11

The household had fallen into a state of robotic depression. The servants carried on with their daily tasks seemingly aware of the desolated cloud that had fallen on the plantation. Several dispirited days had passed since their mistress was claimed from illness and a heaviness settled.

The servants grew fearful of their dark laird who barricaded himself behind closed doors and took to the bottle. He rarely ventured from the study, not even to the fields that he neglected so carelessly. Many knew to stay clear for his demeanor had blackened dangerously and they feared he would succumb to the dreaded fate that which his father before him suffered. The servants whispered that the bottle would be his undoing, if not the brandy than surely the frightening darkness that slowly encased his soul. They feared all was lost for their lord.

Sleep was peaceful. Sleep eluded the feelings that all but threatened to drain her of life. Her eyes fluttered open and instantly Ginelle felt the sudden blow of heartache. She rolled from the window where rivulets of sunlight filtered in through the drapes. She clenched her eyes against the tears that she refused to shed. How many times must she cry for another loved one lost to her?

Someone was stoking the fire within the hearth. She didn't bother to open her eyes, having adjusted to the servants but simply gripped the coverlet more firmly and pulled it to her chin.

An unseen force jerked the blanket away and her eyes opened on their own accord. She studied the older woman standing at the end of the bed, signs of depression clearly written on her pinched face. The woman had once been intimidating with her assertive, dark stare and the firm set of her mouth but over the years the two of them had established a genuine relationship and here lately, Lucile was her only means of comfort.

"I cannot allow you to waste away in this room." Lucile stated firmly, moving to stand at Ginelle's side. "Tis been nearly a fortnight and you continue to wallow in bed." Her stern expression revealing nothing of the grief that she endured on the inside but Ginelle could see an indication that she had not slept well or eaten much since Eloise's passing. Despite her solemn disposition Ginelle had always admired the older woman for she had an unrelenting maternal nature, just as her mistress.

She pulled herself upright and leaned against the headboard, instinctively raising her hand to block the sun from her weary eyes. She felt the immediate heaviness settle in her chest and the urge to lie back down. "Lucile-" she blinked away tears as she looked up at the older woman. "What should I do?" her voice shook as she released the tears and a sob lodged in her throat.

Lucile settled on the bed and gently grasped Ginelle's shoulders, "You will remain here, at Ashford."

Ginelle shook her head, her eyes doubtful. "You and I both know that I do not belong here."

Lucile reached out and gently grabbed her chin, "And you and I both know that here is where Eloise would want you to be."

Ginelle wanted to believe Lucile for her old fears had resurfaced with Eloise's death. Foolishly, she had allowed herself to become attached to these people, even this austere woman sitting before her who had been against her arrival from the beginning. She had grown to love them as they loved her. She had established many friends but she was not of noble birth and this home was not her own. She was an imposter; always have been. There was no denying her rank.

As if sensing her thoughts, Lucile said, "Why would you want to leave, after all that Eloise has done? It would all be for naught."

Ginelle lowered her head as she was seized with a pang of guilt. She wanted nothing more than to remain with the people she had begun to call her own but could she really open her heart again? She had lost her parents and now Eloise? Was she destined to lose every person she loved? Was she to live a life of loneliness? She couldn't bare the thought of more anguish. The dreaded thoughts made her heart constrict and than a fearful image came to mind. She would have no choice but to return to the streets. With Eloise's death, Pierino had returned.

"I want to stay." She said with great longing. She wanted desperately to remain at Ashford; with the memories of Eloise.

"We will have no more talk of you leaving." Lucile said sternly as she gathered to her feet. "I will have Ingrid bring up your breakfast and then mayhap you can go to the garden for some fresh air?"

Ginelle nodded but her heart sank deeper when the older woman left, leaving her alone to face the burden of her sorrows. She knew in her broken heart that remaining at Ashford was not an option. There were too many reminders of the happiness she and Eloise shared. Gripping the locket around her neck, she leaned back against the headboard and shut her eyes, her chest rising with a stifled sob.

The door suddenly opened and Ginelle stiffened abruptly as Ingrid entered, carrying a tray that contained her breakfast as she crossed the room to deposit it on the table. In three years time, Ingrid had grown a little taller and curvier and her animosity towards Ginelle had intensified.

Ingrid turned her venomous glare on Ginelle, her mouth thinning with a deep scowl of distaste as she curtsied in mockery. "Your breakfast, milady." Her sneer widened before she left the chamber, leaving Ginelle all the more convinced that here was not where she belonged.

His days were bleak and slurred. Through the many preparations and the ceremony, he had been in a darkened haze, oblivious to all but the closed casket containing Eloise's lifeless body. Could he really continue without the little warmth in his soul? Could he roam the halls knowing Eloise would not be in the next room, laughing and smiling? That the piano would never again play a soft, gentle tune at the tips of her fingers? He stared at the empty brandy bottle he had drained the previous night where sleep had banished him, forcing him to brace the brunt of his sister's devoid existence.

With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked the empty bottle from his desk. It fell to the carpet with a silent thud. He stood from the chair where he had spent the dark hours of the night wallowing in despair, thinking on memories that now lay in his past. He swept an unsteady hand through his tousled hair as he moved to the window. Eloise had been his purpose in life. She had been his only light and now that light was forever diminished.

His eyes strained against the sharp, morning light as he studied the vast expanse of land that had once belong to his father and now belonged to him. Below the window was the flourishing garden that both Eloise and their mother had loved.

His thoughts came to a breaching halt as his eyes settled on a small woman sitting just below the window. Streams of sunlight cast her in brilliant hues of yellow, capturing the vibrant silver of hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She had donned a gown of black, strictly for mourning, her skirts flowing over the bench that which she sat upon. Cradled in her lap was an open book. He studied her intensely as his face darkened with uncertainty to the woman's identity. He took keen notice to her quivering form as she struggled to keep her posture straight as she clutched a handkerchief in her hand.

There was a sudden quick knock at the door and he jerked to awareness as he turned to glare dangerously at the intruder. Bogart cautiously cracked the door and peered inside until he spotted his Lord's whereabouts. "Forgive my intrusion, milord-"

"Come here, Bogart." He was unaware of the old man's alert expression as he cautiously moved to stand at his laird's side. "Who is that woman?" he demanded, his eyes never straying from the mysterious girl.

Bogart frowned as he dared a glance at his laird's dark face. "Tis Miss Ginelle, milord." He replied tentatively.

Dorian stiffened. He had not given any thought to the child his sister had taken in three years ago. Bogart slipped quietly from the room as Dorian continued to stare at the woman as something his sister said came rushing back to memory.

Take care of Ginelle. For me, please Dorian.

As if suddenly aware that she was not alone, the woman looked up and Dorian was struck a blow that nearly rendered him of breath. She had been a pretty child when he remembered her last but the vision before him was naught as he had imagined. Her complexion was that of porcelain, with large, unguarded eyes that revealed a storm of pain. For some reason unknown to him, he felt a slight twinge of intrigue as he continued to watch her. This small woman had brought Eloise much happiness?

The spell was broken when she leapt to her feet and fled the garden. His features hardened as he stared at the empty bench where she had been moments ago. She had every reason to fear him and fear him she should. Clenching his jaw he stalked from the window and moved towards the door. He had enough of drinking away his sorrows. It was best he got away from these enclosed walls and seek the tedious labor of his well-neglected fields; anything to keep his thoughts from straying towards unwarranted distractions.

Once she was safely within her room, Ginelle released the breath she had been holding. She pressed a shaky hand to her chest as she struggled to bring her frantic heart to a steady pace. How could she have forgotten?

That cold, calculating stare had unsettled her feeble bravado, forcing her fears to the surface. Having been so absorbed in her mourning over Eloise, she had forgotten the dark laird who struck a terrifying fear within her. Though her heart yearned for nothing more than to stay here with her memory of Eloise, her fear of the menacing Lord overshadowed it.

She was adamant about her decision. She would leave and what were the chances that Pierino would still be searching for her? Mayhap is interest in her was no longer? Did he think her dead? She prayed for the latter in hopes that he would end his pursuit in finding her.

There was a shuffle outside her door and she stepped back, her heart thrusting against her chest at the thought of that imposing frame looming on the other side. Her eyes widened in alarm as the latch lifted and the door parted.

"Ginelle?" Lucile's voice brought on a flood of relief and her shoulders sagged. The woman came up short as she found Ginelle standing a foot away, clearly distressed. "What troubles you, child?"

Ginelle shook her head and offered a small smile for the older woman. "Nothing, Lucile. You startled me is all." She pressed a hand against the throbbing pulse at her breast.

Lucile frowned but didn't question the notion that something was wrong. "You haven't touched your breakfast." It wasn't a question but an indication of her disapproval.

"I wasn't hungry." Ginelle replied softly, turning from the older woman to stand at the window. She studied the region surrounding the manor and pondered over which direction would be best to take. The city was furthest from her mind.

"You are far too thin to discard food." Lucile scolded, moving to gather the untouched tray. "I will have Cook brew you some tea and mayhap a bowl of porridge?"

Ginelle continued to stare out the window. She nodded but said nothing. Her fingers gripped the window sill as a deep sadness lodged in her chest. Once she heard the click of the latch, she dropped her head and wept.

The remainder of the day, Dorian sought the fields to keep all disturbing thoughts at bay. His men were startled to find their lord sober but were not oblivious to the silent storm that simmered within. He bellowed commands to the unfortunate laborers who were subjected to his temper as he suspected their work, taking immediate notice that several lacked in their efforts. His men stood aside, casting wary glances amongst each other, but none dared approach their dangerously tempered Lord as he demanded penance for their negligence. Several laborers were ordered to be lashed.

Dorian was unaware that he was causing a stir of questions of uncertainty to his sanity. His crops lacked in abundance due to his carelessness but the criminals that worked his fields were held responsible for their own workmanship. It would take a great deal of time to get his fields back to a satisfying result and he welcomed the challenge, anything to keep him occupied.

He would also need to send word to Cummings on the whereabouts of his missing crew. Cummings had obligingly taken his place at sea when he had returned to Ashford and he had yet to hear any information concerning his vessel and the bastard, Reyes. How he would like to drive a rapier through the Spaniard's heart. He had stolen the lives of many men; men who had trusted their Captain.

As the day continued brining the slow approach of dusk, he worked tediously until his body was weary with exhaustion and could no longer stand. He ordered the laborers back to their quarters and his men to their hall as he retired for the night. He brushed the sweat from his brow and mounted his horse. As he made his way back towards the manor he paused as his eyes averted to one of the windows that proclaimed a dim glow.

His thoughts instantly turned towards the girl from the garden. It unnerved him that he did not find her presence at Ashford unwelcoming; was it simply because he was honor bound? Twas apparent that Eloise had taken the child in to appease her grief but in her letters to him, she had described with much enthusiasm of the child that brought her much happiness. His sister had been proud and her affection for the impoverished child evident. Could he really banish the girl without the feeling of betrayal at his sister's request?