I'm so, so, so sorry for not updating in almost a month. I meant to, believe me, but my life just got crazier and crazier. First my computer sort of died, and I was panicking because I thought all my stories and stuff would be gone. Well, we got the computer back (yay!), but then I went on vacation. And now I've started school again, just a couple of college classes now, but high school begins on Tuesday. So that's my (poor) excuse. At any rate, here's chapter seven. Enjoy.
The next morning found Henri standing on the front steps of the Hawthorne home, knocking at the door. After a short wait, Sophie answered, and Henri was struck with a painful flashback to that fateful day two years ago, when he had first accepted Hawthorne's loan. Well, that had been the worst day of his life, but now he finally had a chance to set things right.
Sophie stared at him warily. "What do you want, Mr. LeFevre?"
He swallowed, surprised at just how nervous he was. "I'm here to see Anne."
"Ah, the young mistress. I thought as much. Well, come in. She's in the upstairs parlor." Henri followed her inside, through the entrance hall, up the grand staircase, and down a lushly carpeted hall to a partially open door at the end of it. Sophie reached up a bony hand and rapped at the door.
"Who is it?" asked a harsh voice from within.
"It's Sophie, miss. Mr. LeFevre's with me, and he wants to talk with you."
There was a sigh. "Alright, send him in."
Sophie pushed the door open, ushered Henri in, and left as fast as she could. Once inside, Henri took a quick look around. The room was octagon shaped, with a big bay window that looked out on the garden at the back of the house. The window was covered with sheer pink curtains, presumably to match the pink wallpaper. The polished wood floor was covered with fluffy white rugs with designs of pink roses on them. The room was furnished with a settee and two chairs, both upholstered in shiny pink moire. There was a low mahogany table in front of the settee, on which sat a porcelain tea set painted with pink roses. The walls were liberally covered with watercolor paintings of flowers. All in all, it didn't look like a place often frequented by anyone male.
Anne was sitting on the settee, propped up among large needlepoint pillows. She was wearing a pink satin dressing gown and sipping a cup of tea. "So good to see you, Henri. Please do sit down," she said in a voice that was dangerously calm.
Henri slowly sat down in one of the chairs, his heart pounding. She extended a cup of tea to him, but he shook his head. "We need to have a talk," he said.
"Oh," she said, gently clapping her hands, "you've come here to apologize for what happened last night. Oh goody."
He bit his lip. This was not a good sign. "Not exactly..."
She cocked her head to one side, looking slightly confused. "What then?" she asked.
It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, he began. "Well, it's like this. I'm not in love with you. I never have been. Maybe you've figured that out after what happened yesterday, but even so, I feel like I ought to tell you. I only agreed to marry you because your father would forgive my loan if I did, and well, I was in a pretty dire financial situation. But then I fell in love, and I realized it was impossible for me to keep up the charade any longer. I'm really sorry, but there's, there's someone else." He swallowed hard, waiting to see how she reacted.
The teacup slid from her fingers and shattered on the wood floor, spraying tea all over the rug. "What do you mean there's someone else? Is it that girl from last night? What a tramp!" She was furious.
Henri felt his temper begin to rise at hearing Liberty called a tramp. "How dare you?" he exclaimed, "You don't know the first thing about her! I come here and try to be nice to you, and this is what I get? Well I'm done! Give me back my ring so I can get out of here!"
Anne stood up quickly, scattering her stack of pillows. "I would like nothing better!" She pulled Henri's diamond from a pudgy finger and threw it at him as hard as she could. "Take it!" she shrieked, "Take it and good riddance! I'm done with you!" She sank back onto the settee, folded her arms across her chest, and fumed.
Henri winced as the ring hit his outstretched palm. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he stuck it in his pocket, but she wouldn't listen. Shrugging his shoulders, he left the room, shut the door behind him, and retraced his steps out of the house. It was the last time he ever saw Anne Hawthorne.
He paused for a moment on the sidewalk outside. Turning his eyes skyward, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. It was over. There would be no more Anne to get in the way, to ruin everything. The way was clear, and there was just one thing left to do. With a big smile on his face, he turned his steps toward Pritchard Street.
As he waited for someone to answer his knock, he hoped fervently that it would be Liberty, and not her mother or one of her sisters. But much to his dismay, when the door opened, he found himself looking into the startled face of Mrs. Hiller. "Henri," she said, her voice a little flustered, "What brings you here?"
"I need to talk to Liberty."
Mrs. Hiller bit her lip and looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid you can't."
"I can't?"
"I'm afraid she doesn't want to see you today. In fact, she doesn't want to see anyone today, really."
"But you don't understand," he said, practically begging, "I have to see her. I need to see her. Everything's okay now, and she needs to know that. Please, please, please just let me talk to her."
"Henri, I know how much you care about her. So please, just give her some space. Last night was very hard on her; it was hard on everybody. Just let everything settle for a while." She was holding Benjamin, her year and a half old son, in her arms, and he began to cry.
Henri didn't know what to do. "Are you sure?" he asked plaintively, "Because I have to see her. I just have to."
Mrs. Hiller rocked the baby back and forth. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be, Henri. You can't see her, because she doesn't want to see you right now. Don't do this to her, don't hurt her."
"But I," he swallowed hard, "You don't understand. She means the world to me."
"I know. And that's exactly why you should give her some space right now. Have a nice day, Henri." And without another word, she turned and went inside, closing the door quickly behind her. He could still hear the baby wailing away. What now? He turned his gaze to the second floor, looking at the row of curtained windows. Was she up there right now? Which window was hers?
Suddenly, he saw a slender white hand at the window on the end. The hand parted the curtain, and he saw a thin, pale, tearstained face look out. Liberty. She looked as if she hadn't slept, and he was filled with overwhelming feelings of guilt, for he knew that it was all his fault. She looked down, and their eyes locked. "Liberty!" he yelled, "Please come down!" She must have heard him. But she only shook her head and let the curtain fall back into place.
So that was it. She really wasn't going to talk to him. She really wasn't going to let him explain. He turned away, dejected. There was nothing more he could think to do at the moment. But it wasn't over, it couldn't be. Somehow, he was going to find a way to make her see. He just wasn't going to let what happened last night be their last kiss. That thought was uppermost in his mind as he turned away.
"You know, Libs, you really should have talked to him," said her sister.
Liberty turned from the window. "Mercy..." she said plaintively.
Mercy held up her hands defensively. "Don't get mad. All I'm saying is that you should have given him a chance."
"But you don't understand! He's engaged to someone else. What he did to me last night..." She broke off and sank to the bed, holding her head in her hands.
"Libs, he loves you. I know he does."
"Even if he does, where does that get us? He's engaged, Mercy. Don't you get that? He's engaged, and not to me. So what's the use? Everything's ruined already."
"Just give him a chance," Mercy pleaded, "Just let him say what he has to say. Who knows? He may surprise you."
Liberty flopped over and buried her head in her pillow. "Oh, please just go away and leave me alone. If you have any compassion at all, please just leave me."
"Alright, alright. I tried to help you, Liberty. So if this doesn't work out for you, it's not my fault." She left, closing the door behind her as she went.
Liberty started to cry again. She knew her sister was right, but yet she still didn't have the courage to face Henri. The events of last night were still too fresh in her mind. Just the memory of Henri's arms around her, the feel of his lips on hers. It was all too much. Was she wrong for wanting to spend the rest of her life with him? She couldn't believe that she was. But what was the use of wishing for something that could never happen? It was Anne Hawthorne who was going to become Mrs. LeFerve, not her. And that was why she couldn't talk to Henri. It was just too painful. Would things ever be right again? Right now, she just didn't know.
Will things ever be right again? You can probably guess, but you're going to have to keep reading to find out for sure. I make no promises about the speed of this next update, especially since school has started again, but I'll try to be speedy. I think I would be speedier, though, if I got more reviews. Hint, hint...