Beauty and the Beast

Chapter 7

It was nearly dawn when Edmund finally managed to get away from Mrs. Gibbs. The old cow certainly liked to talk, going on and on about her childhood as though Edmund cared in the least about who her parents were and where she had grown up. Mr. Gibbs was no better, prattling on about all manner of things, from horses to hunting to the weather.

After sitting through several grueling hours of their mindless blather, he had excused himself, saying that the exhaustion of his ordeal and the anxiety over his wife had given him a dreadful headache, and so he was going to retire to his room for a few hours to rest.

Edmund took the hallway towards the guest quarters, glancing back to be sure that Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs weren't following, then he turned and headed down another hall which led through the dining room and into the foyer.

He crept up the stairs, darting quickly into the darkness of the hallway for fear that he might be spotted. The wind howled outside, making the heavy windows rattle.

As Edmund inched down the hallway to his left he opened each door that he came to, poking his head in, cursing under his breath each time he didn't find Miss Townsend.

He had only a few doors left to go, and was growing more frustrated with each second that passed. He hoped that the next door he opened would be upon Miss Townsend and not the imposing Mr. Thorne, for he knew that if he were discovered by the deformed man he would have a hard time explaining his presence in the upper floor of the castle.

"There you are," he hissed when he opened the next door and found Miss Townsend sound asleep in her bed.

He slipped inside, closing the door soundlessly behind him. He moved towards the bed, his eyes never leaving her sleeping form as he inched closer.

She was propped up on pillows, her head tilted to one side, her lips slightly parted as she slumbered.

Edmund couldn't help but admire her beauty, her long brown curls hanging loosely around her face, her lips looking deliciously pink against her pale skin. Her arm and leg were wrapped up in bandages, and he found himself wondering how hard he would have to squeeze her injured arm to make her scream.

Edmund ran his knuckles along her jaw, and she frowned in her sleep, turning her head away from his touch as she drifted back into a deep sleep.

It seemed that even in a state of unconsciousness she would reject him.

As he watched her, he recalled how things had gone the last time they had spoken--the warm summer afternoon when he had proposed to her. The whole town had seen her reaction to him--witnessing how insolent the little wench could be. The humiliation had been almost too much for him to bear.

"Are you mad?" Miss Townsend  had demanded. "To even ask me such a question, after what you did to my Father? After all you have done to me? Taking away my home, the home that was so filled with love? How could you do it? How can you live with yourself? You make me sick, Edmund Leech! I will Never marry you!"

Edmund had been down on one knee in the courtyard near the fountain, the whole town staring at him and whispering as they awaited his reaction. Some people laughed. Others had the decency to glance away. Someone in the back shouted "Bravo, Miss Townsend!" to which there was more laughter and some applause.

He had grabbed her roughly, intent on slapping the defiance out of her, but the blacksmith and his young son had stepped forward, glaring at him in warning.

So instead, Edmund had made Miss Townsend a promise. That she would see him again. And when she did, she would be sorry.

Very sorry indeed.