A/N: "Portrait of a Child" is a continuation of "After the Storm." It was only intended to be a final chapter, but sometimes the characters take charge and we authors must keep writing. They kept living on until "Portrait of a Child" became a full story itself. There are many references to "After the Storm" in this story, and this story exists in the world of that version of Charlotte and Alexander, so if you have not read "After the Storm," go there first. This story is finished, so have no fear that you will be left hanging for the ending, but I will post the chapters one at a time. There are seven chapters in all. This is hours upon hours of writing (and only two intimate scenes in this one - in Chapters 1 and 5 for those of you who either like to skip or read again), so your comments will fill the bucket of this tired author. I absolutely loved escaping into the world of these characters and I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Portrait of a Child
Chapter 1: The News
Charlotte awoke to the sun on her face through the easternmost window. She rolled to find her lover missing from his place. It was unusual for him not to wait for her to rise. In fact, she could not remember a morning when he had not waited. Even during their engagement, he had waited for her each day or walked to meet her along the way.
"Xander?"
No answer.
His drawers were no longer hanging over the back of the chair, where he'd left them the previous evening, and his riding boots were missing. She rang the bell for Joseph.
"Sir? Oh. Mam?"
"Joseph, did Mr. Colbourne leave in the carriage this morning?
"No, mam."
"I see. Thank you, Joseph."
"Mam."
Charlotte walked as quickly as she could to her own room, pulled a collared underdress that did not require stays from the closet, threw on her stockings, drawers, pinafore, jacket and boots, and was out the door within 5 minutes. She pulled the top half of her hair back as she walked.
Alexander was exactly where she expected to find him. In the stables, talking to Damien.
"Hey boy. What do you say we take a ride today, hmmm?" The horse knickered. "I know. It has been a long time, hasn't it? No matter. We shall find our stride, I think, with a bit of practice."
"Were you intending to mention this practise to your wife?" Her voice clearly startled him.
He continued to look at the horse. "Honestly?"
"I would hope we can be honest with one another."
He finally turned. "No."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"You have nothing to say other than 'no'?"
He turned his head to the side, looking away from her. She moved her body closer and spoke in hushed but angry tones.
"Well that may have worked, Alexander, when I was in your employ, but it will not work now that I am your wife. If you are going riding, I expect to be told." She turned on her heels and left.
All day, she could not concentrate. Her mind's eye kept returning to the sight of Alexander flying through the air and breaking his neck, flying through the air and crushing his spine against a tree, flying through the air and being trampled by his horse, getting caught in a stirrup and dragged before hitting his head on a rock. It seemed that every possible scenario of his death entered her mind at some point. Again and again she went to the window of the school room, which from the third floor had an expansive view of the property. Each time she did not see Alexander, the visions would begin again. Finally, at two-thirty, she ended the girls' lessons.
"But I wanted to collect leaves this afternoon," Leo fussed.
"You should absolutely do that, Leo."
"But, I wanted to do it with you."
"I understand darling, but sadly in life we do not always get what we want. I will join you on another day."
"Alright," Leo dejectedly left the room. Augusta, meanwhile, had not looked up from her book.
"Is there trouble in the Garden of Eden?" she snarked.
Charlotte was keenly aware that she had handled her anger badly in the morning. "All marriages have their moments. My parents have not survived a quarter century of marriage without disagreement. The strength of a marriage, Augusta, is in how you handle it. You'd be wise to remember that. It will be your turn before long. Excuse me."
She headed straight to the stables to Electra and saddled her quickly. Where could he be? She looked across at Hannibal's empty stall, and then knew exactly where Alexander was.
She rode the same route she had on the day Hannibal had fallen. She remembered each moment of that tortuous ride, trying to get back to Alexander as quickly as possible, hoping that she had judged his condition appropriately and made the correct decision to leave him. She remembered those few moments when she had arrived to find him sleeping beside Hannibal in the grass, her heartbeat stopping until she knew him to be alive.
She rode to the grassy knoll where Damien was grazing and removed the bit so Electra could join in the feast. Hannibal was buried under a large mound about fifty feet down the slope. Alexander was under the ancient oak at the top of the rise, knees bent, arms resting upon them, and head bowed. She sat a few feet from him and then tipped him over so that his head was in her lap. She treasured the feel of his hair between her fingers and she knew that he loved the feeling of her fingers in his hair. He had told her so several times. They sat in silence until the November sun settled low in the sky and a chill ran down her spine, causing an involuntary shiver. He immediately stood and offered her a hand, removed his jacket, wrapped her, and used the lapels to pull her in.
"I am not used to being accountable to anyone other than myself."
"Everyone deserves privacy. I just want to know if you are going riding so that I can come to look for you if something happens!" The emotions she had held in check all day seized her. She felt silly, but could not stop her voice from cracking. The words came before she had a chance to stop them. "I watched you fly through the air and for a few agonising seconds, I thought you might be dead. I do not want to come riding into the fields and find your body in the grass! I could not bear it, Alexander." She buried her head in his chest.
"My goodness. What brought this on?" He tucked her head beneath his chin and stroked her hair as she had done his. "I am here and very much alive," he murmured into her hair. "Shhh."
She allowed her tears to flow freely until they could come no more. She looked up at him and he kissed her gently, offering reassurance of his solid presence.
"I like being able to hug you again," she noted, referring to his previously cracked ribs. She squeezed him.
"Not too tight, please."
She wiped a few stray tears. "Did your riding go well? Did it hurt?"
"Trotting jostled me a bit too much, but walking and cantering were fine. I did not try the gallop today."
"Thank you for being sensible."
"How could I not be? Your voice was in my head chiding me the entire time!" She offered him an eye roll and a smile. "The pain is actually worse when I pull back on the reins. My ribs are much farther along than my shoulder, I fear."
"Dr. Fuchs said it would be that way. Shoulders take months to heal, he said."
"Yes, I know," Alexander said impatiently, "but at least I have use of it again, if not full strength."
"Give it time."
He nodded and kissed her nose.
Then her cheek.
Then her jaw.
Then her ear and neck until he ran into the collar on her dress.
He spoke against her lips, "Charlotte, I find that I really would like…" His breath was quickening and his hands wandering.
"Here? Now?"
"Yes. Here. Now." He began unbuttoning her dress to give him better access to her neck. "Your collar is in my way"
"I needed to dress quickly this morning to come and find you and the high collar means I can wear it without stays."
"You are not wearing any stays?"
"Nor a shift," she looked at him with suggestive eyes.
He made a noise low in his throat. "But I'll bet you are wearing those damned drawers, aren't you?"
She removed them while continuing to kiss him. "Not anymore."
Suddenly, she could not get close enough. She wanted him, all of him, inside of her, immediately. She unbuttoned the front of his trousers and drawers, pushed him backward into the grass and sat upon him without hesitation. As she moved, he slid off the shoulder straps of her pinafore, popped the rest of her buttons, and found her breasts, uncontained. She continued sliding and rocking beneath a mass of dress and skirt around her waist.
"Someone knows what she wants today."
"What I want, Alexander, is for you to tell me when you are going out." She moaned in between her words. "Not because I want to control you or because you are not capable, ahhh, but because I care about where you are, all the time." Her pace was quickening. Alexander's head was tipped back as his noises began to match hers. "I love you, Alexander Colbourne." He met her eyes with a fierce stare. She narrowed hers and stridently repeated, "I love you."
He rolled her onto her back. Her eyes grew large in question. Are you alright?
He was alright. "What I want, Charlotte Colbourne, is for you not to worry about me so much." He thrust, hard. "Uh. It has been two months and I am better now."
She bit his lip, also hard.
"Ow!"
"All I am asking is that you tell me where you are going!" She matched his quickening rhythm with her own. They dove at one another's mouths in a battle for control that neither was winning–pushing back and forth in a chaos of tongues, teeth, breath and lips tinged with blood.
"Fine, then. I will agree to tell you where I am going and you will agree not to worry."
"I cannot agree to that."
"No?" He thrust hard again.
She argued between breaths, continuing to meet his every action. "I am your wife and a mother to your children. When you are gone, we will miss you and we will worry about you. That is how family works." She rolled him back over.
"Is it?"
"Yes. You must promise." She put a hand on his chest to pin him.
"I cannot."
"You must. You must promise not to leave me a widow with three children to raise on my own!"
He stopped abruptly and stared up at her, hands on her waist.
"Charlotte?"
"What?"
"Did you hear yourself?"
"I said you must promise not to leave me a widow with … oh."
"Charlotte?"
She nodded.
"Already?"
"Well we have been rather busy!"
He moved again, slowly, and rolled her into the grass with grace rather than fury. "Yes," his voice was suddenly quiet like an errant whisper in church. "Yes we have." His face was circumspect–some combination of happiness and disbelief. His thrusts were entirely different–slow, deep, and reverent–as if he were singing a hymn to her with his body. She opened herself wider to him.
"I am sorry for my anger this morning. You needed time to collect your thoughts and I did not grant you that. I cannot promise I will not worry, but I can promise to try to do better by giving you time."
"I am sorry, too. I should have told you. Uh." He continued laying his deliberate, unending praise at her altar. "I should have trusted you enough to tell you. I cannot promise, oh, that I will not make you a widow, because it will not always be a promise that is in my control to keep. Charlotte! But I can promise to trust you. I should have trusted you. I am sorry, Charlotte. Oh, Charlotte!" He raised himself up on his arms like a snake and she felt him press as deeply as he could go, his body shaking as he spilled a warmth into her that spread through her body as if it was the Holy Spirit itself.
"I believe we just reconciled our first argument," she smiled.
"Not yet we haven't," he smiled back and, leaving himself inside of her, reached down with his thumb to help her finish. She shook from release and shivered from chill at the same time. He immediately stood and pulled her to her feet, quickly righting her clothing and wrapping his jacket back around her. She buttoned him in return, and they were back where they had started. He pulled her in by the lapels and placed the most chaste of kisses upon her lips. "Now, we have solved it," he pulled her the rest of the way to him, swaying back and forth like a dance of forbidden closeness. "I think you are my own piece of heaven on earth." His chest was still heaving with breath against her. "I have been wanting to make love to you in that…" he searched for a word, "... normal way, well, for as long as I've known you, really."
"Mr. Colbourne," she mocked him, "were you having impure thoughts about your governess?"
"Mhmmm," he kissed her again, not so chastely, before kneeling in front of her and placing a far more deferential kiss on her abdomen. "When?"
"Sometime in June, I think."
"I cannot believe it."
She ran her fingers through his hair again. "Alexander, do you think we could keep it a secret for a while?"
"Why?"
"I just want to enjoy it with you for a while, without the whole world knowing."
"I think that sounds lovely, for a bit of time anyway."
"And I think perhaps we should argue more often during our relations."
He laughed, "The formula for marital bliss." He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked to the horses under the setting sun.
