Secrets

England, 1872.

It had been a lazy day, much to my liking. Unusually lazy. Almost suspiciously so. I had been sitting in the drawing room for most of the day working on the new needlepoint project Mother was trying to coax me to learn. Coax was a kind word, and perhaps underserving of the pretense under which I studied the terrible thing. Perhaps threatened, bullied, or forced was a better word to describe how I came to my predicament. Nevertheless, I still welcomed the quiet reprieve I found myself in, even if I had to share it with my needlepoint.

I personally found needlepoint very dull, perhaps because I had a penchant for pricking myself more often than the fabric I was working with. It was dull, tiresome, and utterly stupid in my opinion.

There was no point and purpose to stitching, other than inflicting pain.

Perhaps that was why Mother had chosen to use it as a punishment of sorts. Once. There had been one occasion in which I had been caught with Charles that I had been unable to lie my way out of.

I sighed, pausing in my work before tossing the stupid frame aside. I wanted to go running through the woods again. I had not seen Charles in a week, and my heart was aching to be near him again.

Only last week I had realized a frightening fact: I was in love with him. Frightening, because Mother would never have such an arrangement. Frightening, because I wanted the arrangement more than anything else in the world. And frightening because I knew he felt the same way. We could, single handedly, ruin my family's name by running off together. Frightening, because I realized I did not care what shambles I left behind me. I was selfish.

I rubbed my fingers over a smooth, warm piece of red-colored glass. The glass was four years, two months and fifteen days old. I remembered the moment Charles had given it to me – it had been our first kiss, even though I had only been twelve, and he had been fifteen. It hardly counted by the standard for kisses these days, but I still remembered.

"You're thinking about that boy again, aren't you, Tora?"

The smile slipped off my face as my dream-like world shattered around me. I looked over to the doorway, eyeing Mother with irritation. Whether the irritation was for the wretched nickname she seemed to use more whenever I asked her not to, or for the veiled insult behind her sentence, I did not care.

I chose to ignore her, inclining my head toward the window and looking outside. Mother, with her ever-perfect hair and her frightening steel-colored eyes, continued to stand in the doorway.

Last month, Charles had introduced me to his mother and father. Never before had I seen such love in a mother's eyes. His mother was a beautiful woman, brown wavy locks and big brown eyes, a stocky, study build. Her hands were weathered from manual labor, but even so, her touch was softer than my own mother's creamy hands.

Charles' father was a kindly man, though I'd had no fatherly figure of my own to compare it to. If my father were anything like Charles' father, then I missed my own dearly.

It had been a gamble on both our parts; Charles was sure that his parents would understand our situation, but I had been afraid that they would breathe word of it to my mother. Whether they were kindly people or not, whether they had our best intentions at heart or not, it was still dangerous for them to be involved.

If they were really good people wishing to preserve their reputation, they would have gone straight to Mother and told her what Charles and I were up to.

However, as I had quickly learned, "good" and "kindly" were not often the same thing. By the definition of a good mother and Duchess, my mother was the epitome of it all. But Charles' parents were the definition of kindly and understanding.

His mother had graciously welcomed us into her home, and though her eyes had widened, and she had gasped slightly when he introduced me, she had been nothing but accommodating.

At first, his mother, Meredith, had fluttered around and tried to settle me into the most comfortable part of the house and tried to make accommodations that I would be used to in my own home. It wasn't until Charles interceded and informed her that were I such a fragile doll that needed such frivolities, I wouldn't have been playing near the stream where Charles' and I met every other day to begin with.

We had then spent the next hour sitting at their rough, worn kitchen table, laughing, talking, and exchanging stories about Charles.

"They like you, you know. A lot," Charles had whispered in my ear as we left.

That had been the last time I had seen him, a full week ago. I could only wonder what he thought of me. Did he think I had run away because his family was too poor for my tastes? Did he wonder if I had been caught, and locked up in my own home? Had he given up on me?

"Victoria."

Damn. My mother had not left. With an indifferent shrug, I glanced over in her direction. Her steel eyes narrowed at my nonchalance.

"Yes, Mother?" I inquired politely, though my voice had undercurrents of resentment.

"Forget about that boy. He's no good to you, he's a gold digger. He wants to inherit your fortune."

I turned and looked back out the window quietly. I had heard this argument before; I could almost predict its course. She would continue on and elaborate about the rules of polite society, and then explain how it was almost time for my coming-out in London next fall. I didn't much like the idea of having to pack up my things, leave the English countryside, and move into the city for a season of waltzing with men twice my age looking to bed me as a wife while my heart belonged to someone here.

"He will take your fortune and your virtue – if he hasn't yet – and then leave you with nothing. That is not how we go about business in our echelon. He is not one of us, dear, he is one of them. "

I just continued to stare out the window. If I gave any indication of irritation, it would spur her on a tirade, and Heaven only knew when she would stop.

"I wanted to inform you that we have decided to cancel your coming-out next year." I could almost hear the smugness in her voice, and I could tell she was provoking me. I tried to give no indication that I cared either way. I knew it was not because she had found it in the kindness in her heart and was going to let me marry Charles.

At best, it was a ploy to get a reaction. At worst, it was true, and she had even worse plans in mind for me. I sighed, and caved. I canted my head to the side to look at her, but continued to say nothing.

"I have found you a husband," she announced smartly. Her devilish grin widened when my façade broke. My head snapped to look at her, my skin pale and my jaw dropped. She knew that she had won.

"No," I said. "What about the fall?"

"I was thinking about that, and I decided that… you're too dangerous, Victoria. I can't afford to put you out in the public. Instead, I will arrange for a quiet marriage to a very nice man. You will be married in a month, and you will be a nice wife and raise a good family."

I had no response for her heinous idea. I could only stare, dumbfounded, as she smiled like a cat that had just caught its prey.

"What did you say," I asked slowly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"He is a Duke's son. He will make a fine husband, and you will bare him strong, handsome children."

I exhaled slowly, trying to rein my temper in. If I lost control of my anger, I would lose everything with this devil woman. After taking the moment to make sure my temper was quiet, I asked softly.

"Alright, I must ask – how many years does he have?"

Mother hesitated for a moment before answering, as if savoring the moment. "Thirty last fortnight."

I could not stop my reaction. Though I knew she only wished for my violent reactions and that she took pleasure in my recoil, I could not prevent my body from jumping from the chair and flying to the door.

It was not until I was back in my room and collapsed on my bed that I realized I had run the entire way. I did not bother to close the door – Mother would not follow me. She had her moment of triumph, she would not follow.

I think, perhaps, she had seen the look in my eyes. The moment the thought had passed through my mind, I believe she saw it on my face. The firepoker was near where she was standing. It would have been effortless to lunge for it, grab it, and smash it across her head. I had entertained the idea briefly, and as soon as I realized that if I did not flee the devil woman's presence, I might carry out my frightening crime of passion. I had fled so that I would not do something I would regret.

The part that frightened me the most was not the disturbing idea that I nearly killed my mother, but that if I did, I would feel no remorse for her death, only for the fact that I committed the act myself. I would feel remorse that I felt no remorse – as abstract as the concept was, it made perfect sense in my mind. And it frightened me.

I sat up on the bed, and in one, flourishing, punishing movement, I ripped my hair out of its hairpins. I bit my lip to keep from screaming in pain, but it was a sweet sensation. Some part of me was still human, to flinch and feel that sort of pain.

My angry curls tumbled around my body, bobbing to the middle of my back. I wiped the tears that had sprung to the corners of my eyes before thrusting my fingers angrily into my hair.

I had always known that something would happen. Eventually. I would go to London, wear an ornate gown, let the gentlemen of the ton dance with me in hopes one would seek marriage. I had planned on having a little time to devise an escape to marrying one of the gentlemen without ruining my family's name. But now, I had no time. And no way out. Not a pleasant way, anyway.

I slid off the bed and started pacing around the room. There had to be something I could do. I would not settle into the life of a common housewife, married into a life I did not want with a man I did not love.

I spun around in a circle, my panic starting to grow. The walls seemed smaller in my room, the space seemed more closed in. It seemed as the more I thought about my new situation, the tighter my room became. I found it hard to breathe, and my anxiety spiked to a point that I could not see well. My vision swam and my mind ran in senseless circles. For the first time, I panicked.

My vision cleared quite suddenly as my gaze landed on my dresser. There, right next to my bed, was Charles' glass. As clear as my vision became, everything fell into place.

My heartrate returned to normal so quickly, I almost felt a little faint from the rapid change. But everything was so clear now.

Damn my family. Mother didn't care about me, why should I care about ruining the last shreds of her family name and leaving her alone? Father had died when I was very young, Consumption had taken him. I did not remember much, Nana kept me away from him so that I wouldn't catch it. Two of the servants had to be dismissed into a doctor's care for quarantine after he had passed away. I had never heard from them since.

I did not care. I would go see Charles.

Tonight.

"Victoria?"

I did not wish to speak with Nana right now. Perhaps if I ignored her, she would vanish. I had to preparations to make.

I went to my closet and withdrew a bag. I pulled up the floorboard, not caring for what Nana saw. It did not matter, I was leaving permanently. I no longer had secrets.

I stuffed the letters that Charles had written to me once he had become proficient in writing, the silly rocks we had collected together, and a few other baubles that I held near and dear. The last thing I slid into the small bag was the red glass I always kept with me.

"Victoria, before yeh run away to yer man, I think there is something yeh should know."

I paused, and glanced over to the woman warily. Deciding that I had little time to work with anyway, and surrendering it now to Nana… I didn't want to take that chance. I grabbed my coat and shoved my arms through the sleeves and stopped in front of the desk mirror.

Mercilessly, I started yanking my hair back into a thick, wild braid, trying to tie the locks back.

"Here." Nana's strong arms reached and took my hair from my hands. Automatically, I sank into the chair as I was used to, and allowed her skilled hands to brain my hair. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. It was an odd sight – I looked panicked, terror-stricken, even. I looked older, too, as if my decisions had started to carve out of the workings the woman I wished to be.

"Can we talk, Miss?" I glared at her reflection in the mirror defiantly.

"I'm going, you cannot talk me from it," I warned.

"Oh, I know. But if ye leave, Miss, I am quite sure I may never see or hear of you again. Perhaps the best for ye, to be happy with the boy, but there is something I wish to impart before yer leave."

I stared at her reflection, her skilled fingers twisting my hair into a braid. Some of the wild, red strands sprung free, but most remained coiled in the thick braid. I rather liked the look; not nearly as confining as the coifs that high society demanded of me, and yet restrained enough that my hair did not impair my vision.

"About yer father, Miss."

I stilled, and my wary expression melted into something far more curious. I knew little of my father, due to my age at the time of his illness, and as such, no one had decided to inform me after the fact when I was old enough to understand. All I knew was it had been Consumption, but judging by the haunted look in Nana's eyes, she had more to tell.

"Yer father… was not the best of men, I'm afraid," she murmured, continuing to twist the long hair as she spoke. "And yer mother… is not actually yer mother." I saw her glance to my reflection in the mirror to check my response. I could only stare.

"What?"

"Yer father had an affair – several, really – but in one case, the woman became pregnant. "

I just stared at her, slowly processing the information. Sensing my trouble, Nana continued quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Pregnant with ye."

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