Chapter 8
––––––––
A precious little smile on the young girl's face, bouncing about with her father's protective arms on either side of her as he held the reigns. Sure, those big cars that rich folks drove looked fancy, but so noisy! No, she much preferred the horsies. Emberglow carried on her casual gallop as a tiny arm reached out, pointing to a field that was the backyard of a big, lovely house nearby.
“Daddy, look! She likes to ride too!” The woman, older than even her own dad, seemed to soar through the air on the remarkable steed. Hair flowing behind her head as she leaned forth, commanding it expertly.
“Evidently so, she seems quite good at that.”
“Can we go that fast?”
“Heheh, we shouldn't be so tough on her, if she got hurt then how would we get around?”
“Aw...” her little arm went limp, coming to rest on her lap. “OH!” They could hear the distant neigh as some small creature in the grass, scarcely visible, ran off while the horse pitched back. The father looked to the horsewoman again, having just taken her eyes off her for but a moment. Amidst the hoofed sounds of Emberglow, they could still hear her shriek as she fell.
“Oh no...” the man spoke lowly, “bad fall.” She'd indeed hit the ground in rather an awkward manner, and the horse moved about slightly on its back hooves.
“AIEEEEE-!” she cried out, her horse having moved backwards in her direction. The father was slowing his horse then.
“Christ! Let’s see if she is–“ He cut himself off as they watched the equine fall back onto the Dowager Viscountess. The older woman did not move when the horse rolled and rose shakily to its feet. Wheeling the horse around to shield his daughter from the sight, he kicked Emberglow into motion, and set out to find a doctor as quickly as he could.
––––––––
“Oh my God, oh my God, do you think she's alright?” Emma clutched the fair fabric of the Duke of Dawsbury's handsome suit. He drove intently along, the vehicle rumbling and shuddering more than she'd ever experienced before in it. A prominent trail of dust followed them as they headed right back for town from whence they'd came. They had scarcely even pulled off the main road onto her property before someone happened along to inform them of the news.
“I don't know...” he confessed, which didn't help, “... I certainly hope so.”
“Bloody 'it doesn't look good', what bloody good is that bloody bollocks worth?!” Her voice began to hollow as her eyes welled up, rocking angrily beside him as she spoke, her knuckles white on his outfit. “Oh, mother!” The tears and sobbing began to come in earnest.
“I'm giving her all she's got; we'll be there soon, baby. We'll be there in a jiffy.”
“In sh-rt or-r...” she wept terribly beside him her tears falling freely onto the dress he had bought her, onto the dress that, unbeknownst to her, her own mother had cried upon. She had on the luxurious necklace, the ring he'd given her, and they were to show her the new one he'd gotten her, on the 'correct' hand, on the 'correct' finger.
Instead of the terrible happiness and glee that she would be showered with from her stern yet dear mother, she wept harder than she had since her father's passing. A time that was coming to mind all too quickly, and his mention of 'jiffy' brought with it the memory of her mother helping her prepare for her date with him. 'Short order' the woman said, and she hadn't understood the more modern term of 'jiff', short for 'jiffy'. It was 'short order' that Emma attempted to say, only to be made incoherent from her tears.
“That horse, that damn horse. I'll have it shot! Oh mummy!”
“Shh, shhhhh...” he brought an arm up around her, as difficult as it already was to control the wheel at that speed. She needed comforting, and his arm flexed in his sleeve as he stared intently forward. The soothing sounds he attempted to make her were of no help, and he knew it, but he knew not what to say.
“I'll shoot it myself if you like. I've got a pair of dueling pistols, we could give it a proper volley.” Still she wept as the vehicle noisily rumbled along, and aside from a mention of the road having a distinct lack of ants that day, no more attempts at jokes were made.
The Dowager Viscountess was dead. Declared such only moments before their speedy arrival, though had lost consciousness on the way to the hospital herself, consciousness that she would never again regain. Emma cried all that day, and had spent at least an hour at her mum's side, and the Duke stayed at her side the entire time save for when he went to get her a glass of water. The nurse had told her, if she wished to hold her mother's hand, which she eventually did, to hold her left one.
Declan eventually drove her home to let the morticians do their duty. On the way, his own mansion a bit closer to the town than her home, he told one of his servants to gather some supplies, including a few bottles of good wine, and ride to her address. It gave the two time to focus on grieving, meals prepared by the faithful fellow who arrived at her place not long after they did. He stayed with her throughout the night, remaining decent even as the second bottle was uncorked. The servant got a guest room once the duke and his lady had retired for the night.
“Mmh...” he gave a light grunt as he stirred, eyes slowly opening as they sensed light from beyond the eyelids.
“'Morning...” his grieving fiancee gave, rather emotionlessly, and even as a bit of a grunt as well.
“G-... morning.” It would be a mistake to call it 'good', so corrected himself. “Sorry.” He held her from behind, spooning her closely, warmly, however having gotten an erection during his sleep as he so often did, it had been twitching and prodding at her rear. His hips scooted back, but still he hugged her from behind, one arm beneath her pillow to further support her head and the other wrapped around her waist just beneath her bra-clad bosom. He wore his underwear as well.
“No. Please...” she whined. “I... I want you to be close. It has nothing to do with the, um, but...”
“I understand.” He kissed her bare shoulder, scooting forth again, and as inappropriate as it was, he enjoyed the sensation of his erection against her. Silence befell them, grief thick in the air. Her clock ticked quietly on her nightstand, pleasant paintings on her walls, various beauty products lined up before a nearby mirror. He wished to talk, to ask her things, perhaps talking about memories of her mother would help, but he resigned to silence, thinking that perhaps that was the best thing.
It was her first morning without parents, both of them gone and yet at such a young age. The debts of her father had thus been transferred from her mother to herself, but of course money was something that was far from her mind. Minutes ticked by, maybe an hour, maybe two. A knock at the door, his servant's kind voice penetrating the barrier asking if they would like breakfast. She shook her head. He was hungry, but called out that they didn't want any yet, however thanked the man none the less.
Emma began to shudder in front of him before long, a couple sniffles coming.
“Shhhhhhh... it's ok.” He whispered to her ear, hugging her tightly. The erection had gone away a fair while ago and he was glad for it to have gone.
“I just... can't believe...” she began to turn in his arms. “Can't believe she's...” she sniffled again, tears just beginning to develop in her eyes again. “I've got... nobody left.” She faced him, her forehead at his bare chest. His arms hugged her proper, hands stroking her back, and stroking her hair.
“You've got me, Emma. I'm here.” His head craned down, a kiss placed atop her head. “I'll do all that I can to help you.” The Duke whispered down to her, speaking slowly and clearly. “Every step of the way, I'll be here when you need help, I'll lead if you want me to, and I'll follow when you wish to take care of a matter personally.” She took in a slow, ragged breath, but her tensed body seemed to start to relax. First a little, and then it seemed like she gave way completely as she leaned into him.
“I'm... I'm glad I... have you.” She choked out. “I just wish... that mum... could have...” he felt the wetness on her tears mingle with his chest hair, and he hugged her close, petting and stroking her.
“Shhh... shhhhhhhhh.... shhhhhhhhh...” it was muffled among her weeps, but still he gave the comforting sound. “It's ok, it's ok... let it out. Everything will be alright.” Her small arms snaked around his torso, and it felt as though she hugged him even harder than he hugged her. “I love you, Emma. I'm here for you.” Still she wept.
“Uh-” she choked out at his chest, “... I...” difficulty breathing, “I luh-...” she could scarcely speak, “... luh... awww-haww-hawwwww!” The hopeless effort was abandoned.
“Close enough.”
––––––––
Inevitably, hunger and the need to visit the water closet prevailed, and the cried-out daughter and her fiance had to abandon the comfy bed she'd had since childhood. What awful timing of it all, her first night sleeping with the man she'll be spending her life with was the first night she slept with the knowledge that she no longer had parents. It was mere robes for either of them that day, and all too soon, more wine. Much more wine. She didn't want to do anything, she didn't want to see anybody, it was just the two of them and his servant.
“Shall I have Gerard get the pistols?” He replied, having heard her mutter to herself how much she hates that horse while staring out the window at the stable.
“No. Perhaps another time.”
“Would you like to go for a meal later on?” It was noon, neither had yet washed, neither had yet dressed, she had not put on any make-up. She didn't even look at him from where her gaze rest on the table, the window abandoned, and merely gave her head a small shake to answer him.
He reached out and took a hand, which she let him have, though she still continued merely looked down.
“Emma...” he said softly, “I love you.” A gentle smile on his as of yet unshaven face. As she looked up, Gerard could be seen approaching the living room from the hall, a fresh bottle of wine in-hand. Still, that was merely in her peripherals, she let her gaze rest on his handsome face.
“I love you, too, Declan.” She did not smile, but he could hear how she meant it, how earnest and serious every word was. “This all means... so much to me.” The hand he held began to feel as though it held his as well.
“More wine?” The best-dressed of the room stood straight as a red-coated soldier of old, holding the wine bottle label-out.
“Leave it, please, Gerard.” He replied, and his smile broadened as her lips finally took on a slightly up-turned shape since he had spoken it without taking his eyes off her.
“Certainly, sir.” He put the bottle down on the table between the two glasses, and he chose that spot because it's what he was trained to do, unless of course that position proved inconvenient for those who would enjoy it. The observant fellow had picked up on the one and a half smiles before him, as they leaned heavily on the table, their gazes relatively low to its surface. It was an inconvenient place to put the bottle, for it blocked their sight slightly, which he understood, and the one and a half smiles became two as his hand carefully returned, slowly sliding the bottle aside a couple inches before retreating, the fiance's gazes never leaving one another.
“I like Gerard.” The Duke commented light-heartedly as the servant left the two.
“I do too.” She said with the first real smile since the car ride home after their date the other day. As he unfortunately suspected, it wasn't long before it faded, the two of them still in each other's eyes, holding hands, a ring on one of his fingers with one of two of hers.
“I want to go lie down.” He let his smile die as he nodded, going to pull his hand away. She wouldn't let him. “N-no, please? I want you to-” he had to suppress the desire to interrupt with a naughty joke, “-hold me.” He was glad that he did, as he brought back an earnest and soft smile, touched by her honesty. By the apparent fact that, in him, she found security and comfort.
“Certainly, ma'am.” He gave in a voice ever so slightly deeper and more gravelly than his natural tone, mimicking his servant that was a few decades their senior. She chuckled through her nose, her face taking on a look something a kin to sad humour.
“Declan, please...”
“Sorry... come.” He slowly began to rise, she too, as they headed for the hall hand-in-hand.
“Shhhh...”
“Mmh...” with his arms around her, her head pressed to his chest, his heavy arms felt reassuring as they wrapped around her. His head lowered, giving a kiss to the top of her head.
“I have no idea... how I would have coped... being alone in this house.” She whispered. “There are memories everywhere... good and bad.”
“Well, in this moment, I have little doubt that we're in the midst of a bad one. Hopefully my being here with you is helping to, if not lessen that negative burden on it, then at least give a tiny glimmer of good. A brightly coloured sea vessel, amidst the dark, churning and raging sea that is now.” His hand slowly stroked her hair, running down her back, sending shivers coarsing through her.
“That was...” she sniffled. “Thank you...” she hugged the man tightly, her moans of grief beginning to resurface anew.
“Shhhhhhh...” he whispered to her gently, holding her tight, though it weren't as tight as her modest arms that snaked around him. She held onto him as though she were a woman overboard clutching a lifesaver, lost in that black and raging sea that threatened to pummel her into the depths and suck the life out of her very lungs.
“Shhhhh...” the man's head nuzzled into the side of her face, tenderly kissing one of her cheeks, and her response was so quick as to seem just as much out of desperation as it was out of love. She took his lips with her own, kissing him hungrily, thankfully, tears streaming down her face making their matching lips taste faintly of salt. Just as they would have had she been tossed and thrown and bludgeoned in the waves of the angered ocean.