A bit more serious this chapter

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Chapter 18: Another Year Older

Queene's Abbey East Sussex England March 14, 1844

—Selina

Another year older, 24, I'm practically dead!

Selina scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, scanning for nonexistent wrinkles and gray hairs, but her youthful appearance gazed back at her reassuringly.

An impatient meow directed her attention away from the glass to the cat that rubbed against Selina's nightdress, demanding her mistress's undivided attention.

"Isis, my precious, come here."

Selina picked up the black cat and carried her to the Tudor bed. Sitting she began to stroke the cat's silky fur, finding comfort in the soothing rhythm of Isis's purrs.

The candle burned low and its dim light was overtaken by the sliver of moonlight that crept through the leaded window pane. Casting a warm glow on the quiet companionship of the pair curled up on that ancient bed, bonded together in the constancy of one another's presence in that alienating space.

Isis's breathing slowed as she fell into a peaceful slumber in her mistress's arms. Selina laid back against the pillow and drew the cat to her chest, hugging her close. Staring at the bed's bare oak ceiling with its multitude of cracks and grooves that Selina had memorized many years ago.

It was her birthday today.

There hadn't been a party of course, "Frivolous displays of vanity," as Uncle Francis called them. Fascinating how he didn't express that same view when his son Horatio had his birthday.

She had to give Francis some credit though, it was obviously Hortense who insisted on indulging her son's every whim, Francis had simply washed his hands of the whole thing and given up on training his son's character to fit the high Randle standards. Shame he hadn't extended that same neglect to her. She sometimes wondered if Francis even liked his son. It was impossible to tell as the man adopted the same formal austerity with everyone he met.

Positively frigid and unfeeling.

She wondered what it would be like to have a birthday party, a whole event where you were the center of attention.

"One day," she whispered in Isis's sleeping ear.

"One day I will be the center of someone's world. He will love me to distraction, and I will never be alone again. Then you and I will leave Queene's Abbey forever Isis, we will be free!"

She smiled in joy as she dreamed, unknowingly squeezing the cat in her arms until Isis gave her a disgruntled meow.

"And you know something Isis, I have a secret that I can only share with you. I think I've found him, the one to take us away. If everything goes according to plan he will propose before April's end. We have to play our cards right Isis; this is our one chance. But if it works, oh please God let it work, then we will never be ignored again. I can't tell any of this to Uncle Francis you understand. I admit I am afraid of him, though, I think the thing that unnerves me most are his sharp eyebrows. But it doesn't matter, because someday, someday soon…"

Riverfoot Hall Kent England March 22, 1844

—Diana

Dear Diana,

Many Happy Returns of the Day, on Your Sixteenth Birthday! I am sorry I haven't written for a while, so allow me to first answer the inquiries from your previous letter.

I am pleased that you are enjoying your study of Shakespeare. As for my opinion on The Taming of The Shrew, I must confess, I am more inclined to Shakespeare's sonnets than his plays, but if memory serves, I was not an admirer of that piece. I found the humor a bit rough and too cruel to truly warrant amusement. Also, the character of Bianca struck me as false, putting on a façade of tenderness to gain admiration rather than honest disposition. I suppose then I am more inclined towards Katherine, for though sharp-tongued, she is the more honest character. As for Petruchio however, he is a proud and arrogant fool who cannot admit his mistakes nor forgive.

To the matter of the infamous Ms. Spencer, I would remind you that patience is a virtue that must be cultivated. But I must also agree with Miss Gordon, the Mongols certainly have a list of conquests that we British have not managed to match, yet.

It is good that the two of you have struck up a friendship. Her father is an honorable man and I am sure he is pleased that his daughter has acquaintances beyond Gotham's sphere. You might suggest to your Aunt that Barbara also join in your studies, I am sure the Commissioner would be grateful and contribute to Ms. Spencer's salary to alleviate any burden.

It is disappointing that you've abandoned befriending Barda. However, given your observations of her reactions, it may be for the best. It is never advisable to invade another's privacy for your own curiosity; others will reveal what they wish you to know there is no need to pry.

Best of luck in besting Alfred at chess, few braver than you have tried. If you do accomplish such a herculean task, I will personally have the set covered in gold as a gift!

I have left London and am currently visiting East Sussex. I do not yet know when I shall return to Kent, though it sounds as if you have more than enough to occupy your time and shall hardly notice my absence at all. But don't worry Princess, as I said before, I will always come back.

I would be honored to meet your horse and I am quite sure Kara will provide a variety of unique names for inspiration.

Now, I will leave you some food for thought before I sign this letter. To aid your study of poetry, a verse from the poet William Wordsworth,

The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight.
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore: —
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day.
The things which I have seen I now can see no more!

Now Princess, see if you can find the rest and send me the next stanza. I await your reply.

Sincerely yours,

Bruce W.

Diana reread the letter for the millionth time. Each time her young heart swelled with glee! It was her birthday and Bruce had sent her a letter. No other moment in her whole life could be so perfect.

I am sixteen today, a grown woman.

Laying longways across her bed she kicked her long legs periodically into the air to keep her feet from skimming the floor, as she rested her chin on the bed's edge and held the letter over empty space between the bed's edge and floor.

The bright early spring sunshine streaming through the window illuminated the black ink letters, making the handwriting shimmer before her eyes, tempting her to memorize every curve.

A loud knock rapped on the door, interrupting her concentration as she traced the signature with her finger.

Leaping from the bed, Diana frantically creased the letter into a folded envelope-ish shape and shoved it into the open jewelry box that sat on the floor.

Slamming the lid closed, the sound of the doorknob clicking shot through her ears.

Panicking, Diana tossed a stray shawl over the chest and practically threw it under the bed before springing to her feet just in time to meet Kara's overly curious face attempting to peer over the bed.

"What are you doing?" Kara asked innocently, straining her short frame to its highest in order to poke into her cousin's space.

"Kara, how many times have I told you? Don't come into my room without knocking."

Diana scooted up to the bed so that her knees could feel its edge through her skirts.

Kara shrugged and began to walk around the room, picking up a decorative vase, looking at its simple pattern.

"I knocked."

Kara returned the vase, looking elsewhere for entertainment.

"You are supposed to wait for me to let you in, knocking is not a right of entry!"

Kara giggled, sitting on Diana's chaise, and lounging like a bored queen.

"Why are you laughing?" Diana demanded.

"Why are you laughing!" Kara echoed, mimicking Diana's accent, something she was doing with increasing frequency every time Diana forgot herself and allowed her true voice to slip out.

A shame fueled heat rose through her body, burning her face, blurring her vision, scorching her ears. Her jaw clenched and hands shook as her heart ached and pounded against her breast.

Kara giggled again at the never-failing fun of this imitating game.

"Out." Diana hissed.

Kara sat straight up on the chaise, squaring her small shoulders.

"No, you promised to take me to the pond yesterday, and we still haven't gone!" The nine-year-old crossed her arms.

"Out!" Diana boomed.

Grabbing the little girl under the arm she lifted her off the chaise, dropped her on the ground and marched her gruffly towards the door. Feeling a stinging retribution as she dug her nails through the cotton sleeve into the vicious child's arm.

"OW! Hey, okay, OKAY! Fine I'm sorry, Di let me go!" Kara barked as she clawed at her arm, trying in vain to free herself from the iron strength of the older girl's grip.

"Out, out, OUT!"

Diana threw the scrappy blonde into the hall and slammed the door on her heels.

Once on her feet, Kara kicked the door furiously from the other side.

"No fair let me in! You can't throw me around, come out here and fight fair!"

Diana leaned against the door, making a human barricade.

Kara continued to beat the door untiringly, yelling her righteous fury through the keyhole.

"You've been hiding in there all week! Why can't I come in?"

"Because you can't!" Diana thundered back.

"That's not a reason!"

"I don't need a reason it's my room!" At this point, Diana was no longer yelling in English, though she hadn't noticed, which only added to Kara's sense of exclusion.

"UGH!" Kara's sonic scream pierced through the wood. Diana covered her ears.

"Use your normal voice!" Kara's own voice was now so high-pitched that no doubt Mrs. Lane's pug was covering his ears a whole mile away.

Diana punched the door with all her might! The corresponding thud and yelp signaled that the blow had met its ear pressed target.

Smiling bitterly at the faint crack now tarnishing the door's once perfect seeming veneer she shook her hand violently, a surge of elation pumping through her with each throbbing protest from her abused extremity.

"Go Away Kara!" Came the reply in very slow and deliberate English.

"You promised! You can't break a promise!"

The wood rattled as it was attacked by a flurry of swift kicks and hits from tiny feet and fists.

Diana braced herself against the door which groaned under this double assault.

Without warning the barrage ceased.

Diana pressed her ear to the lock to hear what had happened.

"HEY! Put me down, Put me down right now! Ugh, are you listening you giant, let me go! This isn't fair, it was her fight too! Why am I always the one who gets in trouble?"

Kara's protest grew quickly fainter.

Diana cracked the door and peeked down the hallway. She just managed to glimpse the colossal form of Big Barda carrying Kara under one arm like a sack of feed down the stairs. Despite the child's kicking and bellowing, the maid seemed as cool and calm as if she were toting a pillow, completely unmoved by the squirming parcel's outcries.

Suddenly terrified of her fate she shut the door and stood back, staring at it with wide eyes, waiting.

She would have happily waited longer, but it seemed that mere seconds had passed before the striding footsteps ricocheted through the walls, drawing nearer.

The door swung open without ceremony, halting with a jolt.

Diana jumped and gasped in fright as the dark-brown eyes bore into her, stripping away all sense of certainty and justification.

The imposing guard just stood in the doorframe, her stern face unreadable as marble. The minutes dragged and she was feeling increasingly vulnerable as Barda glared down on her.

Diana shifted her weight from foot to foot, why did it feel like a weight was pressing down on her shoulders?

She couldn't take it any longer!

"I—"

"You're Aunt is resting, she is tired."

With that Barda turned around and closed light as a feather.

All her strength drained from her body, Diana sunk to the floor in a pool of cotton and horsehair skirts. Weakly she crawled to the side of her bed.

Leaning against the soft mattress's side she, for a moment, hid her face in the warm comfort of the overhanging blankets.

Turning back, she took in a deep breath, shakily filling her burning lungs.

Slowly, cautiously, she reached a hand beneath the bed skirt and felt her nail graze the smooth wood of the jewelry chest.

Leaving her finger faintly touching the relic she laid her head on the bed's edge.

I am sixteen today.

Her eyes traveled up the wall until they looked into the melancholic azure eyes of the portrait. Her mother's portrait, her English mother.

Another year gone, the first of the rest of my life.

Hot tears scalded behind her unblinking lids as she pulled her hand back, resting it within the folds of her consuming skirts and another piece buried itself further from the surface, locked beneath the meticulously crafted veneer.

I am Lady Diana Princeton, I am English, I live at Riverfoot Hall, my family loves me very much, and I am happy.

Kent Townhouse London England March 24, 1844

—Lois

Another year…another failure…

Lois felt like a caged animal clawing at bars as she sat in bed. Every picture and figuring seemed to be staring at her, judging her, mocking her.

Lois skin crawled with irritation as her surrounding closed in on her, she had to get out of that room!

Except she couldn't.

If she left then she would have to see him, and that was something she was not ready for.

Angry tears burned as they rolled down her cheeks. She glanced her mother's letter that laid crumpled in a ball on the floor where she had tossed it.

Lois squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of the hateful words on that page, but with no luck. They rolled through her mind like a pounding drum.

I know you were never of a maternal disposition, but for once in your life think of your reputation and accept that as a woman you have certain obligations to fulfill. This latest failure may well mean your ruin! One miscarriage is easy enough to forgive, but two is not! Think of your sister, how many men do you think will want a bride whose familial abilities are in question? How could you be so reckless, once a man's eye wanders it doesn't journey back. For heaven's sake, Lois do your duty, your husband needs an heir…

She hadn't finished reading the letter but instead threw it at the fire, she'd missed.

Yes, she knew he needed an heir, she knew that was the only job a wife was supposed to accomplish. The one thing a woman was meant to be able to do, and yet she couldn't. She didn't need Mrs. Lane's assistance, Lois already felt a failure, as a wife, and as a woman.

And why was her mother harping on about her sister? Lucy was only 12 for goodness sake!

Ugh! Lois moaned as she hid her face in her hands. The way Mrs. Lane spoke you'd think Lois had planned to miscarry.

Some of what her mother said was true. Lois had never given any thought to becoming a mother and didn't really feel she was suited for the role. But nothing, in the whole world, could ever have made her desire the pain and confusion she had endured now twice over. No, she wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy.

What if I can't do it? What if I can't give him a child, would Clark really tire of me? He wants children so badly, I can see it in his eyes, practically begging every day. No, Clark wouldn't abandon me, he's too honorable...Now, but will he always? I don't know, I just don't know. Ugh, why did you marry me farm boy!

Again, she caught sight of the letter and Lois seethed with rage and hurt.

Lois wanted to scream, to hurt someone, like she was hurting, more than anything she just wanted to let it out!

Her eyes searched frantically around the room for something in reach. They landed on the silver-backed mirror on the nightstand. It had been a wedding gift from Clark's mother, another person she'd disappointed.

With an all-consuming fury Lois snatched the mirror, gripping the handle till her knuckles were white.

Rearing back, she hurled the precious antique at the fireplace and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces, glass shards splintering in every direction.

But instead of the release she'd hoped for, a tight knot twisted in the pit of her stomach as her doubts and fears crowded in on her louder than before, isolating her in a fog of pain.

Lois buried her head beneath the covers, begging to disappear.

She felt so lonely, if only someone were there to tell her it would be alright. Lois surprised herself by wishing Clark would come in and soothe her with his useless promises of sunnier days and simple naïve reassurance that everything would be fine.

But, if he came to her, then she would have to see the disappointment and concern in his sickeningly kind eyes. She'd have to face him when she'd lost the thing he wanted most. No, that was something she just couldn't do.

—Clark

Silence,

He raised his hand, poised to knock again, but after a moment's hesitation he lowered his arm. Staring at the closed door for a moment longer, Clark turned and walked back down the hall.

She wouldn't let him in anyway.

The loneliness settled over the house like a cold frost.

He didn't want it to be like this. He longed to hold his wife in his arms and share their grief. To reassure her that it didn't matter if they had children, because he wanted her more. To see her face as he let go of his dreams of being a father if it would make her happy. To just talk, simply be together and talk. But he couldn't, because she didn't want him.

In another year perhaps…another year.