Faces of the Wind

Chapter 16

After twenty seconds of fully submerging his head and body in the copper bathtub, Adrian sat up and looked down at the steamy water. It was brownish like the Thames. If only he could rid himself of every mistake and every painful event burdening his heart by sitting for a few minutes in hot water, but that was not possible. He wondered how he carried all this dirt for a week.

"Are you alright in there, Adrian?" William asked from behind the bathroom's door.

"Yes," Adrian replied, still staring at the surface of the water in which he sat.

"I am famished and I bet you, too, need a bite to eat, so I was thinking about a short walk and then a meal at some tavern."

"You go ahead."

"I was not asking your permission, Adrian," William cried, "I was suggesting you make haste."

Adrian wondered what it would be like if William were his father instead of Jeffrey. He was more present in his house than Jeffrey was, but Arden always seemed displeased with him and there seemed to be a wedge between the father and his daughter. No one, however, was up to Arden's standards. Besides, she's a woman, he reminded himself—she and her father would not be very close. Lydia and her father are very, very close, but that is not the norm. Men want sons, and even women want them. Sons can inherit and carry the torch of their fathers' legacies... but not him. He carried no torch and never failed to disappoint.

"I need to rest," he cried.

"You have slept for just about twelve hours," William replied, "I am inclined to forbid you to shut your eyes before nightfall."

Adrian stood up and out of the little swamp. He took a sponge out of a clean bucket of water and wiped his body with it then dumped another bucket over his head before he dried himself with a clean towel, wrapped it around his waist and opened the door to find his father's closest friend behind it, leisurely reading a book.

"I find myself curious to learn the motive behind your standing here," he said, frowning.

"I thought I should keep a close eye on you," William replied, "you are in my custody until I deliver you safe and sound to your father." He shut his book and it gave a loud bang. The young man had a blackened eye and a purple split lower lip that was likely to bleed again if he smiled, but the surgeon who treated him thought it did not need any stitching.

"In your custody?" Adrian grimaced intensely then winced when his lips stretched more than it should.

William sucked his teeth, raised his brows and nodded. "I am afraid so." His tone was flat.

Adrian kept staring at him in disbelief, his scowl deep, his eyes puffy and his hair dripping.

"Get dressed before you catch a draught," William ordered, studying the young man's face, which seemed to have gained ten years in the past week. He thankfully shaved the bushy beard he was compelled to sport in gaol.

"The room is a baking oven," Adrian muttered as he walked to his bedroom.

***

It was not like Arden to accompany her aunt to every ball, but she did. She even urged her to entertain. She did not wish to be down for long though there was a force striving to pull her into a dark pit. It made her want to curl up in a corner and hide from the world, but that was not like her, and her dignity would never allow it.

"Arden," said Lilley as she sat at the dining table, "I have received a letter from that witch Ursula." She was in her favorite teal velvet frock, topped with a knit ivory shawl that she received two years ago as a gift from her dearest friend, Catherine Hammers.