Written with great respect for Stephenie Meyer, who owns all things Twilight.
A special treat for Remembrance Sunday, this chapter is dedicated to all the heroes who have died or faced death for their country and their people. There are no words adequate. May your bravery be remembered always.
Perry and Cared made me cry, they were so lovely helping me with this. Thank you. A special thank you also to Mamabean30, without whom this chapter would be a poor relation to what it is now. May your best Moulin Rouge moments multiply.
You wanted to know what Isabella was thinking, and you couldn't wait for the next update. See how much I love you all? Enjoy.
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Chapter 6 – Isabella's Bridge
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6th April, 1795
I cannot look at him. If I look at him, he may vanish like a dream in the swirling smoke of a bonfire. What if I turn my eyes and see a different person standing there? My lord, the one I know in my head, is passion and strength; kindness and energy; gentleness and fire. His beauty is astonishing. Even his feet, planted firmly and still on the stone floor of this little church - a church that I will never have to endure again - seem strong, dependable and attractive.
If he remains the lord I think he is, I will pull off his boots and stockings and kiss his feet as I wash them.
He keeps looking at me as Mr Black's words flow over me in waves, not penetrating my understanding at all; while his silent gaze takes every ounce of my attention. What if my lord sees a different person standing next to him? What if, as he gazes at me so intently, he sees the Isabella who is frightened of new places and new people? The coward Isabella who hides from all difficulties in the pages of a novel she has read countless times before?
My head is cold, and a darkness buzzes insistently at the corners of my vision. I will not faint. To fall now would be beyond endurance. I swallow hard, and force air deep into my lungs in even, slow breaths. My corset is too tight, but it helps to regulate the flow of air. I do not want my bosom to heave – the devil in front of me is never able to keep his eyes off it.
Speaking of the devil, his words suddenly catch my ears. He reads from the Bible – Ezekiel, I think. The same words he threw at me when he stripped me of what little freedom I once had.
"...thy father was an Amorite, and thy mother an Hittite. And as for thy nativity, in the day thou wast born thy navel was not cut, neither wast thou washed in water to supple thee; thou wast not salted at all, nor swaddled at all. None eye pitied thee, to do any of these unto thee, to have compassion upon thee; but thou wast cast out in the open field, to the lothing of thy person, in the day that thou wast born. And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live"
These words are not normal wedding fare. Does he think he can still hurt me? Nothing this man does will ever hurt me again. He can no longer strike me with his hands or belittle me with his words. He has no right to arrange my day nor teach me his philosophy. He cannot take with one hand and give with another. There is no gift in this ancient world that he can force upon me.
My lord's hip shifts. He is impatient with the vicar, I think, but for one last time, Mr Black holds the upper hand. One. Last. Time.
Mr Black's hands turn page after page of cruel words. His fingers are soft and fat, and his fingernails are long and uncared for.
"I decked thee also with ornaments, and I put bracelets upon thy hands, and a chain on thy neck. And I put a jewel on thy forehead, and earrings in thine ears, and a beautiful crown upon thine head."
My lord's hands are work-calloused and rough for a man of his standing. His long fingers are dexterous; they perform magic on the keys of the pianoforte. His fingernails are well cared for, short and clean and buffed smooth. They are noble hands.
"And thy renown went forth among the heathen for thy beauty: for it was perfect through my comeliness, which I had put upon thee, saith the Lord GOD. But thou didst trust in thine own beauty, and playedst the harlot because of thy renown, and pouredst out thy fornications on every one that passed by; his it was."
I push my spine a little straighter. I may be scared, and cowardly, and many other things besides; but I know my lord has chosen the Isabella that my nemesis despises, and I feel so proud of that. No matter what the man I hate says of me, I do not care.
From the first moment we met on that precious hill, I have only ever shown my true self to Lord Edward Masen.
It is my true self he has chosen to marry.
I let Mr Black's words wash over me once again. They cannot touch me.
Finally, finally the reading is over, and we are bid to kneel. He takes my arm and assists my descent, and once again the touch of this man's hand alights my whole body.
I cannot look at him. He might see how I long for more of his touch. What if he prefers demure Isabella - Isabella who behaves like a lady - and does not imagine his fingers on my skin, removing my gown and touching me in places I scarcely acknowledge exist?
Have I not just told myself he has chosen the true Isabella? Does that include the Isabella who lusts for him?
"Our Father, Who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name;
Give us this day..."
Even his voice does something to my body, in some place deep inside of me that I did not know existed before. And now I know that I am a wanton hussy, to have thoughts like these while the Lord's Prayer is sung around me. I join in, quietly so as not to miss the exquisite timbre of my own lord's voice:
"And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil;
For Thine is the Kingdom,
The Power and the Glory,
For ever and ever.
Amen."
The praying is not yet over – Mr Black leads us into another long prayer I do not recognise – he must have selected it especially for the occasion in which he has lost me for good. Oh, yes, for Good, Mr Black, for Good in all and every sense.
In the period of silent contemplation after our prayer, I begin to feel faint again. As we kneel in close proximity, I feel as though my soul has left my body and hovers over the congregation from the rafters above our heads.
I look down upon the gathering. Rose kneels on the cushion she embroidered as a young girl. She is anxious for me and excited too, I think. How we will bear our separation is beyond the scope of my understanding right now. Her beauty has blossomed even more since she has married, if such a thing is possible. I ache at the thought of leaving her, but it feels like an ache with purpose and resolve. Perhaps I am braver than I think.
Alice is in the rows behind, at the back of the church. I came so close to losing her. She still seems lost, but there is a glimmer of light there again. Alice was once all light and sweetness. I am so grateful she accompanies us to Norfolk. I will know one person there, at least.
I do not really know my lord.
Do I?
Can I believe the Lord has gifted me the lord I wish him to truly be?
Have faith, Mr Cullen told me before he passed. Have faith in God and my godson and, most importantly, in yourself. Those were his very words.
We rise, and speak our vows, and still I cannot look at him. His voice sounds so clear, true and firm. His vows are seated in his heart. I know it.
Mine are too. I do sincerely promise all these things – to hold and to love; to cherish and obey; I will be yours, completely, until my dying day.
I have faith. If my life has taught me nothing else, it has taught me this.
Rose removes my glove and squeezes my hand gently in reassurance. I turn to face my lord. He takes my fingers in his and pushes his mother's ring onto my finger.
He has claimed me. I am his. Now I look up into his eyes, and though they burn with intense emotion, it is a great sense of peace that washes over me.
I do. I do have faith. I am married now.
These green eyes are the windows to my future, and they bless me with peace.
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A/N
Is Isabella who you expected?
I know some of you still think Edward is not the lord she thinks he is, but have faith, gentle reader. Your expectations are very different to those of a young woman who has grown up within the influence of Sir Charles and Mr Black.
I am looking forward to hearing your thoughts.
Guess what? I'm going to Vegas in June. Are you? I am Gingerandgreen on Twitter.
If you want more from Isabella's POV, please sign up for the Fandoms4ME compilation at fandoms4me dot blogspot dot com. I will thank you from the bottom of my heart.
