You're tickling me!" she giggled and grabbed hold of his hand. Her arms didn't have much strength, so frail he could crush them with one squeeze. Her skin was milk and her lips were honey, and even though the eyes sparkled with something that would mature into intelligence she was still too young to use it properly. How old? Fifteen, she had told him when they met. Linnet the Miller's daughter - fifteen years old and pure like snow. It only took Guy one look to know that he wanted to penetrate all her defences; it took him no more than two looks to know that he could.
There had been a faint trace of malice in the attraction, not merely the natural wish to conquer her youthful innocence, but something else. It was because of who she was and what she represented. Linnet was the daughter of Thomas Miller, the commoner who owned the house where the Gisbournes now lived. They rented three airy rooms on top of the Miller's accommodations, dusty rooms crammed with sun bleached tapestries and heavy furniture that stood like ghosts from a different time. Thus this girl appeared like a symbol of how far his family had fallen. She was no one and still had more money than the Gisbournes.
The pang of resentment made Guy feel slightly stiff when he let his hand rest against her tummy and grazed the t-formed crater that was her navel with his thumb. It would be a lie to say that he didn't feel for her. Even when his heart swelled with mean triumph the first time he lead her to this bed he had no wish to hurt her. She was a sweet girl, one that spurred a rare sensation of tenderness in young Guy. He knew that she lay with him that first time to comfort him, her eyes filled with care and empathy as she let herself melt into his embrace. It was the night after Guy's father passed away. It is no shame to be poor, she responded to Guy's bitter ramblings that time as well. Was it not? His father was a nobleman and he died in a room that was rented by a commoner. What did this girl know about shame? She was so young when he kissed her innocence away and drew a gasp from her lips as her virginity stained the sheets. The first time was always the most difficult one. After that her defences were down, and all it took was her pity and a passionate 'I love you' whispered into her ear. Cautiously he bent down to press his lips against her tummy and she started to giggle again as his stubble tickled her sensitive skin.
"Guy!" she chastised him jokingly, but then she withdrew and pulled a tunic over her head. "It seems I cannot be naked and talk to you at the same time. I do mean what I said, Guy. It is no shame to be poor."
Guy snorted and felt another swift wave of resentment towards her. She had no right to tell him that, not she who lived under better circumstances than she could possibly expect from life. How could she understand how it was to carry your name like a burden? To lay with a man was not enough to gain insight into his soul, and yet she treated him as if she held the key to his salvation.
"Guy," she continued cautiously and he frowned. What was the problem with her today? She seemed so serious. "I do have something I have been meaning to talk to you about."
"Really," Guy frowned with a pang overwhelming awe striking down over him.
"Yes—I—we have been together for some time now."
"Yes?"
"And I have been patient I think."
Guy sighed when he suddenly realised what was about to come. "Linnet we have discussed this," he responded and put a comforting hand on her rosy cheek. "I have no money, nothing to offer you."
"Yes, but there is no shame in being poor! With my dowry, we could make a life for ourselves. We would have my father's house when he passes."
"I cannot live like that!"
"But you must!"
Guy stared at her, shocked by the rare outburst of emotion. It was unusual for her; she was not one to plead or give in to desperation. Yet she did, and there was something that resembled fear in the way she threw the words at him.
"Why must I?" he frowned and scrutinised her features. Why so awkward Linnet? What is it you're not telling me?
"I—forgive me my love," she smiled and grabbed his hand, big and dark against her milky fingers. "Believe me when I say there is a reason for this hurry. You know I am always patient, but this month and the last—I have not bled."
The last sentence plummeted like a stone into the conversation, instantly enveloped by a silence that was tense and thick like tar. Guy felt a lump build up in his throat; the air seemed so stifling all of a sudden; her touch a prison and her pleading eyes a chain to weigh him down.
"What?" Guy hissed and pulled back his hand that had been resting in her lap.
"I am with child," she murmured. "Your child Guy. Our child."
Guy rose so fast that the bed was shuffled back and scraped the floorboards. He buried his face in his hands and walked across the room; from the door to the window and back again in a restless pacing. His feet drummed against the floor and his breathing was laboured as he took deep breaths to not panic, forcing himself to think about her revelation. It should hardly be considered a surprise. Gisbournes were virile men, his father had said that more then once as he bragged about his conquests and the bastards he had fathered all over England. You paid them off; that was how it was done. Spread your seed and give them some pennies when you have rendered them useless as lovers. A pang of guilt went through Guy but he forced it down, telling himself that it was irrational. This was the oldest story in the world after all. There was nothing much to it at all.
"You understand," came Linnet's voice form the bed and he turned towards her swollen face. Her tone was hesitating and pathetic, unsure how to tackle his reaction, and Guy felt a wave of resentment towards her for making the guilt worse. "You understand now why we have to get married?"
"Married!?" Guy exclaimed and stared at her. "I cannot marry you!"
"But I know you have no money! It doesn't matter!" she cried. Her chest was heaving in fast, trembling breaths under the tunic and Guy lowered his head to avoid her face. That look in her eyes was so forlorn, so shocked. Marry her!? Surely she did not expect that? In spite of himself Guy heard a scornful laughter escape his lips.
"Do not be ridiculous," he jeered. "My lack of money is hardly the problem!"
The surprise made her young face ugly. Her eyes that always looked a bit stunned seemed unnatural when she opened them wide in shock and her jaw had dropped. Had she actually expected that he would marry her? It was the oldest story in the world and she hadn't read through the script. Her dreams and high expectations spoke louder than reason.
"But," she stammered and the big lip started to tremble in restrained sobs. "What is the problem then?"
"You!" Guy exclaimed. "Your station in life! You are a miller's daughter!"
He threw out the last sentence at her, as if the fact that her father was a commoner was a curse. She pressed her lips together and stood up to face him, following him around the room while she scrambled for the right words. Finally he stopped with his back against the wall and met her gaze, teary eyes that looked confused and accusing.
"Then you will not marry me?" she asked and Guy shook his head.
"I am sorry," he murmured. "You are the last woman I could marry. I thought that was understood. It is not you—or me. It is this world."
He watched in silence as she took this in, forced herself to face reality as it revealed itself to her and shattered all her dreams and expectations. Head bent down, chest heaving in breaths that were sharper and faster with every inhalation, hands rolled into little balls of fury. A vertical wrinkle creased Linnet's forehead like a cleft between the brows as she gave in to the rage. She hated him. Hated him the way only lovers hate; devoured by bitterness that made her disgusted with humanity and this foul word she inhabited.
"How could you do this?" she yelled as she finally let out the rush of emotions. "I trusted you, I trusted you!"
Her hands were knit into two white fists and she drummed them against Guy's chest, first in a rapid chaos like a hard rain, then the both hands seemed to fall into the same beat. She slowed down and put all her force into the pounding, her little body rocked like a weather vane as if she needed to push her entire being into every beat. Then Guy could feel her getting increasingly tired; she slowed down and stared shaking with uncontrollable sobs. He had been standing like a statue trough all of this, now he closed his hands around her wrists and removed them. He was forceful yet not violent, but in spite of that his way of shuffling her away as if she was a minor nuisance was so callous that it shook the ground beneath her feet.
"It is enough," he snapped and watched her with a feeling of disgust that took him by surprise. She was so pathetic, so weak when she handed over all her pride. He pulse fluttered against his palm, fast like the tiny heart of a bird or a rodent, but she had stopped the futile beating and screaming. "What were you expecting?" he continued while he tried to see the woman he had loved once in this trembling wreck. "That we would live happily ever after? I am born into a certain position!"
"What position?!" she scoffed and tilted her teary red face towards him. "What position!? You have nothing but a name! Your father has lost everything and you still think that you are superior? My father owns the house you live in. He owns it! You own nothing and I am still not good enough for you!?"
Guy's hand lashed out so fast he hardly had time to record the movement before there was a burning sensation in his palm, and her shrill scream cut trough the room. She had shied away from him, her hand cupping the aching cheek in wide-eyed shock.
"You hit me," she breathed.
"I am sorry. You were out of line but that was an unnecessary reaction."
She snorted, then walked over to the bed and seemed to collapse down on it as if there were no strength left to keep herself upright. Her back was bent into a dejected curve and Guy could see the ragged line of her spine under the tunic; the hair draped down like a curtain and concealed most of the teary face.
"You have destroyed my life," she breathed with her eyes aimed at the floorboards. This was a tavern, not even her home. Her heart was broken in a shabby tavern. The sheets were stained with God knows what – blood and ale and other human fluids – and there were whores in the adjoining rooms. When it was silent between them as it was now she could hear muffled moans and yelps, and she recalled how they had laughed at that on earlier visits. Those women, what was all the noise about? Had they no shame? There was a row of low thuds as a bed was thrust into the wall in the next room and Linnet felt her head was aching in the same beat.
"The child will be provided for," Guy finally mumbled in response. "You will receive economic support to the best of my abilities."
"You have destroyed my life!" she repeated and gave him a steady look. The words came one by one as if she tried to force him to understand them, but his eyes avoided her figure as if she was slippery to look at.
"You have a free will. I never forced you into anything," he sighed while he pulled the black gloves over his hands. His fingers were white and slender and with a sudden pang Linnet realised that she still craved their touch; yearned for it even. Minutes ago he had let those fingers tickle her abdomen with featherlike strokes and now he hid them under tough, creaking leather. Was it all a smokescreen? A fancy charade; a charming charlatan; a scam; a sham!
She had never hated anyone with such passion, and it still took all her strength not to fall down on her knees and beg him to come back. 'Don't go!' she wanted to scream, 'I will do anything! I will be yours slave, your whore! I will do anything, anything, anything!'
Yet in the end it wasn't common sense or pride that stopped her from such degrading behaviour; it was the fact that she knew him. It would never work to beg. He was lost, and because of that so was she. The only possible salvation for her had been his hand in marriage; when he deprived her that he deprived her life. It had never occurred to her that he might reject her. He was her Guy; he wasn't a cruel man! Yet his actions on this day were cruel, so cruel that they doomed her. From this day forward she was half a human at best, forever fallen in the eyes of society. His love had shredded her to pieces. Linnet put her hand on her abdomen and suffocated the tears, wordlessly considering her situation. She would have to tell her father, stand straight as he poured his disappointment at her. There would be rage and pain and disdain. Then her belly would grow and the community would slowly realise; pity her and scorn her in turns. Ay, 'n 'ave you seen poor Miller's lass? Bigger than them new church bells she is. Everyone would know. Her father could give her house arrest, say that she had taken ill, but they would know anyway. The community always knew everything. She wouldn't be surprised if they had the flies on the walls spying for them.
She let her eyes dart over her lover's figure as the thuds from the next room became faster and faster until they stopped completely. Guy still had a thin nose, pale skin and slightly greasy hair. He still had eyes that begged for understanding, thin lips that put her skin on fire. He still had a broad chest that her curls had sprawled across night after night, finely tuned muscles on the arms that had grabbed her and torn her from her senses. He was hers. He would never be hers again. Guy looked detached where he stood, a bit embarrassed yet not as awkward as he had been earlier. Instead there was a sensation of contempt that radiated from him in an ever growing current.
"Will you tell me something?" she murmured. "I do think you owe me as much."
"All this talk and you still feel you have not talked enough?" he sneered impatiently and the coldness in his response made her cringe.
"Did you ever love me?" she insisted. "You said you did. Again and again, and I gave you everything!"
"I said I did. I do not lie, you know that."
"No… No, I do not think I know you at all. This is not you, this is—this is someone else." This is your father. This is who they made you.
"The feeling is mutual," Guy disparaged and she felt her lip treble uncontrollably again. No! Not more tears!
"But you did," she sobbed with a voice that was strained and hoarse. Her throat seemed to be cramping from restrained tears and she knew when she looked at him that he felt as sick of her tears as she did herself. "You did love me then?"
"In the beginning, yes."
"Then how can you be so cold?! You must be freezing under your skin! Is it so easy for you to just use and discard people?!"
Her voice was so shrill when she yelled at him, her face wrinkled and red under the tears. Guy tried to bite back the scorn, reminding himself that he hadn't done her any favours. She had a certain right to be angry, although it made her ugly. It was the irony of it all. He had imagined that breaking with her would be difficult but instead he found himself increasingly appalled by her. The more she tried to pull him closer the further she pushed him away. He should be grateful that she made it so easy.
Her female shapes still woke the urge in Guy's young body, but the desire to protect and care for her was gone. Odd how fast it had happened. Perhaps she was right, perhaps it was easy fro him to use and discard people. Yet then again, perhaps it was just easy to use and discard her. He could not allow himself to see Guy of Gisbourne trough her eyes. She was a woman scorned, and thus also irrational and foolish. He picked up his belt and strapped it around his waist, hearing the pouch make a pathetic clinging noise from the few coins. After a moment of hesitation he opened it and tossed them down on the bed beside her. They stood for a while and stared at the silver against the dishevelled linen sheets; her crying disrupted by shock or resigned bitterness. He had meant it well but not even the young Sir Guy was so callous and blind towards her emotions that he didn't feel a wave of shame. When he had met her she had been a respectable young woman, and now that he left her he paid her off like a whore.
"All I have for now," he murmured.
"Oh."
That was her only response, and in a shared moment of insight they both knew that there was nothing more to say. He didn't look back as he closed the door behind him.
York, 1190
The carriage jerked again and Guy shouted at the driver to take it easy. This road was as bad today - fourteen years later - as it was when he first left this place for London. It was the rain that did it. The earth here turned into sucking mud when it was wet, and when it dried out the furrows from the wheels and craters from trampling feet and hooves remained.
"Miller's street?" the driver shouted again and Guy hissed back a sharp 'What?'
"We're 'ere Sir. Miller's street, but are you sure this is where m'lord is headin'? Sorry mess of a place if you ask me."
Guy looked out of a window and cringed at the sight that met him. Yes, this was where he was heading. The place looked eerily familiar, yet different from how he remembered it. The house where his father had lived his last years remained one floor higher than the rest, but it seemed to have collapsed like the body of an old wench. The wood in the beams was dry and rotten and the once white veneer had cracked and taken on the same colour as privy waste. The roof had holes that weren't even patched up to resist the rain, but rather opened like wounds that had bled out. No one could possibly live on the top floor, and that insight was supported by the fact that the windows to his old room looked empty and dead. She still lived here; he had made inquiries to make sure he did not come in vain.
It was a girl, this child of his. Linnet had named her Jaqueline after Lady Gisbourne, a gesture that was filled with sarcasm and open scorn even though that detail completely had passed Guy's mother by. She had visited Linnet when the child was born and it still surprised Guy how completely ignorant his mother had been about life. Guy she named the wee one Jaqueline! Isn't that lovely!? Lovely indeed. Guy gave out a snorting laughter and frowned at the building. How far he had come form this! His family name so close to being restored finally. No, he did not regret that he left Linnet, but he had not handled the matter with much dignity.
Guy's boot sunk down into the mud when he stepped out of the carriage and walked into the fallen house. A fallen house; a fallen family; a fallen woman. Everything in this story fell. Guy looked around the dusky main room that smelled stale and rotten; the walls damp even though the old top floor worked reasonably well as a roof.
"Hello," he grunted and a woman emanated from the kitchen. She stopped when she saw him, stared with eyes that still were big and bulging but no longer pretty. The years hadn't treated Linnet kindly. She wasn't fat as he had half expected, but instead seemed almost emaciated as if she had shrunk into next to nothing. It made her eyes look grotesque, far too big in the face that was bitter and hollow. Like an insect. It seemed like she had held on to the frown that Guy had left her with, because there was an ugly cleft in her forehead that parted her eyebrows. The lips were still big but he no longer found them inviting.
"You," she murmured. "Very well, if you think you can afford me."
Guy frowned as he mused over her manner of greeting him. It was slightly hostile yet the strongest sensation was fatigue, as if she had resigned to life long ago. She moved the bony hands up to her head cloth and untied it as she walked over top him, letting the curls fall down over her shoulders. It surprised him to see that they still had some of their shine from her youth.
"You don't get free rides, in spite of our history," she scoffed when she had reached him and put her hand on his chest, moving it down with one slow stroke. "Yet I think perhaps you have not come for my bed. Have you?"
"No," Guy grunted in response and caught her wrist as her fingers reached his abdomen, shuffling it away from him.
"No," she repeated with a sarcastic smirk. "You have aged better than me. I look much like this house don't you think? We have fallen together, Linnet the Miller's wench of a daughter and these walls."
Guy looked around and raised an eyebrow at her. She had not aged well at all, but where there had been ignorance once there was a bitter intelligence now.
"You got the house?" he said and started to pace around the room. "No one to claim it when your father died?"
"My cousin," she sighed. "Then he drank himself silly and drowned in a ditch one night. They said the house was cursed, you know how people are. Their judgement bites like an adder."
His eyes fell on her again. She stood with her arms folded; the back a bit arched much like she had moved during the pregnancy. He had only seen her from afar back then, watched her swelling body rock as she walked to the well with her head bent down in shame.
"Quite a family you got," Guy smirked.
"I could say the same to you."
"What do you mean?" Guy frowned. "You did not know my family."
"I knew of them. I knew you," she scoffed. "However that is not what I was referring to. So, why have you come, Sir Gisbourne? I thought you were too high and mighty for common lasses these days. Rumours of your recent fortune have reached York."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed," she repeated. "People are surprised. They expected you to suffocate in your own pride."
Guy snorted. "People talk," he murmured. "But it is true. I have had—recent success. My fortune is well on the way to being restored. There is no shame in being a Gisbourne these days. My father would be proud."
"And your mother?"
"My mother did not know there was never a reason not to be proud," Guy smirked at the memory of his mother. "She could have lived her last days in the gutter and still be sewing little garments for future grandchildren."
"Ay, she was a sweet woman."
"She was an idiot," Guy scoffed.
"She made a little gown for Jaqueline, did you know that?"
Guy cringed at the memory of the dress Lady Gisbourne had sewn before she went to meet her grandchild the one and only time. Yes, he did remember it. The fine green wool from Flanders had cost a fortune and she had ruined it with her crude stitches, half blind as she was. She was a ghost when her husband lived, beaten and subdued, but when he died she melted away like snow under a hot spring sun. He had no fond memories of her, only the disdain his father had planted in his young mind. As long as he had been able to walk he had felt no respect for his mother, and she had done nothing to impose her authority on him. You did not raise a child with whiny pleads to his continence, especially not when the father did his best to erase that conscience.
"Yes," he grunted. "Sorry about that. Her vision was very poor and she had constant aches in her hands. Or so she claimed." He looked around the room again as if he searched for something. It was in a mess. Guy had left most of the rubbish his family had gathered over the years and now this room was filled with old Gisbourne junk. Noble junk once upon a time, but the tapestries were bleached and frayed and the furniture was broken. It looked like a bizarre memorial over times passed, yet wore the imprint of its current inhabitants. They were like crows collecting pearls and pieced of cloth for a nest of twigs. Linnet seemed to simply toss things where there was room, so some of the chairs were hidden under piles of cloth in too many colours. She followed his gaze and gave out a strangely girlish giggle, moving her hand to her mouth.
"Do you like my humble abode?" she smiled. "It is a mess is it not? I am sorry; Jaqueline throws things all over the place."
"These are her gowns?" Guy frowned. He had to do something about his daughters taste if he was to market her as his daughter. The thought forced him to address the reason to his visit, momentarily forgotten in the overwhelming weight of history. "Jackie," he said and looked at Linnet. "She is the reason for my visit."
"Jackie? Oh, we always use her full name. It sounds very fancy don't you think?"
"Jaqueline was my mother," Guy sneered, not deaf the scorn that tainted the name when Linnet uttered it. "But it does not matter for now. As I said, I have had some success recently. This success has left me with resources that I lacked fourteen years ago. There are things back then that I have no pride in. Things that should have been done differently."
Linnet's eyebrows raised into two sarcastic arches. "Go on," she smiled.
"We cannot change history but we can alter the future. I wish to take on my daughter. She will be taken back to my manor - live like a lady. I will have to work on her manners, I am sure, but in time she will be married according to her birthright. She will be married like a Gisbourne."
Guy realised that his speech had sounded almost solemn and he cleared his throat, meeting Linnet's eyes and expecting gratitude to stare back at him. Instead her face was filled with amusement; a bit malicious behind the look of unbound glee.
"You want to take on Jaqueline?" she smirked.
"She is my daughter."
"So she is. Well, then why don't we go to meet with her? She is in the tavern next door."
Guy couldn't cow the feeling of awe as he followed Linnet, her steps light even as they were sucked deep into the muddy street. She seemed—spiteful. Yes, that was the word. Spiteful triumph. Why? There came a burst of laughter from the tavern as Guy ducked into the opened doorway and felt the smoky air sting his eyes.
"She likes this place," Linnet said and stopped where they could see the entire room. "I always tell her it is because she was conceived in a place just like this. Perhaps she feels at home."
"Where is she?" Guy hissed. "And I wish you wouldn't tell her things like that. It is not good for a young lady's bearing."
Linnet laughed and nodded at a big table in the middle of the room. "That is her."
There was only one woman at the table, but she was the focus of the entire party. She was the breadcrumb that the ducks were drawn to in the pond, the magnet that pulled the iron to her body, and Guy could see why. Her mother's lips looked like a rosebud in the round face, yet her features were more refined and the raven black hair made the blue eyes seem almost ethereal. Pride swelled in his chest as he felt himself struck by her beauty, another duck blindly following the breadcrumb. Then he forced himself out of the trance and let his eyes graze over her company. Those men had hungry eyes, eyes filled with raw craving but also something that looked a bit too much like scorn. She was sitting in a man's lap, he realised, and in one terrifying moment it occurred to him that she might not be as pure as she looked.
"What is she doing?" he exclaimed and turned to Linnet who had a rather smug smile in her face. "Do you let her socialise with men like that!? It seems I should have come here sooner!"
"Ay," Linnet responded with a triumphant laughter. "So you should. Jaqueline!"
The girl looked up and gave her mother a beaming smile, or was the smile aimed at Guy perhaps? She should not smile like that at men. She stroked her companion over his greasy hair, giving his cheek a quick kiss before she rose from his lap. Guy saw her full figure in profile first; the old-fashioned dress was stretched across a bulging, round belly that made the shrill pattern seem slightly distorted.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, his face painted in shock. "She is…"
"Ay," Linnet responded flatly. "She is with child, yet a child still. They grow up so fast. God knows who the father is but I do not think He is responsible. There is no room in this world for Immaculate Conception. Now tell me, grandfather, do you still wish to take on your daughter?"
Guy stared in shock as the beautiful young woman rocked towards them, holding one hand on her back while a beaming smile remained plastered on her face. She made a curtsey when she reached them and gave Guy her hand in a greeting in a way that seemed almost noble. She had his nose but her mother's smile.
"Jaqueline Miller," she grinned. "After my grandmother, but I do not speak French."
"No," Guy stammered. "It was my mother's name as well. It never suited her." He swallowed hard as his eyes fell on his daughter's full chest, too full for her age, but then again she was pregnant. How history repeats itself, he thought bitterly. How it scorns and laughs at us! She shared her mother's misfortune but not her naivety, her grandmother's name but not her meekness, his blood but not his status in life. Never his status. "Excuse me," he murmured and made a short bow. "I have matters to attend to."
Linnet and Jaqueline watched as the man in leather dashed out if the door - his face pale and distorted by disgust and shock - and followed him to the doorway. Linnet stood in bitter triumph and Jaqueline had taken on a look of surprise that she had inherited from her mother. It suited her, but then again everything suited Jaqueline Miller in her glorious youth. Linnet had felt bloated when she carried her daughter but Jaqueline blossomed.
"Pleasant looking fellow," the younger woman smiled and gave her mother a swift hug. "But I do not think he liked me."
"No," Linnet sighed. "And for that you should be glad. That man gives nothing but harm to those he cares for, believe me. His love is like a sledgehammer."
Jaqueline leaned her head against her mother's shoulder, wordless as always when faced with Linnet's bitterness. The dark man disappeared into a carriage and it took off with a jerk, shaking away down Miller's road until it disappeared behind a corner and forever out of sight.
Le Fin