As she sat at her mirror that night, preparing to crawl into her bed, she caught herself not feeling as she should. She stared at herself in the mirror, the empty blue eyes looking back at her. Then she caught herself looking down at the ring again. There it sat on her left hand, so large that the size of the diamond even took her by surprise.
The proposal, though, had not. They'd known each other for a very long time. The two of them went back to childhood summers where he would visit her every day. They would spend a day in the attic reading to each other, another day they'd spend on the lakeshore, chasing her scarf in the wind. When she had turned twelve, he did not greet her when she arrived for the summer, and she spent the years after without him. She was nineteen when he found her again at her father's birthday celebration. They remembered the old days and talked all of the night in the courtyard of her home.
"I wish my father had told me you and your family were to be here. I might not have been so startled to see your bearded face!" she declared to him with a laugh.
"It truly has been too long," he said to her with a soft laugh. "I loved you with all of my soul in those days."
"And how do you feel now, sir?" she replied. He smiled softly and took her hand. Though his skin had been cool from the night air, the smoothness comforted her soul.
"I'm starting to discover my soul is still intact because of its love for you," he said to her softly, staring into the same blue eyes that now caught her in the mirror.
She remembered how he called on her the next day to lunch, and sat next to her at the theater that night next. She felt a love for him so dear that every kiss the two shared in private, every smile sent her way and every whisper of their love, how beautiful she was or how wonderful he was, had lightened the air around them. When her father passed, he was her rock. She cherished the memory of his refusal to leave her side after the funeral, and how he arrived for days in the earliest parts of the morning and left in the late hours of the night, when she had finally gone to sleep.
Only five months has passed since this time. They had courted for almost two years now. She knew she would marry him. She loved him more than she could love another. Her family had approved of the match, and she remembered how her father had adored the time all three of them had spent together.
"My dear," he had started to say on their walk that afternoon, "You know where my heart lies. You know how I am, what I desire. I have our families' permission, so all I require is yours – to marry you." She had laughed and cried before quickly nodding in response and almost shouting, "Yes!" He reached into his pocket while kissing her, and pulled out of a box the same stunning stone that now sat on her hand.
And now it was time to rest. But how could she? Her love for her fiancé was at a place her soul had never encountered, but something was holding her back. This thought was interrupted by repeated raps at her door. "Who is calling at this hour?" she asked herself as she wrapped her robe around her quickly. She quickly went down the staircase and instructed Georg to open it. When he did, a man collapsed across the threshold, holding his shoulder. She ran down and ordered Georg to call on the doctor and her fiancé. She lifted the man against her and called for Lizzie to bring her water, bandages, and the gin. The two slowly walked into the sitting room. "Can you hear me?" she asked as the man was laid onto her sitting room floor.
"Yes," he replied softly and groaned as she ripped his shirts to expose the afflicted shoulder. It was a deep knife wound in the middle of the shoulder blade. The lines of the muscles were magnificent, and she quickly remembered her task when Lizzie placed her requested items next to her.
"Lizzie, go grab an old sheet and pillow we don't use, and cover the sofa. We can't leave him on the floor all night." With that she was gone again.
"I apologize for the blood," he said.
"Hush now, and brace yourself. I have to clean your shoulder." She held her breath and he cringed as she started to pour the gin on the shoulder, and groaned as she started to wipe it with bandages. Then he was silent, fainted from the loss of blood and the pain.
Georg came back soon after with the doctor, and she explained the incident as he worked on the wound. He said the man would be all right, but needed to rest. She told Georg to send notes to her appointments for the next day, regretting her inability to attend. "No visitors tomorrow, either, Georg. Except for my fiancé." The word already rolled off of her tongue naturally, almost instinctively. "Did you call for him, Georg?"
"Yes, Madame, but I was informed he was obliged to London for two nights, a business emergency."
"Thank you, Georg. I'll write him instead. Thank you, Doctor, for your speed and ability."
"It's all a pleasure, Madame. But may I speak with you, privately?" With this the two left Georg and Lizzie to attend to completing the night's excitements. "Madame, are you well?"
"Whatever do you mean, sir?" she inquired with a laugh in return.
"Madame, if I may, your color has changed since we've last met."
"I thank you for your concern, Doctor, but-"
"Madame, may I examine you tomorrow. You could not imagine my deep regret if I were to miss anything."
"If you think it best, sir, very well. I don't imagine it would hurt," she replied.
"I'll come a quarter after nine o'clock," he replied with a bow and let himself out. She stood for a while, shocked, thinking of what could possibly be the subject of what Doctor Hadley had been so puzzled over. Her appetite had been healthy, although she had to relieve herself the past week or so after morning coffee. Then she realized – she had not bled this month. And at this she burst out to his carriage.
"Doctor," she called breathlessly, "what you suspect, and I know you do suspect," pausing for his understanding, "it cannot come to pass." He looked into her eyes and nodded.
"You are sure you do not object to this action?" he said to her softly, sternly.
"I am, sir," she said just as sternly. "The consequences-"
"The consequences of this can be more severe than you think, Miss Vancamp," he said. "You must be certain."
"I am certain," she replied.
"I'll see you in the morning, Madame." She watched his carriage pull away into the night, her hands drifting to clutch her waist. A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped away as she returned inside.
He awoke the next morning, his shoulder stiff, but in a bed, in a room with breakfast waiting on a table by the window. He sat up slowly, seeing his bloody clothes had been replaced by silk.
"Good morning, sir," said a servant at the door. "Our lady regrets that she cannot have the pleasure of formally meeting you today. She is detained for most of the day. She will see you at dinner later this evening. In the meantime, she invites you to make yourself welcome."
"Thank you," the man replied softly.
"The breakfast and coffee are fresh. Ring when you have finished and someone will come to take it away." With a nod, the servant left him to himself.
The stranger was beside himself, puzzled. The least he could have expected from anyone on Hermann Street is an ignored response than one at all. But the lady of this house had not turned him away, but instead treated him as a guest of the most important nature. He puzzled over the entire situation while enjoying the breakfast, shaving and dressing. And he continued to puzzle over it as he went down to the library. As he walked down the hall to find the main staircase, he passed a door, and heard two ladies.
"Lizzie, I cannot sit here all day when there is man in my home and my fiancé will be returning at any moment."
"Ma'am, you must rest. The Doctor-"
"The Doctor also said I would never be able to carry at all anyway, didn't he?" And this is when the stranger left, knowing was not his place to stay, though this only made his puzzle harder to solve.
By the time he had read two novels, taken a walk in the garden and played with a household dog, the stranger was prepared to go on his way. He started up the main staircase until he was met by the woman who cared for him.
"How is your shoulder, sir?" she asked whilst walking down. "Please, come join me," she told him and held out her hand.
"It's better, madam. I don't know how I can thank you for your kindnesses over the past day," he replied as they slowly walked to the drawing room.
"I don't think I had any other option, sir. You were bleeding all over my floor."
"But the accommodations you've made for me are beyond necessity," he replied. "I am indebted to you."
"Well, then, keep me company. That is all I require today," she said and held tight to his hand as she slowly sat down.
"Are you all right?" he asked when he saw the small wince creep across her expression.
"Oh yes, just stiff at times," she replied with a smile and invited him to sit with her. "I do apologize for not being more available to you this morning. I trust you were not kept idle."
"No madam," he replied with a grin. "Your home is very much a home, indeed."
"I am glad you believe so." They both sat and talked of what he had done that day, why he enjoyed his novels so well, and every other trifle two strangers were able to socially converse about. His speech was full of grace, his accent of the north. She found the way he spoke so attractive that she found it hard to continue the conversation on her own accord.
"Sir, I hope you do not find me cursory, but I have no knowledge of your name." The stranger laughed with her at the realization.
"Antony, ma'am," he said and bowed his head.
"Antony?" she repeated with a chuckle. "Your name is famous."
"My mother was a patron of the arts, a woman of the theater and the opera."
"And Shakespeare, of course," the lady interjected.
"Yes. She would read his lines to me every night." Antony stopped then and looked down at his feet. She could see the sad memory stretch through his mind .
"Christine," he heard. He looked up at his host in confusion. "My name. Christine," she repeated. He shook his head and laughed at himself for not guessing it.
Antony had not noticed how beautiful the host was until then. Her red hair waved and fell against her, her blue eyes shining in the afternoon light, and her red lips entranced him as she spoke. Christine was indeed beautiful, but one accessory she did not draw attention to was the diamond on her left hand.
Christine saw how he looked at her at that moment, and felt herself blush. It had been some time since a man, other than Henry, had looked at her that way. It caught her off guard. He moved closer to her on the sofa and placed an arm behind her, leaning closer to her. She didn't move until they heard somebody run up the front steps, to the door.
"Darling!" Christine turned away from Antony and called back to her fiancé. He was out of breath when he entered the room. "Christine, are you all right?"
"Yes, dear, I'm fine."
"I got a message early this morning from Andre. He said that Doctor Hadley had been called here. That there was an incident."
"There was but it was not me. Henry, this is Antony. He was in need of the doctor last night. He's been my guest today."
"Sir, Henry Millison," her fiancé said to the guest, holding out his hand.
"Antony Wiltshire."
"An old name, sir. You are certainly welcome." His attentions turned back to Christine. "Are you sure you are all right, darling?"
"Henry, I am fine. Please be gentle, nevertheless." Antony saw the way he had held her at her waist and the pain in her face when he shifted her about. "Is business in London taken care of?"
"Never, darling," he said with a sigh. "But when I received a message this morning I was excused indefinitely to attend to my fiancée." At this they both exchanged a smile. "I hope my Christine has not bored you to death with her gossip and such, sir."
"Not in the slightest. I have quite enjoyed the conversation. But I do regret it is time for me to continue on. I do not wish to impose any longer." With this Antony stood.
"Antony, are you sure you have the strength to go," Christine asked him. "I would hate to hear of more misfortune on your behalf."
"Thank you for that, madam, but I am due to Greenwich tomorrow. If I stay longer, my family will not appreciate the lack the notice."
"Well, let us lend you our carriage," Henry insisted. "It is the least we can do if you do desire to head on."
"I'm very much obliged to you both for the kindnesses you've extended to me." Henry nodded, kissed Christine's hand, and left to prepare the carriage. Antony was again alone with Christine, his heart fluttering. His desire to leave increased with every moment. The smiles she gave to him, the kiss he laid on her skin… The sweat on the back his neck gathered. "Your fiancé is a fine gentleman."
"So are you, Antony." He laughed at her response and bowed, proceeding to leave her there in the drawing room. "Mr. Wiltshire!" she called in shock. He looked at her with a smug grin, and Christine was surprised at the behavior. "Have I offended you?"
"No, madam, I have offended myself."
"Please, Antony, let me see you off," she asked of him and held out her hands to him. Antony took the soft appendages, and looked at her with concern when she let out a large sigh after standing. "It's nothing. Henry doesn't require knowing."
"As your partner, madam, I believe he does."
"He is not my husband, yet," she said sternly. Antony and Christine looked at each other, just as they did before Henry had arrived, deeply and unrelenting. Christine saw Antony's tanned skin and brown eyes, the straightness of shoulders and the puff of his chest. She felt his arms begin to wrap around her. He felt her hand trace the line of his jaw and down the back of his neck. He pulled her close and felt her warmth as his lips moved closer to hers.
She turned from him when Georg entered, announcing the carriage ready for Mr. Wiltshire. Antony cleared his throat and nodded, turning back to her. "Thank you, Christine. For all you and Mr. Millison have done for me." He bowed slowly, gracefully, artfully. He took her hand, and held it gently before softly laying his lips against the skin he had longed to touch all afternoon. The kiss sent chills down Christine's body, and before she could return any word, Antony was gone.
She stayed in the doorway, watching her future husband see her guest off. She loved Henry for his kindness. He was warm and gentle, more than any man she knew; his manner perfect and his love remarkable.
Then she met Antony under the strangest circumstances, and the strangeness continued when she attempted to decide how she had felt. He had challenged her in their moments together to open herself up to him, and she had in their last seconds. No man had done so with her before. The way he smiled and laughed soothed her soul, even though she had been weakened by the morning.
It was when Christine saw the carriage drive away and see Henry walk back to her that she thought, "He's mine, and I'm his." Her heart swelled and a tear ran down her cheek. The baby was never spoken of. Christine was thankful for it, because she did not know if he would ever forgive her for willingly killing their child… their son…
Antony knew, and on his trip to Greenwich he wondered what would have caused her to do such a thing. Was it her reputation? Her fiancé's? Theirs as a pair? The ideas horrified him and he left the thoughts alone, except for one: why hadn't he kissed her when he so badly desired to? Would she have let him? Her touch and expression made him think so. But all was lost, by the time Antony reached Greenwich, Christine had left the day behind and was happier than any woman of twenty-one could be.