With a breath and a sigh, I sit to write. I am finally on the brink of the arc I built this world to write. I hope I do not disappoint /
Or the fledglings that have waited...
Her parents had given her a year to mourn. Then it was time for another engagement to be made. And like dresses, of suitors she had plenty.
Even before her hand had been open to them, men aching for a chance to court her flocked to her fencing competitions, thrilled at the sight of her prowess, lured by her family's title. The cheers that erupted when she won were deafening. If she lost, all manner of shouts proclaimed foul play and trickery, and anyone that got close enough at the end of it all sought to be the one to make her smile. But her heart had never been open to them, and though smiles danced about her lips almost always, no nobleman's face remained in her thoughts. None but one, the only one who was out of her reach.
She knew he was not dead. She had sought that woman out to ensure that he wouldn't be, and their last dance together assured her that the letters those closest to him had received were nothing but a lie to hide their tracks. She couldn't be certain, but she had a strong feeling she knew why they'd needed to vanish. She wished he could have taken her with him. Even if the place they had been headed was terrible, even if... even if he had not wanted her... she wished she could reach him now. She wished she could apologize for giving herself to someone else. But she was a Midford, and she'd been raised to do her duty to her queen and her family without question or regret.
A year of searching, a year of bartering with her father and bearing the sharp looks and sparse words of her mother. After that year of mourning, she'd spent another avoiding her duty. Evading the men that came for her hand, seeing through their flashy gifts and soft words to their greed. At last, he'd come, Baron Leslie. He was much older than her but kind. No man would ever be as great as a Phantomhive, though with Funtom in her hands the baron could try his hand at becoming as rich as one. With her mother being the closest relation, the board had moved that the company had fallen to her. Francis had no need of the business but knew it would soothe her daughter's heart some to have it. So when Lord Adam Leslie came forth with the desire to marry, Francis used it and his kindness to persuade her.
She'd given in, the promise of her beloved's hard work under her care and a gentle-natured gentleman she was sure she would not come across again pulling her towards her duty. So after a year of holding back, she was engaged at last. Adam had courted her for four years, respectful and generous, attending her competitions and throwing balls and galas in her name. Then, in her seventeenth year as Adam had proclaimed he could not bear to wait any longer, they'd married at last, and she found she had been blessed with a good man because nothing changed. Nothing except for the nature of her duties.
With their kind hearts combined, she'd hunted down the Phantomhive's old steward and offered him a place with the company. But the old man was retired and had been drawn from the country by the call to return to his daughter's family after his service ended. Still, he was also kind and he remembered her, so he gave her all the knowledge he could and wished her luck. Once she had moved into Adam's house, he'd had her manage the company. And as days ticked by, she tried her best to give him a child.
But those days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. A year went by without the slightest stirring in her belly. Not so much as a whisper of a child. Her heart ached because despite knowing she'd never feel the same way she'd felt for him, she loved Adam. He did not push her, but she felt the pressure all the same. There was a small, silent desperation in her, the need for a life to fill her. She'd lost her dreams, her wishes, when he had disappeared. How she had desired so much to ensure that he was not the last. A loving wife and a giddy child, a family was what she had always desired to give him, to fuel a smile that never needed to be fake. Although it was not her fault, it had never been her fault, she had felt it was her duty. And she had failed.
She could not do so again, she could not bear it. After a year of being barren when she knew she should be full, she felt the stirrings of a wish in her heart again. A desperate wish. One she was starting to be tempted to find a surer way to grant. And there was one way she was certain of. But she would not turn to it. A year was not so long. She could wait another. A month passed.
The temptation did not.