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  The words had almost choked her, but she had been determined to play the part well.

  “You would have made him a fine wife. I am so sorry, my dear. Is there anything I can do?”

  No, she thought in accordance with the shaking of her head. You just need to let me go. She kept thoughts of leaving to herself lest her cousin try to talk her out of it. She must depart quietly, leaving nothing but a letter of her thanks.

  Only when the woman took her into an embrace did she begin to calm in the least. The small bit of peace lasted only until Aubrey had been dismissed to her room.

  Still, she could not force from her soul the want of that impossible life with him. She had seen herself as lady of the house he spoke of, the small cottage a ways away from here. He could have come back to London for business as needed. Eventually, she could have accompanied him after the rash of talk had passed.

  How could you have let yourself think upon such flummery, in such a Bradbury tale? It just does not happen, she lectured herself in a harsh internal tone.

  At first, she had tried to not feel anything, a detriment for any witch. She took no care that her magic would suffer, which could be viewed as a good thing since she had contemplated casting a spell to transform the aging Dowager into a snake. Of course, she dismissed those evil thoughts easily. Her oath to harm ye none remained strong within her. Ultimately, she could not put Lord and Lady Sanderly into the danger of being exposed due to her needs. They had taken her in, loved her, and begun training her. She would stand loyal to them always and at all costs.

  Confusion clouded her vision. What could she do when she did not like her only true options? Darkness descended over her despite the cloudless day outside her window. Edmund’s mother’s carefully chosen words played over in her mind. She took a small step back to admire her flowers, the only confounded connection she had to him at this moment.

  They'd bloomed hardy yet delicate, the nature of a flower to be. Inside she felt as vulnerable as this plant could be up against the destructive nature of the elements. However, casting Edmund in the role of the rose, as only her impetuous mind damaged so could, she mused that he had been stripped of his thorns, not able to show his propensity to make her bleed without his relations around him. Or, more on the mark, she had not wanted to see it, had willed herself into a willing victim. Moving forward, insanity pending, she reached out to touch the flowers as though they alone held the answers she needed.

  Her fingers caressed one of the delicate roses. The deep purplish-red which webbed through the white petals of the Rosa Mundi looked like veins pumping life into the frailty of their being. She did not want frail or flimsy when it came to love, and she would not be a woman who waited alone for a man to come work out his needs on when he could escape from his wife. No, she wanted full and fulfilling. An incurable romantic, she wished, wanted, no demanded for the entire dream.

  However, the members of the peerage made sure those beneath them knew their place. Her ire sprouted wings and flew.

  "The gall of that marchioness-of-ugly-attire to come to me with threats!" She spat her words to no one. "On top of that, to think upon the luck of that wedding-minded-miss, Lady Elizabeth Ward, to be the proper wife of rank is a joke of torturous proportions upon them all!"

  She grew quiet a moment, before she continued in a hushed whisper, "No, only my Edmund shall suffer."

  The anger of frustration coursed through her with no clear intended target. It only took one brash movement to have half of the arrangement she had just finished clutched within her trembling hand. The pricks of the thorns did not even register.

  She lifted the flowers decisively, letting the milky water drip over the paper, across the table and onto her bare foot. Thereupon, she released them mid-throw with a reckless disregard for consequences and watched them fly across the room before scattering about the floor. She continued on in such a manner, working up an actual sweat until the final flowers, save a sprig of leaves and a glob of petals, met the same fate. As though following their flight, she took a few steps and collapsed beside them. She let her hand creep over to a fallen beauty. The rose looked sadly out from under her fingers, straining with its center hanging out like a heart. The versicolour petals lay crushed from her grip and her wrath.

  She protectively curled up her body upon the floor. The fragrance of the flowers mixed with the dirty rag carpet assaulted her nose. Another tear found its way over her cheek. Blood dripped from her hand onto the white petal. The fallen roses scattered about the floor seemed a small example of the destruction she could be capable of without him.

  Thanks to the instruction of her mother and her coven, she had an abundant aptitude for knowing herself. This left her unable to deny how truly tormented she'd grown. Aubrey was a witch by birth and by education. She had never let Edmund know of her secrets because she had to protect the others who had magic like hers. Often distressed by her decision to keep that part of her life from the man she wished to share everything with, she hoped Lady Dalysbury would never stoop to telling him. Even apart, she could not stand the thought of him thinking ill of her.

  A wayward moment of speculation struck her, and left her questioning if it had all been a farce on his part, if she had only been a whore to him as his mother had gone beyond implying. She tried to dismiss it out of hat, knowing full well she had gone about the same path with him of her own free will it mattered none.

  At this moment in time, all she knew was that life could be cruel. She wondered how it could have brought to her the man she had always dreamed about, and only allowed her to feel the fluttery warmness of love for a short time. She'd worked many a spell to bring her true mate into her life. Having him ripped away from her in such a manner made her ponder if it would have been wiser never to have called for him at all.

  No, she'd made herself believe it better to soak up the time she had with him. She rolled onto her back to glare out at all of the world beyond her ceiling. While she had always trusted the fates to bring her the best, she now cried from the unjustness of it all.

  She pawed at a delicate rose as her tears came freely with fits that wretched her queasy stomach. A wet petal tore under her grasp, leaving on her fingers a bloodstained mass.

  A sharp pain shot up her left side, not unlike the stabs she experienced when she ran too fast and too long along the glen as a child. Her stomach muscles gripped ever tighter, similar to the time she had eaten some bad gruel. She got up for an herbal stomach remedy and a splash of water for her face.

  In the deepest part of her soul, she knew herself unsafe here. Not to mention the jeopardy into which her mere presence put the Lord and Lady Sanderly. If Edmund came to her tomorrow, she knew without a shadow of a doubt she would put them all in danger just to be in his arms once more. She, foolish beyond permission, feared she would forgive him anything to have him hold her again, even if for just one moment more.

  Chapter Three

  Various green leaves and white petals lost their lives that day, left to wither on the floor. One two-penny post sent to Lady Dalysbury in acceptance of her travel arrangements had ensured she could run away from it all. She went on a personal quest to heal, having it upon her mind to begin a new life.

  After packing the necessities she would need with all possible haste into a carpetbag, she stepped over the flowers on the floor to write Edmund a note if he should come looking for her. Even though she had to go away in order to protect everyone, some shred of hope wanted him to miss her. Some baser thought wanted him to suffer. Some whimsical moment of a dream wanted him to come after her, stop her from leaving.

  Words became her new nemesis as she stared upon the blank piece of paper. Finally, she became generous of spirit and scribbled.

  Please forgive me, my dear Edmund, for I had to go away.

  All is lost to us. Please know that I think you are the most wondrous man I have ever had the chance to meet, and I will always be grateful for our time together. I understand obligations
to family. I release you from any lingering commitments you may feel towards me. I beg of you, do not try to find me.

  Always, Aubrey

  The hand she wrote with began to cramp as her written words brought back the urge to punch something as she cried. She had only paid him a half-truth in her few sentences. Her heart did not release him, and she desperately wanted to see him again. Just the idea of the distance between them festered within her like a poison designed to provoke a slow and agonizing death. The only way she could deal with the situation at hand was to never see him again.

  Next, she set to writing a longer and more elaborate letter to her cousins, thanking them for having her and explaining what she could of why she had to go so hastily. Praying they would understand why she could not stay now that Edmund was set to marry, she hoped they would forgive her for not saying good-bye in person. She gave the letters to Sarah, making the abigail promise not to tell anyone of her leave until the sunset, thus demolishing that dream of hers that he would impede her travel plans.

  Forcing herself out of the house seemed her last hope to find a means to survive this heartbreak that had brought to the surface physical aliments. Her muscles tight, but weak, wrought exhaustion. Despite her lack of sleep and loss of appetite due to unwavering nausea, her hands had taken on a fidgety restlessness.

  Thanks to Lady Dalysbury, it took little effort for Aubrey to begin her journey to the island her ancestors called Triaill Brimuir. The name was an odd mixing of old Celtic terms, which basically meant ‘other land of energy within the sea. She figured it a side trip, a place to hide away before going to live in Ireland. First, though, this small, almost circular spot of land off the far coast of Ireland, she would call home. The island had been completely uninhabited for some time after a large storm had wiped out the majority of its structures. Those who survived had fled with tales of the misery and destruction. Of those ancestors, several had gone to England hoping to start over and to secretly practice there.

  According to legend, the island possessed a strong energy vortex for healing and enhanced magical abilities. She hoped to also tap into the magic residue of her ancestors. Hoping the energy remained upon the land since her ancestors’ departure from it, she kept the positives in her mind, praying the place not too largely uninhabitable.

  Aubrey’s trip, long and tiring, left her mostly to her own thoughts and to live with the dirt of travel upon her. While the Dowager’s friends pretended her one of them, Aubrey encountered no idle chitchat when out of the public eye. This sat well with her as the situation granted her time to try to compose her decorum. Anger still churned inside her stirred by the bandy words that had come from the evil Lady Dalysbury as if she was dicked in the nob.

  The rain on the shoddy toll roads hindered the ride on the stagecoach to Bath, England. By the time they reached Bristol, the roads had dried up a bit, providing her and her traveling companions, Sir William Ross and Lady Ross, a bumpier ride as they tried to make up for lost time. When they arrived at what she hoped the last coaching inn, she would have to suffer, introductions made her feel an imposter.

  “Allow me to introduce the Honourable Aubrey Griffen. She is a distant relation of The Dowager Marchioness of Dalysbury. She is being sent to meet a governess who shall work with her before her season. It would be unladylike of me to speak about her family’s scandals,” Lady Ross tittered, “but I can relate that Lady Dalysbury is more than generous in investing in her.”

  The woman gave her a scandalous smirk, trying to rub salt in her open wounds. She no doubt delighted in the story Lady Dalysbury had created for Aubrey’s disguise as she traveled. As well, she could only imagine the merry conversations the two unladylike women would have at a later date as to how the endless introductions went for Aubrey.

  Lady Foster, to whom she was being introduced, looked over Aubrey with a strict eye as if she could gain the latest gossip just by doing so. The woman’s girth, tucked tight within too many ruffles, made her dress quite outlandish for the woman’s advanced age. In the meantime, Aubrey held her head high and forced herself not to flinch as Lord Alfred Foster grazed his ale drenched lips across the back of her hand. When he came up still holding hotly to her flesh, she focused in on the sad fall of his cravat, which to her amusement defamed his reputation as a gentleman.

  “Well, I shall say she will have no trouble catching the eye of a fetching gentleman if her secrets can be continually covered up,” Lady Foster feigned concern. “Such a shame for her family to have taken so little care of her reputation. What a disgrace it would be to let such beauty go to waste.”

  Lady Foster paused to look over Aubrey. A twisted fancy showed in her tight sneer. Everything this woman, so apparently rehearsed, she apparently spoke words whether she meant them or not.

  “What a saint the Marchioness is for interfering on her behalf,” her traveling companion added, looking down her nose at Aubrey. With narrowed eyes, she feigned a mocking nod of her head as a signal for Aubrey to agree. “Surely, you are most grateful to her, dear.”

  Even with her gentle heart and upbringing, Aubrey could not find a suitable response for the compliments and cuts so fused together.

  “Surely, I am.” Aubrey gave a small curtsey hoping the bile in her stomach would not force her into a fit of gagging when she spoke.

  “Why, you should join us in taking a meal,” Lady Foster exclaimed. “We would be grateful for the company. We were just going to the private parlor. It will be nice to warm by the fire while we dine. The weather has been most dreadful for our journey.”

  So, she kept the gracious smile magically on her face as she followed the two couples, hoping she could partake of some food. The smells of soups and savory sauces for meats mingled together to assault her unsettled stomach. Having already exhausted the supply of comfits that she had gotten from the kitchen staff before leaving, she would be pleased with a bland piece of goose and maybe a pastry.

  Later, once they came upon the shore, relief flooded her to be free of the Dowager’s friends and free of the lot of popular echelons she'd been forced to dine with as well. It was not lost on her that she had spent hours, when living with her cousin, envying the ladies their stations in life, as they could easily marry a titled man like Edmund. And yet, when she finally got to partake of such a way of living, it was but a farce meant to give her leave of him altogether.

  The cold winds lashed against the stony quay as she stepped on board one of the few clippers designed primarily as a passenger vessel. Lady Dalysbury had easily emptied her pockets with Aubrey’s travels and finances. Another reminder of how much the woman wanted her gone. The Marchioness plumed herself upon holding the power and the purse strings, making those around her mere pawns to her nasty whims.

  At least with her travel alone by sea she could drop the façade of belonging to the upper class. A woman of that rank would incite scandal by traveling alone. Such was not the case for those of the lower class, and thus she could lose the airs, the formality, the tedious behavior of a lady of the ton.

  Aubrey endured instead with great persistence the challenges of travel by water, sailing around the coast and stopping at Cardiff and then Fishguard before crossing St. George’s Channel.

  Overhearing the many tales of the drunken sailors did much for her apprehension in the face of the unknown. With every ship that passed, she'd sigh her relief at not being overtaken by the ark ruffians who plundered upon ships such as this one. Similarly, after surviving each bout of inclement weather with great abatement of her terrors, she mourned those lost at sea in analogous storms. Their anguished memories seemed to cry out to her on each rush of the wind shrieking its way around the ship.

  Many endless days passed her by as she sat alone with her thoughts. They did not prove to be great traveling companions as they cut up her frail attempts at peace. Each time she closed her eyes she found him in her memories. It never took much effort; she had pretty much made him an object of study since she had met
him. She'd grown intuitively perceptive when it came to his features, his mannerisms, his way of speaking, his preferences, and his loving deeds.

  She had seen Edmund as mannerly to a fault, placing her needs before his own. His nature had been refined by the wealth of his upbringing and by the demands of his social standing. He'd seemed accomplished without arrogance, one to look up to in stupefied amazement, but without malice. When he had a mind to, he succeeded easily.

  Anyone could easily state that he got what he went after, but he had always done things above board and with others’ interests in mind. He was shrewd, but never cunning; determined, but always likable; and edgy, but never wild.

  Of course, he had to have faults. After all, he was human. Yet, if he did they were minor enough in comparison to his strengths to be easily overlooked. At this moment, she found the greatest fault to be within herself.

  Edmund had been so outlandish in his confidence when she had first met him. Seducing his prey without fear of rejection, he had acquired her affections in just days with time spent, opportunities proposed, compliments given, gifts bestowed, and temptations offered. Of late, he had made love to her like a meticulous educator bent on awakening her in such a way that her curiosity alone would lead her to a better knowledge of the workings of her own body with his. To make matters worse, the term handsome did not suffice when it came to his black hair, deep brown eyes, and chiseled features. The muscles in his body equally seductive with or without clothing, he was as well groomed as his personality.