This is a day to day story...there will be a few times that I move the story forward a day or two - or even a month or so, but I will let you know when I do this.
Destiny awaits...
SHOW ME THE WAY TO LOVE
CHAPTER 10 – Things That Go Bump in the Night
It was mid-afternoon of the following day before Erik actually got some food in his stomach. He had declined breakfast with a loud roar, leaving the poor serving girl trembling from head to toe.
His attempt at shaving had been folly from the moment he picked up the razor blade, refusing to admit that he needed help with the most mundane of manly tasks. He could not even fathom why he felt compelled to perform the silly ritual – there was no one there who cared a wit what he looked like – and least of all, himself.
A line of expletives played colorfully across his lips as he cut his neck for the fifth time; he was certain he looked like an ill-used pin-cushion and the image he had in his head made him frown and chuckle at the same time.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his task and he bellowed loudly from the washroom for whomever it was to enter and be quick about it. He turned his attention back to shaving and carefully rounded the slope of his dimpled chin; not that he even remembered it had a dimple.
Anne entered the room with indignant grace, knowing that he was apparently having a difficult time doing something at which he refused to admit defeat. She had just about had enough of his foolish behavior and she was about to tell him so in whatever manner was necessary to get his attention.
"Erik McKinley Worthington."
She heard him curse softly beneath his breath, sigh loudly, and put the razor down on the counter.
Anne stood in the doorway watching him debate with himself whether to answer her or try to pretend that he was not in the room. Despite his ridiculous stubbornness, Anne loved him enough to call him on his behavior.
"You are acting asinine toward her and you know it…" she pointed out, making him close his eyes and turn away from her. "…there have been a few times in your life that I have wanted to turn you over my knee and blister your backside, and your recent behavior has made me think that I should have done just that."
Erik had the good sense not to say a word, but allowed her to chastise him like the child he knew he was acting like. He folded his hands into fists and squeezed until his well-manicured nails were imprinting themselves into his palms. His look was implacable; hard and ruthless.
"I did not want this, Anne; you know why; I am sorry for the way I react to her…I just…" he paused, worrying his bottom lip in thought, "…do not trust her – or any woman for that matter."
Anne wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and assure him that his unease was not necessary.
"You seem to trust me." Anne quietly pointed out.
Erik dropped his chin and his eyes drifted shut, "That is a different matter…" he murmured, "….I do not think of you as a woman, you are...Anne." He stated, lifting his eyes in regret.
Anne took no offense to his words; she knew what he was trying to say. She had been the only positive female presence in his life for many years.
"She is not here to make your life miserable, Erik….if anything, I want her to make your life easier."
Erik had no idea what she met by that, but he was certain that having Miss Darcy in the house was not going to make his life easier. Anne walked up to him and gently touched her forefinger to his cheek – an endearing act she had done since he was a child. She heard his stomach growl and she remembered what her purpose was for being there.
"I brought you some lunch…and you will eat it…every bite, without complaining, or mumbling, or whatever it is you do. There is no discussion on this matter."
Erik felt his mouth curve into a smile, albeit a very small smile, and he chuckled lightly despite his reluctant attitude. He was not convinced about Christine, not by any means; and he was not sure that he would ever be.
He nodded and lifted his eyes, hoping he looked contrite enough to calm her anger.
"How do you put up with me?" He asked, genuinely interested.
Anne chuckled and touched her hand to his marred cheek, hoping he did not pull away from her.
He did not.
"Because you are like a son to me…and you always have been…" She smiled, hoping he could not hear the tears in her voice, "…now, do as I say before I turn you over my knee for real."
He smiled genuinely at that – especially the picture that formed in his mind.
"I will send Wesley up to help you shave."
Before he could protest, she was gone.
►▼◄
Later that night...
Christine tossed and turned in her bed; frustrated at not being able to sleep, even with the aches that spread through her body like a disease. She had worked hard these past couple of days and she knew they had accomplished a great deal; but she was thankful that she did not have to work like that every day.
Her muscles throbbed and she longed to sink into the sweet oblivion of sleep. The more she thought about it, the house was just too quiet. She gathered her lacy robe in her hands, not caring that her hair was unbound and fell over her shoulders like a silver shawl.
She had not seen Erik all day – not even a glimpse. Wesley had told her that he had ridden into town in the late afternoon to take care of some business, but there were no details offered and she knew better than to ask. The day had seemed to go quickly, despite his absence and the night had crept up on her without warning.
She quietly slipped from her room, carrying the oil lamp with her. She was headed for the library; perhaps her favorite room in the house, so that she could read herself to sleep.
The soft pads of her feet glided over the cold floor in search of a place to stop. She wandered down the halls of Worthington Manor, stifling the giggle that arose in her throat as she thought about the stories of ghosts that had captivated her as a child.
She felt much like one at this moment – fluttering about without a care in the world – supposedly minding her own business, giving little thought to the world around her. Until she saw a shadow pass across the far reaches of her lamp. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest and a panicked squeal remained bound in her throat, fearing that she would alert the intruder to her presence. She knew that dousing the lamp would alert him to her presence; otherwise he may just think it had been left burning by a negligent servant.
There were no bludgeoning objects readily available, so Christine prayed there would be no need to resort to such things. She crept up to the corner of the door and peeked around the side; fear gripping her throat as she found the shadowed figure with her eyes.
He was moving slowly but with sure steps, apparently trying not to create any noise. She watched him with a pounding heart and baited breath; the moments seeming to creep by as she stepped out to follow him – uncertain why she felt compelled to do so.
She was so wrapped up in the anxiety of the moment that it took a few moments to realize that the silhouetted figure was very familiar to her; the way he walked with an elegant sway and the way he proudly held his shoulders.
It is the Commodore…but what is he doing wandering around at this time of night? Christine questioned to herself, finding it rather strange that she was amazed at his behavior when she was engaged in doing the same thing.
Anne had told her about the headaches and Christine was positive they kept him from getting enough sleep. Anne had said that he often wandered the house at night to walk off the pain or just to think.
Christine stayed a few steps behind him, making sure she did not run into anything on her way. She had no desire to let him know she was following him. He slipped through the dark – at home in its thick blanket – and proceeded to the back of the house and through the portico doors. He had not sensed her presence, not yet, but she was certain he would if she continued to follow him.
She made herself pause at the door and watch as he closed it behind him as quietly as he had opened it. She eased up to the window and watched him for as long as she could, his figure bathed in the moonlight.
He headed toward the woods behind the house…and to whatever – or whomever - awaited him.
Every muscle in her body begged her to follow him and find out where he had gone; but she knew the folly of doing such a rash thing. No one would know where she had gone and Erik would not know where she was…who knew how long it would take them to find her should something go wrong.
She refused to worry about him…he was a grown man after all. She watched as he disappeared from her sight and allowed her curiosity to get the best of her. Was he meeting a lover; going to a clandestine meeting of some secretive group…what was he doing?
She berated herself, almost laughing at the jealous rage that flared within her at the thought of him in another woman's arms. She pulled herself away from the window and continued exploring for another hour…until she could no longer hold her eyes open.
►▼◄
If Erik should have felt foolish for waiting until the house was in a deep slumber before leaving his room, he somehow did not. Night…day….it was all the same to him; the only difference being that he did not have to worry about interruptions or needless explanations at this time of night.
Moving through the manor was no challenge and he had managed it many nights without detection. He could hear Wesley's deafening snores and Anne's gentle, nocturnal whistles – the ones she absolutely refused to acknowledge that she had - and somehow found the consistency of those sounds soothing.
He did not know if Miss Darcy snored, and frankly did not think it would be wise to check in on her. He could have banged his head against the wall for even allowing thoughts of her to creep unimpeded into his mind.
Once he made it to the back portico door and quietly moved through it into the freedom of the night air, Erik felt his mind clear and his problems dissolve.
Erik loved the night; it invited him into its dark domain as though he were born to be its king. He crossed the lawn and eased through the heavy thickness of the trees, carefully counting his steps and assuring himself of his direction.
The small clearing loomed before him, silhouetted by the moonlight - the simple beauty of it lost on Erik. He found the door to the small, dome-roofed building, worked the secret lock that only he knew how to undo, and worshipfully walked into his heaven on earth.
He knew his surroundings as intimately as he knew his own home. The moon glowed through the glass roof, casting a halo on the large, German carved piano that dominated the room and a glimmer touching the violin that leaned beautifully on its stand, awaiting the master's touch.
Years ago, he had found an abandoned place while exploring on one of the rare days that he was able to escape the clutches of his family. It took several more times of exploring to rebuild it using spare building materials he found in the stables.
He spent the next two years organizing and remodeling the shack into this remarkable work of art, making it into a place he could escape the reality of his life and do the one thing he loved most in the world – the one thing his father and mother forbade him to do – make music.
He eased onto the bench of his treasured piano – the one he had bought with his first commission check from the Royal Navy. His mother and father never knew it existed, and Erik had never told a living soul. Gage knew he could sing, but that was as far as it went; it was his secret. He had so much music stored in his mind...his own and that of his favorite composers; but he sat silently, just enjoying the peace he felt within himself.
He finally placed his hands on the keys and let them play. He became one with the music - forgetting all but the melodies that soared through his soul. The music allowed him freedom that he could not find anywhere else...freedom from judgment and freedom from prejudice.
Music was his lover; his passion. She held him within her sensual grasp and would never let him go; she fed his vivid imagination with all the colors in the world – never allowing him to forget their brilliance or their beauty. Every sunset and sunrise he had witnessed, every thunderstorm he had watched approach with rolling clouds that looked like ancient scrolls and the rainbows that painted the skies; all of these things came to life in the melody of a song.
Before he knew it, it was four in the morning and he knew he had to get back to the manor before Wesley arose to start his day. It was not that he felt they would not appreciate the music, but his parents had made his desire to be a musician and composer into a source of conflict, humiliation, and pain. He would protect that desire with all that he had in him.
When he finally settled back down into his bed, his thoughts went dark once more.
Three days.
Every month they came and every month Erik nearly went mad with worry and regret. Lucy was no mother to Gage – even under the best of circumstances – but he was certain that Alastair had no fatherly instincts as well; together, those two facts only served to make Erik physically sick to his stomach.
His only peace in the situation came from Fanny, the housekeeper. She had befriended him when he and Lucy were in the midst of the divorce and she had come along to tend to Gage during the most intense moments. Erik enjoyed listening to her Irish lilt and she made him smile; something he rarely did. She had made him a promise - a promise always to watch out for Gage when he was with Lucy.
Of course, none of this helped him solve the problem of Christine. He was still recovering from the shock of having her in his house – a woman that wasn't a member of his household staff, at least not in the traditional sense, and whose purpose was – as of yet – undetermined; at least as far as he was concerned.
What was he going to do? Every moment that she spent under his roof meant that she was becoming a member of the family and she had already brought laughter and warmth back into the house just by being in it.
He jammed his eyes shut and pulled the pillow over his head - hoping, that by some miracle, he could cut off his own air supply; but he only succeeded in bringing on a headache. He sighed annoyingly and rolled over onto this side. Finally, around five o'clock in the morning, Erik drifted to sleep; maybe, if he was lucky, he might get a couple of hours of sleep.
TBC