Hello everyone! I am so glad I am able to get you all this chapter before I have to go out town tomorrow! But the only reason I am able to do this is because of my genius beta Juliana. You must all bow down to her greatness! Three cheers to Juliana the best beta in the world!
Unfortunately for you guys this chapter is another cliff hanger. I am a terrible horrible bad person! But this chapter was already 12 pages long and I just had to stop!
Oh and I have an exciting announcement to make…well exciting for me anyway. Today I got an email with my first ever fan art in it. And it was fabulous too! If I can ever figure out how to post it somewhere I will tell you all to go see it. The artist was one of my reviewers. Her pen name is IHeartPOTO. Go check out her other work it is great.
Blah sorry this author's note is so long…but I hope you enjoy this next chapter…and once again thanks to every single reviewer! It is because of you guys I pushed to get this done before I went out of town! Hurray!
Chapter 34: Celebrations and Betrayals
Six Months Later:
Mid December, 1871
The night sky glimmered as large, lace-like snow flakes sifted to earth, settling amongst the knee high drifts already upon the ground. Through the low hanging clouds a full moon cast its cold white light onto the frozen landscape, illuminating a long winding drive and the carriages slowly making their way up it toward the huge imposing manor at the lane's end. The soft thudding of the horse's hooves and the mournful groaning of the snow as it gave under a multitude of wheels filled the quiet night air. Shadowy figures quickly alighted from the lead coach and hurried toward the massive double doors of the Donovan mansion.
The house itself shone like a beacon through the strange half-light of the moon lit night; every window in the three story rectangular front winking with the warm glow of gas powered lamps. Thin webs of dormant ivy vines climbed up the sandy stone blocks of the front façade, hinting at the grandeur of the summer gardens. Corinthian columns framed the now open front door, echoing the popular revival of Roman style architecture a couple decades ago.
Brielle moved from the frost clouded window then pulling white silk gloves over her shaking hands, worrying over the number of cloaked people she had counted coming into the house. Andrew was throwing a large Christmas bash in honor of both the season and their impending marriage on New Years day, inviting every blue-blooded snot on the continent, or so it seemed anyway. At the last count Brielle had cared to listen to, over two hundred people were coming. Knowing that she would soon have to go down and mingle with such a huge crowd was enough to make her physically ill.
Sucking in a calming breath, Brielle moved to stand before a floor length mirror in the corner of the room. Despite the rolling sickness in her stomach she had to admit that at least outwardly she looked calm. Never being one to bother about her appearance, Brielle felt slightly embarrassed over the trouble a whole team of servants had gone to to make her look presentable tonight.
A troupe of seamstresses in Paris had spent over a month working on the white diamond encrusted gown she now wore, and Brielle wondered it had not taken them longer. The bodice was a masterpiece of rippling lace and carefully placed pink pearls which formed a garden of flowers sweeping down from the neckline to her hips. A flashing scarlet panel winked out of the front of the pearly silk skirts. Evidently the skirts alone had taken up over sixty yards of the finest silk the City of Light had to offer, or so the rumors stated.
And though the dress was a shining example of what the power of vast amounts of money could buy, it was only the beginning to the trouble generated for the party. The house had been in an uproar for weeks as parades of decorators and cooks constantly trooped in an out, giving advice and taking down the exact directions of the lord of the manner. Brielle could only stand on the sidelines; too unsure of the processes involved to voice her opinion.
Finally, to top off the entire surreal experience, two young serving girls had worked on her hair for four hours before feeling the outcome to be satisfactory. Evidently, Andrew had put the fear of God into all of France over this party; he wanted everything to be perfect for her, and he wanted her to be perfect for all of his friends as well.
Over the last six months Brielle had done her best to meet his expectations, to become the perfect fiancé. In a way she felt she owed Andrew the fulfillment of his wishes, since even in the deepest reaches of her heart she could not be moved to love him. Even when the evidence of his deep and unyielding affection grew every day, Brielle could not muster up a truly happy smile; his gifts and compliments were usually met with cool interest and polite gratitude.
Guilt over her lacking and deadened heart drove the Irish woman to compensate in other areas of her life. She was only just now realizing how much of herself she was killing to accomplish this feat, the caring self taught doctor, the dogged researcher, the fiery tempered single mother had all been trampled to death under the heel of her newest role. The life she had made for herself as an English lord's wife-to-be was stifling.
At Andrew's request Brielle had packed a few belongings and moved her small and broken family into the Donovan manner house. It was surprisingly easy to leave her comfortable cottage. Too many memories now lived there for her to remain within the residence any longer, the walls had come to breathe unhappiness, the mirrors reflecting the image of a man she desperately wished to forget. At her arrival in her new home, Andrew had discreetly removed himself to the penthouse suite of a hotel he owned in Paris.
The poor man was constantly worrying about protecting her from the gossip mill of the Parisian aristocrats. He patiently put up with her unpolished social skills and constantly covered her blunders with smooth talking and flashing smiles. And though the young lord could not fathom her innate shyness around groups of strangers he always made sure to stay by her side through every awkward introduction, becoming fiercely protective of her if he detected even the smallest slight fall from his peers' mouths.
But despite Andrew's protection and guidance, it was the gossiping more than the confines of her new position in society which slowly put an end to her volunteer work at the veteran's hospital. Apparently one of Andrew's associates had caught a glimpse of her bathing a young soldier there one day. The news of her terribly unorthodox behavior had been passed through the parlors of Paris's rich within a matter of days. Andrew did not mention the incident to her directly, but she had overheard him arguing heatedly with the one man foolish enough to pass the news on to him. Brielle had not returned to the hospital since that day - she would not force Andrew to lose friends for her sake.
Brielle was grateful that her fiancé had not asked her to give up those things she loved most; if he had she knew she would have come to resent him. Rather his snarling guard over her oddities created an unexpected grateful affection within her. He didn't ask her to change herself, and because of that she willingly conformed to the rigors of his lifestyle. Her days now consisted of quiet reflection and ladylike pursuits acceptable to a woman of high class. It was a wonder that noble born women did not constantly lose their minds; she was so bored with this new life that she could cry, but she couldn't complain because it was her choice in the first place to make the change.
Sighing tiredly Brielle moved away from the mirror, gracefully making her way out into the hallway where the sound of the party downstairs just reached her ears. Another wave of sickening terror welled up within her chest for a moment as the echoing laughter of dozens of people floated past her. Turning her face away from the sounds she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of one eye.
A half smile softened the hard lines of Brielle's worried face at the sight of her daughter standing solemnly in the middle of the hallway behind her. "What are you doing out of bed? Did you have a bad dream, love?" Nodding her dark head silently in answer to her mother's question, Aria's large eyes slowly dropped to the floor.
Her snowy eyebrows lowering in concern, Brielle moved to stand before Aria. Reaching out gently, she smoothed a hand over the child's head. "Do you want to tell me what it was about? It would make you feel better."
Waiting a beat Brielle gazed down at Aria's ashen face, but only silence greeted her inquiry. By now you would think I would stop expecting something different. She thought sadly as she placed a kiss on the child's forehead. "Go back to your room and I will come up and read you a story in an hour. By then I will be able to escape from the party."
Raising her large gray eyes to Brielle's, Aria simply stared forlornly at her mother in silence before shrugging off the hands on either side of her face. Stonily the child turned and retreated back down the hallway, disappearing around a corner before Brielle could even call after her. Growling in frustration Brielle fisted her hands at her sides, the sudden urge to break something filling her being until she was sure she would burst. Sometimes I just want to shake her! Shake the memory of that blasted man right out of her head. Maybe then she would speak to me again…
"Madame…" a hesitant voice called from the stairway, interrupting Brielle's thoughts.
Irritated Brielle whirled around on the young serving girl standing upon the staircase. "What is it?" she snapped.
Jumping at the tone of her mistress's voice, the girl nearly lost the ruffled dust cap off the top of her head. Slapping a hand up to secure the white cap the dark eyed girl smiled nervously stepping up onto the landing. "Lord Donovan requests your presence downstairs."
Raising a hand to adjust the diamond tiered necklace pulling heavily at her throat, Brielle nodded ever so slightly. "Of course, I was just on my way," she murmured as she delicately lifted the hem of her skirts and walked toward the stairs. Pausing just beside the young servant just before stepping down the first step, Brielle guiltily ran her top teeth over her bottom lip. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that," she began uneasily, still not sure of the proper etiquette between mistress and servant.
Blushing at the unexpected apology, the girl ducked her head. "I understand you are worried about the little miss. If you like I can sit with young Miss Donovan until you return."
"That is very kind of you. Yes, please do," Brielle replied, a small level of relief lightening her features. Stepping carefully down the first flight of stairs, she could hear the young girl patter down the hall at her back. Making her way past well appointed side rooms and gaily decorated passages, Brielle weaved her way through the house, making her way toward the raucous laughter bursting out of the main ballroom.
Taking a steadying breath she stopped just around the corner, her heart pounding painfully against the glittering diamonds resting upon her breast. I can do this…It isn't hard at all. All I have to do is talk to people. I can do this. Don't be a coward Brielle! Her courage bolstered a degree, the white haired woman quickly swept around the corner before the panic could set in once again.
I can do this. I can do this, she repeated religiously within her head as her eyes swept over the crowds milling around the ballroom doors. I can do this.
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One Hour Later:
A small group of bejeweled heiresses crowded around the newest member to their ranks with twittering intensity. For the first time since the announcement of the shocking engagement in the society pages, Lord Donovan had momentarily stepped aside, leaving his lovely fiancé deliciously alone. The heiresses and noblewomen flocked around the exotic woman, they smelled fresh blood.
"Tell me, my dear," a plump dowager crooned. "Is it true that your mother was an actress in a London Theater?" After stating the rude question, the woman raised a purple feather fan to wave before her face and hide the nasty smile forming upon her face.
Brielle looked with longing past the sharp-eyed older woman, wishing to escape out the ballroom doors across the dance floor. The near empty glass of champagne in her hand felt overly heavy as she brought it to her lips in an attempt to stall for time. Her face was as cold, as silent as the snow falling outside in response to the razor edged interest of this woman's question, though her thoughts turned blazingly hostile. God damned blasted woman. Trying to ask the poor little Irish shoe brush with all amounts of kindness exactly how low her parentage truly is. Stupid, stuffy, pompous old bitch!
"I don't wish to bore you all with old stories of my mother's fame in Britain," Brielle began, her quiet snowdrift voice seeming to freeze the old biddies in mid-breath. "After all, I know so many of your family histories are so much more colorful."
"How so?" A pretty little debutante inquired quickly, missing the tension in the air, as she had just stumbled upon the chattering group.
Gesturing with her glass idly, Brielle motioned toward the old dowager in peacock purple. "Well as I understand it the Aldridge family, for example, first made their fortune by plundering churches on the way back from the Crusades. Isn't that so Madame?" she finished, raising her snowy eyebrows in polite inquiry toward the fuming noblewoman.
When the chubby older lady stormed off without replying, Brielle simply shrugged as if unaware of the offensive nature of her statement; blinking in disbelief the other women in the group fell silent, their bitter comments withering within their mouths before ever being voiced. Feeling terribly smug over her small triumph, the white haired woman finished off her glass of champagne and set the empty glass on a waiter's passing tray. Actually, with the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the alcohol bubbling merrily in her head, Brielle didn't feel quiet so self-conscious.
She would have continued to politely and subtly upbraid the sputtering fools, but the sight of a neatly combed head of dark hair set above strangely familiar shoulders stopped her in her tracks. Erik…the name, the hope, popped into her head before she could stop it. Eyes widening in stunned silence, Brielle hastily excused herself from the women around her and set off across the ballroom. Without thinking of the absurdity of her actions she stalked the man through the crowds, on the verge of calling out to him when that painfully familiar dark head turned toward her, revealing a stranger's face. The leaden drop in her stomach was instantaneous, and if her corset had allowed for it she would have bent double with the pain of her mistake. It must be the alcohol…making me see him in others. It must be the alcohol. I've forgotten him. I've forgotten that bastard.
Raising an unsteady hand to cover the tremble in her lips Brielle carefully moved out of the mingling crowds to a back corner where she could catch her breath. Snagging another bubbling glass of champagne she stood quietly against the wall, gulping down the sweet tasting nectar within the span of a few minutes. A second wave of alcohol laced euphoria crept its way through her system, calming the churning pain within her gut.
Brielle was so wrapped up in trying to clear her thoughts that she didn't even hear the approach of heavy footsteps until a long fingered hand wrapped gently about her upper arm. She jumped so violently at the unexpected touch that the hand instantly released.
"Sweet Mary, Bri, you nearly knocked me right in the nose flinging your hands about like that!" Conner exclaimed loudly, unmindful of the half a dozen sidelong glances shooting their way. "I mean sure we left on a disagreement last time we saw each other, but I didn't expect to be attacked," he continued lightly, leaning forward to kiss his gaping sister upon the forehead.
"Conner!" Brielle exclaimed with the first true delight she had displayed in months. Wrapping her arms around her brother's neck she squeezed the redhead until the man was gasping for breath. Releasing him she stepped back, still keeping both of his hands within hers. "I didn't think you would come. You made sure to say how upset you were with my decision to marry Andrew. And you never answered any of my letters!"
The lighthearted smile upon his face fading slightly under a veil of confusion, Conner cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. "Of course I would come to support my sister before her wedding day. Nothing would ever keep me from it. Not even my deep and abiding hatred for the groom would keep me away…"
Frowning at where his words were going, Brielle released Conner's hands in dismay. "Please Conner…for the one hundredth time do not speak ill of Andrew. I am going to marry the man for goodness sake!"
Waving a dismissive hand the red head took a breath. "My apologies…but what did you mean when you said I didn't answer any of your letters?"
Pulling her brother after her, Brielle led them out of the main ballroom and into a side hallway where she could talk without worrying about prying ears. Her mood shifting unexpectedly, she suddenly found herself angry at her brother's unannounced appearance. "I wrote you every week for months and you didn't even have the decency to write me back once! I mean I know you were mad at me for accepting Andrew's offer, but I never expected you to act so coldly and not visit. Especially since I needed support after…well after…" Clearing her throat, Brielle turned away from her brother.
Silence stretched taut between the siblings as Brielle ran her fingers over the heavy coolness of the jewels at her neck. In the reflection of a picture frame, she watched her brother's shadowed figure draw up behind her. The light pressure of his hand upon her shoulder brought her reluctantly around to face him again.
"Brielle…" he began slowly. "I never received any letters from you. I thought it was you who were angry at me for what I said about Andrew. I only came here tonight because I heard from someone else that there was to be a holiday party in honor of your upcoming wedding."
Shocked by what Conner was revealing, Brielle shook her head. "No, that can't be right. I wrote your invitation personally. You had to have gotten it!"
A dark, murderous cloud slowly darkened Conner's normally bright emerald eyes to a dangerous forest green. "And who did you have mail those letters Brielle? It was Andrew wasn't it! The pig has never liked me, but I wouldn't have thought he would go to such lengths to keep me away!"
Unwilling to hear such outlandish accusations, Brielle pushed past her fuming brother and stormed back towards the main ballroom. All happiness at her wayward brother's return vanished into thin air, only to be replaced with an alcohol laced temper. "I will not listen to such foolishness. Just because you can't take responsibility for giving me the wrong address, AGAIN, you will not spew trash about my fiancé."
Following quickly on his sister's heels, Conner reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, forcibly spinning her around to face him. "One day you won't be able to cover up that man's wickedness. One day you will regret joining yourself to him when you should have dropped everything and gone after…"
The silk covered hand Brielle suddenly brought across Conner's left cheek cut the man off in mid-sentence. Shocked by her violent action, the redhead released her and stepped back a pace, a hand quickly coming up to cover the offended cheek. "What! What!" she demanded madly, taking several more swings at Conner's still form. "I should have what Conner? I should have run off after that damned man, right! Is that what you were going to say?"
Looking slightly sheepish for blurting out something he had not meant to say, Conner clenched his jaw as he lowered his eyes to his boots. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"Damn it Conner! Why can you never grow up? I know da died when we were both so young but you cannot act like a child forever. You can't chase skirts and drink you way around Europe for the rest of your life!"
A violent angry flush worked its way up the redhead's cheekbones at her words, darkening his expression to a brooding fury. Unknowingly Brielle had stumbled upon an old wound, cracking her brother's good nature as throuoghly as if she had taken a sledge hammer to him. Conner took one stiff step toward his sister, his hands coming up at if he wanted to throttle her at that very moment. "Why not, Bri? What is stopping me? After all you are grown up enough for the both of us," he hissed, with uncharacteristic venom. "Responsible, dependable Brielle. Who couldn't do anything wrong even if she tried and is oh so correct in everything she does. Give me a break Bri! You deal with your life by marrying whoever you see fit, but leave my decisions the hell alone!"
"Get out…" Brielle murmured, eyes wide with angry hurt. "Get out of this house!"
"Gladly…" Conner sniffed, sweeping past the trembling form of his little sister and down the deserted hallway. "I would wish you happiness with your new husband, but it would be against my religion to give my consent to a union between my sister and a letter stealing demon! I can't believe you have been stupid enough to believe him!"
"GET OUT!" Brielle screamed, snatching up a porcelain figurine and flinging it after Conner's retreating form. When he disappeared around a corner and left her alone in the quiet hall Brielle wrapped her arms protectively about her waist, the pain beating to life once again, swimming upstream of the champagne still bubbling in her blood. The urge to cry made her eyes sting, but no tears fell down her burning cheeks. She didn't think she had any more tears to shed.
Spinning blindly Brielle raced back toward the crowded ballroom, unable to bear the silence of the empty hallway a moment more. What is wrong with me…why did I say those things? Bursting through the ballroom doors, pale and agitated, Brielle disappeared among the mingling crowds, glad suddenly for the noise, the anonymous faces swirling around her. She had to think away from the lonely silence of the monstrously huge house. The words her brother had said repeated over and over in her head.
And who did you have mail those letters, Brielle!
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Late That Night:
In her night dress Brielle crept like a burglar from her daughter's bedroom, the white lace of her hem whispering softly against the carpet in the hallway. Soon after Conner's angry departure Brielle had excused herself from the party, looking in on Aria as she had promised to do. As the hours had ticked by the white haired woman had listened to the party downstairs draw to a close. Now, with the house sleeping all around her, Brielle tiptoed barefoot down the dark hallways and corridors of the mansion.
Glancing at a large grandfather clock as it loomed up out of the shadows before her, Brielle cursed quietly. What am I doing…this is crazy, she thought to herself as she hurriedly descended a dim staircase to the first floor. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs she nervously looked around her, the creepy sensation that someone was watching her sending the hairs along her arms standing on end. Don't be silly, everyone is asleep.
Not like I am doing anything wrong anyway. I do live here now. If I want to take a stroll in the middle of the night that is my business…shaking her head at her poor excuse Brielle left the stairs and raced down several more black halls until she stood shifting from foot to foot outside the darkened doorway of Andrew's office. Not that I believe a word Conner said tonight…I am only going to take a quick look around to prove Andrew isn't somehow stealing my mail. It is so foolish I should go back to bed right now…But she remained where she stood, her hand hovering over the doorknob.
Taking a deep breath, which sounded strangely loud to her ears, Brielle gave the cool brass knob a careful twist only to find the room locked. Having expected this, the Irishwoman reached back and pulled a hairpin from the loose braid hanging down her back. Bending the tips of the pin, Brielle knelt down until she was crouched eye level with the keyhole. Sticking the modified pin into the opening, the white haired woman carefully turned the makeshift key about within the hole, her ear pressed close to the door. Sticking out her tongue in concentration, Brielle gave the pin one final twist, smiling in triumph as a sharp metallic click echoed through the air.
Standing slowly, she took hold of the knob again and pushed the now open door inward. Hesitantly, she walked into the hallowed walls of Andrew's private office, a space she had never dared to enter before. Shaking off her anxiety, Brielle hurried to the massive oak desk sitting along one side of the room. I am absolutely crazy…I must be crazy. Why would Andrew not mail my letters?
Pulling open the drapes behind the desk to let in the pearly moonlight, Brielle quickly turned from the window and sat down in Andrew's leather wingback chair. Opening first one drawer and then another she quietly rifled through several stacks of papers, all the while feeling terribly silly. Tapping her fingers on the smooth top of the desk, she almost convinced herself to stand up and leave even as she reached down and pulled open one last drawer. Leaning forward she gazed down into the space, disbelief slowly passing over her features as she picked up a stack of unopened letters, all of them with her brother's name and address neatly printed on the front. The horror of what she was seeing in front of her very eyes was just beginning to pass over her face as Brielle pulled the letters from the drawer and placed them atop the desk with numb fingers.
When the gas lights suddenly flashed on all around the room Brielle nearly jumped out of her skin, but it wasn't until she raised her eyes to the man in the doorway and the expression on his face that a real spike of fear jumped up into her throat.
Andrew frowned across the room at her, his dark eyes reflecting the gas light a hundred times over. He took a single graceful step into the room, slowly swinging the door shut behind him. "What are you doing in here, Brielle?" he asked quietly, his gaze turning to the pile of letters on the desk.
Not allowing the chills racing up her spine to subdue the fury now boiling up within her Brielle jumped to her feet, grabbing up a fist full of the unopened letters in a white knuckled grip. "What are these Andrew? Why did you keep all of my letters! You had no right to do that!"
Clearing his throat calmly, the young lord walked forward into the room. "I didn't want to tell you this because you were having such a hard time a few months ago, but Conner had become increasingly unpredictable. He was constantly trying to…"
"I don't believe you!" she shouted, interrupting the dark eyed man's cool explanation. "There is no possible reason you could give me for this!" Balling up the letters in her hands, Brielle hurled them at her fiancé. Coming around the desk, her white braid swinging behind her, the Irish woman shook a finger under Andrew's nose.
"Stop that…" he stated slowly, his beetle black eyes following the wild gesticulating of both of her hands. When Brielle ignored the subtle warning in those two words Andrew grabbed hold of her wrist, squeezing it a little harder than necessary. "I said stop it!" he hissed, his fingers closing ever tighter around her delicate arm. "If you must know I didn't care for the way your brother was always sneering at me behind my back. And so I thought if you didn't hear from him in a while I wouldn't have to put up with his annoying presence." His face softened slightly, then he smiled down at her. "Besides we couldn't have all of your family tagging along on our honeymoon now, could we?"
"I can't believe you! I can't believe you would manipulate us like that. You had no right!"
"I believe I just explained my reasoning," he stated, the smile falling from his face. "Now I am willing to forgive you for breaking into my office. So now this discussion is over."
"No it is not over! How do I know that you haven't been doing other things like this? How do I know that you…" her voice strangled off into horrified silence as a terrible thought flickered into the forefront of her mind. With every drop of color draining from her features, she turned wide searching eyes up to his face. "Did you have anything to do with the way Erik left?" she whispered aghast, the enormity of the situation building within her by the second. "Did you do something to make him leav-"
The blow came out of nowhere, rattling Brielle's teeth within her head as stars flashed before her eyes. Dizzily she turned her face upwards, Andrew's black bottomless eyes filling up her vision until nothing remained outside of them. The pressure around her wrist tightened.
"I told you the conversation is over."