XXXII

"…So it came to pass just as the little princess had hoped and the king declared that they would all feast and be merry that day…"

Lady Francesca Cavendish trailed off, listening intently for the telltale signs that her niece was sleeping and gave a sigh of relief upon hearing the steady rhythmic breathing that told her the little one was in the land of nod. She did not yet put her in her crib however; knowing that to move too soon meant the child would wake and she'd end up having to start reading again, so she remained still and enjoyed the peaceful moment, holding the baby close, drinking in her tiny features, breathing in her scent and placing gentle kisses on her wispy hair.

Lady Catherine Watmough had turned one that very afternoon and the party held in her honour was predictably lavish; her mother, Lady Natalia Watmough had never been one to do things by halves and a splendid time had been had by all.

By late afternoon however, the joyful birthday smiles had turned to tired birthday tears and Natalia had found herself struggling with tending to her guests and her demanding offspring so Francesca had stepped in to take the child off her hands. It was a role she often fulfilled these days, not because Natalia was in any way lacking as a mother, indeed one of the most pleasant surprises for Francesca had been to discover that her sister was an excellent mother, it was merely that like many first-time mothers, Natalia tried too hard to be perfect at everything, particularly when it came to events such as this one.

Francesca was more than happy to help, she adored the child and caring for her gave her something to do, especially at parties, where she would normally feel useless. She smiled at her peaceful charge, glad to have finally lulled her into slumber – the little lady had been tired and cranky, wailing her woes into her aunt's ear and it had taken Francesca several attempts to get her to sleep but despite all that, there was nowhere else she would rather be. She loved to read stories to her, always had, ever since she was a tiny baby and though she knew that Catherine was too young to understand what she said, she could sense the peace that it brought the little girl and herself as well.

Reading stories also brought her closer to him. To her memories of doing the same with him. He'd always had the same trick as her niece; waking up just when Francesca thought he was sleeping…

Sometimes she liked to pretend that he was there with her and that Catherine was their child… she could just picture him coming home from a day's work, folding her into his embrace from behind, his beard tickling her neck, proudly looking over her shoulder at the baby. Sometimes she could almost feel him, his warm chest against her back, soft lips seeking that tender spot just beneath her ear…

Then she would snap out of it and the real world would come rushing back, bringing with it little more than a note to self to quit daydreaming but sometimes… for the briefest of moments, she would not know where she was and would look for him, wondering where he'd gone before realising…

Tears would come then and with them that awful feeling in her stomach that made her want to curl up and wither away.

The sound of Catherine's breathing always brought her back.

I love you little one. More than you could ever know.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Lady Lydia Belmont tiptoed into the nursery and hugged her cousin tightly, happy to see her after a trip to court with Sir Thomas. She'd asked Francesca to accompany her but had known that, just as in previous years she would not – the memories of Sir Guy of Gisborne making it painful to return to the last place she'd seen him.

"Well you know me, be it horses or babies; I'll take whatever excuse I can to get out of a party." Francesca grinned knowingly at her cousin, pleased to find that she had arrived in one piece albeit late to the party.

"You're looking well." Lydia knew how Francesca hated comments about her appearance but couldn't help but mention it for Francesca was looking well, better than she had in a long time in fact, having gained a little weight the past few months, "Being an aunt is good for you."

Francesca was unable to refute this. She knew she'd been painfully thin, illness and stress having taken their toll upon her body - the result of constant self-exertion, trying to keep it together despite inwardly falling apart, forced to toe the line with her father despite hating him for what he'd done. The separation from Guy had cut her deeply, had touched every part of her and it was no wonder that it had diminished her physically just as it had mentally.

As Lydia had guessed, it was the child that made the difference. Not that she hadn't tried to pick herself up, lord knows how hard she'd tried but she'd needed something to lift her thoughts from the dark places they had gone to, to give her a reason to get up when she felt like she could not.

Lydia had done what she could, knowing she suffered but even with a devoted cousin at one's side it wasn't easy, especially when forced to play happy families at her sister's wedding whilst wracked with the grief of what she'd lost… what she could not have…

On the day, she had been all that a good sister should be but afterwards when all the guests had gone, she'd broken down. Her father, who'd never been one for tact or good timing, had then twisted the knife by declaring that he'd probably never be so fortunate as to see her wed.

Lydia had been the one to speak. She hadn't been able to herself, the pain of what he'd said completely floored her and she'd had to sit down to contain the force of her sobs.

"Well is it any wonder with you as a father!? There was somebody for her! And don't pretend you don't know of whom I speak! HE would have married her! But what did you do? You separated them! So don't you ever say that nobody would have her!"

It was the first and last time the subject came up.

Her father backed off. Lydia and Sir Thomas took her to Devon for some much-needed space to mend her broken heart. A fool's errand she now knew. It was there in the house of her cousin that she came to understand what it was everyone had warned her about. The danger in becoming too attached. The pain of separation. She knew it now, oh, how she knew it but had she known it then, would she have rushed so headlong into love? Would she have given him her heart so easily?

Yes.

The answer was etched onto her soul. Unchanged after all these years.

She had loved him and would always love him no matter what. His touch was burned into her skin; his voice echoed in her mind, his eyes, his smile…

She could never regret loving him and knew with every fibre of her being the strength of her regard but it didn't stop her from agonizing over his role in the story. Her memories of what happened were as vivid as ever but her interpretation of them was ever changing. Some days she felt certain that he'd loved her as she loved him but other days she told herself that he'd only felt gratitude towards her, that he'd sought comfort, nothing more, that his illness had made him receptive to her… That he'd not been in his right mind, that their shared affection was a result of delirium similar to that which had at one point made him think she was his mother… That once his health had returned he'd most likely come to his senses and found another… somebody better… stronger… someone who wouldn't just up and leave without even saying goodbye…

Her stomach twisted in jealousy at the thought but surely it must be so. As handsome as he was, it was unlikely for him to have not found someone. He must have had dalliances with countless women over the years and how could those few days she spent with him compete?

He'll not want to think of what happened back then, after all, who wants to remember being ill?

She remembered hearing some years back that he had gone with Lord Vaisey to Nottingham, she wondered how it was for him there, if he had found his place in the world...

He'll have a wife and children now. Just as it should be. I doubt he even remembers you.

Lydia coughed to bring her out of her thoughts and Francesca smiled reflexively to cover the sadness that washed over her whenever her mind went down that well-worn road. Lydia could read her like a book however and knew exactly what she'd been thinking of. She pulled her into a hug. "I missed you" she whispered and Francesca hugged her back.

"And I you."

It was in moments like this she was happy to be reminded that love was not everything; there was a lot to be said for the company of beloved relatives as well.

"If he loved you, truly loved you, he would've come for you wouldn't he?"

The words played over and over in Francesca's mind causing her to sink anew into dejected moods.

Natalia had not meant to be cruel, indeed, she had been more kind than Francesca could ever have imagined since leaving the house of their father, his influence upon her diminished now that she was married and in her own home, but at times the Natalia of old came to the fore and her comments were as biting as ever.

She was right - that was what made this remark hurt the most.

He would've come for her. He would've tried for her. He would've taken her away from this pretence of a life at her father's side where she could only feel like herself away from him – in her sister's or cousin's house, in the stables or nursery - anywhere but where he was. There was no quarrel. There was no fight. She bent to his will whatever it should be without protest but the effort it took drained her more than ever and where she once thought she could perhaps in time grow to love her father as a daughter should, she was long past that now.

Such hopes were naïve. As naïve as hoping for a knight to come rescue her from the coldness of her home.

She remembered the conversation she'd had with Guy about how "no father would want somebody with so little for their daughter" and had consoled herself in knowing that his motive for staying away was his situation but then as she'd learned of him going to Nottingham she'd begun to wonder. A spark of hope had kindled deep inside her and she'd dreamt of a day when he would come to her and deliver her from her existence such as it was, with her father.

Why do we lose ourselves in fairy tales? Because we want to go to places far away…

As the years passed, Francesca had not wholly given up on the fairy tale of a life with Guy or even just a chance to see him once more but she learned better to live with it, to not count upon it nor give up on all else that life could still offer her.

If it is meant to be, it shall be.

Little did she know just how much her trust in fate was about to be shaken.