I will expand on this chapter in the future, but I am too impatient to withhold it from you a moment longer. I am struggling between worrying that things are progressing too quickly, but not wanting it to be slow or boring, so hopefully I can find some sort of middle-ground.
Thank you so much to Filhound, RedDeathLvr, and michellecarriveau for remaining my faithful reviewers. And I am so glad that MagicRose713 has joined us! It flatters me that I have piqued your interest!
Ch. 21
Aurelie sat up in bed and glanced around her room, confused.
She could see her light-colored wood dressing table, chipped and worn out from each use, sitting desolate against the wall to the right side of her bed. A thin layer of dust had collected on its surface.
Few feet away from the end of her bed was the door to the hallway. It was closed, and she could see the spots where the fading white-colored paint was peeling off.
The tattered cream-colored lace drapes that adorned her window had seen better days, and did little to hinder the sunlight from streaming into the room in scattered spots on the floor.
Save for the plain dark-colored chair that sat in the left corner of the room, only a few footsteps away from the bed, the room appeared to be empty and neglected.
Yawning, she stretched her arms out before her. Hadn't someone been sitting in that very chair as she slept? Or had it been a figment of her imagination?
Not even a minute after she had positioned herself upright was she wincing from the pain in her temples. She reached her left hand up to massage the affected area when she felt the sharp ache of the wound in her palm. She turned it over and could see the tiny stitches that had been so carefully sewn together.
The events of the previous night were scattered memories in her mind, and she could not quite put the pieces together to form coherent thoughts. She could remember that her hand had been stitched, but her memory had failed her as to where or when it had happened.
She also thought that she remembered Erik staying to watch her fall asleep. Or had that been a dream, miscommunicated in her waking moments?
She threw the sheets off of herself and carefully stood up, so as not to aggravate the pain in her head. As she made her way over to the dressing table to pull out a fresh dress, she glanced down at herself and frowned.
Her once yellow-colored dress was dirtied, wrinkled, and stained with blood. She was not even certain if it could ever be redeemed to its former condition.
When glancing in the looking-glass, she saw that the swelling of her cheek had drastically lessened, and the blue-purple tint was fading. Had she a bit of powder, she could have easily covered it up, but she was thankful that it was less noticeable, at least. The small cut on her forehead had already formed a scab and seemed to the eye to be no worse than a papercut.
The remembrance of what had transpired suddenly flooded her mind, and she reaffirmed to herself that she would never travel to town at night, if she could help it. She had come far too close to danger, and she shuddered to think of what would have happened if she had failed to escape.
She could have been dead by now.
Then she remembered just how she had managed to escape, and she wondered how serious her assailant's injury would be. Yes, she had stabbed him in his torso, but the knife had been relatively small and she did not think that it would have been fatal. Still, she worried that perhaps she had murdered for the first time in her life that night.
She wondered what it would feel like, to have become a murderer for the first time. Did Erik ever think about it? She did not know how many he had killed, but she could not imagine that anyone would get used to the guilt that plagued her conscience.
Even if she had not killed the man, would he not report her to the authorities, despite the fact that he had attacked her? Would there not be some sort of punishment for her actions, regardless of the truth of what had happened (for she knew that he most certainly would lie about it)? She feared that the worst was not quite over, yet.
There is no use in worrying yourself, Aurelie, she thought to herself as she peeled her soiled clothes off of her aching body. What she wished for, more than anything, at that precise moment was a bath. What she wouldn't give for a bit of hot water, let alone running water!
Given her limited financial means, she could afford neither. She would need to find a bucket, or ask Erik if he had one to spare, so that she could boil water, but she could not imagine that it would be a very easy task with her injury. Instead, she decided that if Erik did not require for her to do anything that day, then she would take a cold bath.
Aurelie picked up her comb, noticing that a few of its teeth were missing. She made a mental note to buy a new one when she had the opportunity to.
As she gently picked at the tangles in her hair, she tried her best to remember what had happened after she had gotten away from her attacker. She could remember running away, towards a carriage, and Erik finding her. But she could not remember anything after the moment that she had stepped into the carriage.
This time, she decided not to pin her hair up, instead letting it fall down in waves down her back until it reached a few inches short of her elbows. The sight of her long, thick black curls reminded her of her mother. Thinking of her mother's dark skin and light brown-colored eyes, she wished that they had shared more than just the same tempered and colored locks.
She pushed all these thoughts aside; her attack and how she missed her mother, and cast one last glance into the mirror before she left the room to fetch a bowl. The only shallow dish that she had was cracked, but she filled it with water outside and brought it back to her room.
Positioning herself in front of the mirror, she rinsed her face and scrubbed the dirt off of her good cheek. She was much more gentle and careful on the other side, but once her skin was clean, she felt relief.
She returned to the kitchen and opened her cupboards to see that she had a few slices of bread and the one-and-a-half jars of marmalade left. She eagerly spread the sugary treat in a thick layer on each one and savored three whole pieces before she had had enough. She also grabbed one of the last two apples that she had and went outside.
Erik was grooming Caesar when he was made aware of her presence. He could hear her biting into the redish-greenish apple that she held in her good hand. The sunlight streamed past her shoulders, causing him to squint in the distance in order to get a better view of her.
Aurelie took three more large bites before she had reached him. She stopped among the tall grass that nearly reached her thighs and leaned against a nearby tree.
When he had remained facing away from her and had not turned around to look at her, she wondered if he had seen her, after all.
Nonsense, for he turned to look my way as I walked here, she reasoned.
She was suprised to see that he did not wear the typical black waistcoat; instead only a cream-colored shirt that had been neatly tucked into his black pants.
As the sunlight pierced the thin fabric, she could see the shape of the muscles in his back, and she turned away with a blush that rose to her cheeks.
It was then that the events of the night had suddenly been recalled to mind, and she nearly gasped in horror at the realization of the manner in which she had behaved the previous night.
She remembered drinking too much of the foul-tasting Rum that he had offered her to soothe the pain, and the way that it had made her mood cheerful and carefree. But at the same time, she knew that she had said a few things that were not meant to be said and had clearly made her appear to be a frivolous and giddy girl, instead of a responsible and grown woman.
She hoped that her actions had not tarnished her good standing with her sole employer. But had he not agreed to stay with her until she had fallen asleep? Certainly he could not be too upset with her, if he had done such a thing.
Yet she could not think about all that she had said to him without wanting to bury her head in her hands in shame. First of all, she was not entirely certain as to why she had said those things, and it made her wonder if she had really meant them, and secondly; even if they had been sincere words, they were not anything that he needed to know of.
How foolish he must think I am! she chided herself mentally. Why had I not behaved in a more responsible way?
She hoped that whatever small amount of respect that he once held for her had not disappeared.
Then she realized how much she was analyzing the situation. Was his opinion of her truly of such consequence? Was he not her employer, and nothing more?
She could not think of him and all that he had done for her without some sort of admiration and...and, what was it? What was the feeling within her chest, light and cautious to be felt, that made her suddenly so self-conscious of how he had perceived her, that made her wary of how she should behave in his presence?
The fluttering of her heart only increased when she had attempted to escape his notice and he had addressed her before she had even taken two steps away from him.
"I was not aware that you have nightmares."
Erik mentally cursed his choice of words.
Not to say that he had had his fair share of socialization with other people, but he had not encountered another individual who shared in the same night terrors in which he suffered from nearly every night, and it had surprised him to learn of it. Yes, Christine had been startled awake in the middle of the night as a child, once or twice, but she had not experienced a true nightmare.
Aurelie froze in place but did not respond, as the embarrassment in which she had previously felt had only increased. What, exactly, had she said or done in her sleep that she was not aware of and would prompt such an inquiry?
Am I not allowed to have nightmares? Of what consequence is it to you? she wanted to snap at him, but when remembering her behavior last night, and the kindness that he had bestowed upon her, her brief moment of hostility had disappeared.
"Yes," she finally replied after it seemed that he would say nothing more.
"About what, might I ask?"
"About that man."
Erik was silent. The thought of any man touching her made his countenance darken, and he regretted asking something so personal of her. After all, why should her dreams be of concern to him?
"They are usually about my father," she added.
She cast her glance to the ground with an expression of annoyance on her face. She wondered where he was at that moment, and how a man could ever so easily abandon his family.
Erik felt his shoulders tense when he heard her response. He had not realized that her father had treated her in such a way as to haunt her in her dreams, and the thought of it only provoked his temper.
He finally turned around to face her, but the brooding expression on his face had not faded.
"Your father...has behaved in a similar way?"
Although he knew that it was an inappropriate question to ask, as it was a complete invasion of her privacy, he could not hinder the overwhelming curiosity that had piqued his interest. It was wrong of him, yes; to be asking such questions and forcing her to feel whatever horrible emotions she must have felt from it all, but that fact had not prevented him from asking it, anyway.
"No, no; never!" she was quick to defend herself. She was embarrassed to think of Erik upsetting himself in her behalf over mere dreams.
When he waited for her answer, she sighed, as she had not wished to divulge her personal feelings, in order to avoid the sympathy that would result from it. She did not need pity when it came to the situation with her father, as simply the thought of him repulsed her.
"He never harmed me. He had a temper, but it had never manifested itself into anything more than words."
Erik wondered if, perhaps, she meant that her father had often insulted her.
"He was never around to act upon his anger, anyway."
He nodded his head in acknowledgement.
"He and my mother were once so in love...they would laugh and tease each other, or even sneak an affectionate gesture in public," she smiled as she recounted the fond memory. Then she glanced off into the distance and her smile faded, obviously thinking about the events that had followed.
"Then began his addiction to gambling, and he was never the same man. He would not even look at my mother the same way.
"I would often sit beside the window and wait for him to return, until one time a matter of hours had turned into days before he was seen again. Sometimes when he would return, his eyes were bloodshot and he would be injured from a fight.
"As a little girl, I would draw him a picture or wish to show him something new that I had learned, but it was as if he did not see me...as if I was invisible to him. He would walk past me every time, into his study, pour himself a drink, and shut the door. By the age of eleven, I had learned better than to even attempt to earn his attention or approval.
"I often dream that he is laughing in my face or locking me outside of his room and I become lost-I know; nothing dreadful enough to earn the merits of a nightmare."
Erik meditated on what she had confessed to him.
He tried to imagine what it would have felt like, had he any parents, to have been ignored as a child. While he could not sympathize with having a once-beloved parent fall prey to destructive and self-indulgent habits, her story had shed a bit more light on the reasons why she had behaved the way she did-she so earnestly sought the approval and attention of those in society to substitute the affections of an absent father.
"I learned that money was my only blanket of security, and that it would always grant me what I wished; that if I dressed extravagantly and spent hours on my vanity, that countless men would never refuse to pay me even the slightest bit of attention-whether it be a compliment, or even a grandiose bouquet of over-flowing flowers or a call upon my doorstep.
"I loved every last second of it. After years of never feeling good enough, of never feeling pretty or intelligent, a mere stranger would say these words to me in a matter of minutes if I were to attend a party.
"But now look at where it has gotten me..." she sighed. "I am, once again, stripped of importance and beauty."
Not beauty, he thought to himself. He could not imagine anyone thinking otherwise, as he observed her countenance; her smooth light tan complexion; the thickness of her eyelashes that framed pale-green eyes; the small round beauty mark on her right cheek, just above her lips; the darkness of her hair that made every detail of her face even more striking and exotic. Even with her fading bruise, she had retained her beauty.
She had not noticed the way in which he carefully observed her in silence, and she continued,
"But if these events have taught me anything, it is this; that without money, not a single person wants to be your friend-or even speak to you, for that matter. And if my circumstances were to ever change into favorable ones, I would not wish to return to society. I cast them off, just as they have done so with me."
Erik remembered how he often felt the same way-wishing to have nothing to do with other people, as they had so injustly treated him. He would never have a place in society, and he almost didn't wish for one.
"After all, look at what they have done to you!" she gestured towards him, apparently having no intention of ceasing her rant.
He furrowed his brows, as he had not been aware that she knew a single thing about himself, save for whatever the gossip that she had heard about his reputation had been.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"If anyone were to see that mask, you would not even have a chance of normalcy in life. Vanity is far too important for them to look beyond, and it sickens me to think that I still struggle with the remnants of that mentality."
He was silent, absorbing her words carefully.
"I do not know what is behind that mask of yours, but I do know that you have shown more compassion and kindness than anyone I have ever known. And that is all that matters."
He searched her face for any trace of sarcasm or hint of mockery, but he could see none. It made him wonder if, perhaps, her words the previous night had been sincere.
Certainly she could not feel anything beyond gratitude for him, as she would anyone else who had helped her?
The answer to that question was torture to him in itself.
His stare lingered, as he had finally decided that no woman had ever compared to the beauty of Ms. Daniels. Even the woman whom he had once loved, who now lived in his memory as a vague and abstract dream, would be a mere girl in the presence of the woman standing few feet away from him, now.
Do not be foolish; she will never see me as anything other than a monster...
He did not wish to think on the reality of it anymore, or to watch as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a slender and delicate finger, and he broke his stare to watch the wind catch the leaves as they swayed on the trees that surrounded them.