George stared after the carriage from the window of his study, the sting of Clarisse's force against his face still sharp. He wanted to believe his wife had no hand in what happened to him, Clarisse had mentioned forgers but he was inclined to believe what he did. Whenever he would ask her about Angelo she had never offered him any information. He had inquired as to how she felt about him, all she had ever said was he was the one in her life, Angelo was dead and gone.
He had read and re-read the letters, all the words she used, the way she wrote to her father it was the same. He had asked Clarisse to burn the letters he had no more strength left within him. He feared if he read them one more time he would surely kill her and that would make him no better than her.
As the carriage disappeared a thought ran through his mind, she had looked quite pale, her beautiful ever glowing skin had lost its shine. She had wavered a little while she spoke, he assumed it was out of the anger she was feeling. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. 'Why do I care what she feels? She does not love me and has reunited with her lover. She's probably on her way to him as I speak,' he paced up and down his study before stopping at his desk and sending all its contents to the floor.
He watched the papers land on the floor and felt no relief. His wife was gone. He had finally made her leave. He thought back to when she had first arrived, their conversations were limited. He had planned to leave her once he had had her, but after he did he could not imagine himself being with any other woman. Her hazel eyes that were always prying, he felt a sting in his chest. George had never fallen in love, he had never allowed himself to. When all his friends were falling over women he was making sure they fell over him. The last few days with his wife were blissful. He was happy, they talked, they laughed, they enjoyed each other's company.
Until those letters arrived.
Angelo had looked quite satisfied with himself when he was leaving. He had a look upon his face that suggested he had achieved quite the feat.
Annabelle was gone, he would not allow it. She was his wife, she was meant to stay with him. Before the church, before God, before him, she had promised. He would not let her leave. He would never let Angelo have the upper hand. Angelo would be the one to suffer knowing the woman he loved spent her nights lying next to another man.
He left the study making all the noise he possibly could. Clarisse came to top of the staircase and simply stared. She knew the temper of the man walking out the door, she knew where he was going. He was going after his wife. She smiled to herself and hoped she could right all the wrongs the so called Angelo had brought into their lives.
She was awaiting Arthur's return. Knowing him, he had stopped by a brothel or two. It is a wonder that man has not died from ailments she thought to herself. She had never seen a man like him. He loved and committed to none but himself. He had women tickle his fancy and untickle it just as fast. George all but slammed the door bringing Clarisse back to her surroundings. She leaned against the wall and let out a breath. Her mind falling back to what Arthur had mentioned about Sir Ashton. She thought to herself, maybe it was time Sir Ashton made her acquaintance.
She walked up and down the market stalls looking at nothing in particular, until her eyes landed on him. She found it quite uncomfortable how the English would pass on information to any ear willing to listen. She had made innocent inquiries of Sir Ashton and his life while looking about the fruits and vegetables and the stories she heard.
He was a man that kept to himself. Many a woman in the market had mentioned he was far older than he looked but none mentioned his father or Angelo. When she saw him coming her way. She brought her perfectly made braid over her shoulder and readied herself to approach him, this however was not necessary. When she looked up his eyes were firmly on her and smile upon his lips. Men were far too easy, Clarisse had made one too many of them believe she was besotted when all she wanted was their information.
'Well it is rather scandalous for a woman of your beauty to be walking about unaccompanied, don't you think?' he asked as he came to a stop in front of her.
'It is even more scandalous for me to be seen with a man whom I have not yet become acquainted with,' she replied giving him her best smile and pulling at her hair.
'Forgive my manners,' he said and bowed, 'my name is Sir Ashton.'
'Sir Ashton?' she asked
'Yes, Just Sir Ashton, for now,' he smiled. A smile that did not reach his eyes she noticed. His eyes held another motive.
'It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is Clarisse,' she looked about the market as if searching for someone. Her eyes landing on a tall gentleman on the far end whose eyes had followed her walk through the market. She smiled softly and he returned it. 'I must take my leave Sir Ashton. I am afraid I am not alone.'
He followed her eyes, 'you are simply Clarisse?' he asked
'Yes, Sir Ashton, like you I have many a secret to hide. So for now, it is just Clarisse.' She quickly gathered her dress in her hand lifting it slightly up and walking towards the tall gentleman with unladylike speed. Sir Ashton stared after her not knowing whether to be afraid. What had she meant when she said she had secrets just like him. He had never seen her in town, how could she possibly know he had secrets?
He had kept it guarded. Not a soul in all of London knew his real age. Lord Markham had been the only one until Angelo came back from the dead. Now two knew who he really was. Angelo had paused no threat to him yet and Lord Markham still needed him, he would never. Sir Ashton turned back to look for the woman that had sparked something within him, a fear, but she was gone. His eyes roamed over the market but she was gone, so was a tall gentleman he had noticed standing at the far end.
Had Angelo come back to plot his revenge. Had he truly believed his brother so evil as to try to blackmail and kill him?'
He rushed from the market as Clarisse had hoped, she had long abandoned her dress and replaced it with a pair of riding trousers and a blouse, with Arthur following behind her. They followed Sir Ashton to an abandoned building. If she remembered it was where word of torture of men who sought to betray the country were taken. Women had spoken of screams emanating from the building in the middle of the night. He slipped inside once he was sure no one was following him.
Clarisse and Arthur followed him inside.
They stopped when they heard a voice. Clarisse put a hand to her lips as she looked at Arthur.
'Finally Ashton. I cannot wait around for you all day!' the voice sounded impatient.
You sodding bastard,' Sir Ashton's voice rang through the empty building. 'Who have you told about me? I could pass for a man half my age.'
'What on earth is the matter with you Ashton? It does not do you well to raise your voice and lose your temper.'
'A woman in the market talked to me of secrets Markham, a secret only you knew!' he shouted.
'I, and now your dead brother. Did you think Angelo would return and forget you were the one responsible for his death?'
'You shot him Markham, not I. It is your hatred for Lady Edwards that begun this Markham. I have merely being paying a debt. You kept me from prison, but I am no longer willing to help you Markham. I love Annabelle and I will see no harm come to her.'
'You were the one who defiled her mother. The night before her wedding day all because you saw her as a colored whore!'
'The same thing you say of Annabelle,' he replied with such force.
Clarisse turned to Arthur and smiled. They had only been here a handful of days and all they had found. Just then Arthur moved and a piece of metal hit the wall. The men stopped talking. Clarisse froze. She motioned Arthur so they could leave before they were caught.
Sir Ashton and Lord Markham came to where they heard the sound but saw no one. Slowly a feeling of dread crept upon the both of them but only Sir Ashton showed it.
The carriage arrived to find Lord Edwards boarding his own carriage. Seeing his son-in-laws carriage approached he stood and waited for it to come to a stop. When no one came out he approached the door and opened it to find before him a sight that filled him with dread.
He called for Ronald and his wife. Both came running from the house. He pulled his daughter into his arms. Her body cold and limp. Lady Edwards stopped in shock. Her eyes landing on her daughter in her husband's hand. 'What happened? Annabelle,' she whispered. Ronald held her up making sure she did not reach the ground. One fainted woman was enough for a day.
Lord Edwards carried her inside taking the stairs two at time and stopping only to wait for Ronald to open the door to his and his wife's chambers. He placed her on the bed and called for hot water and a cloth. His daughter lay there looking so frail. His dear daughter who would throw tantrums about his house when she was younger and go where she wanted, she was now laying quiet, looking pale and tired. Her skin was no longer the radiant glowing skin he had seen her with only but a few days ago.
Lady Edwards came into the room moments later with water and cloths. She had sent Ronald for the doctor. She set the bowl down and pulled Annabelle's hair from her face. She dipped the cloth in the bowl, squeezed it and ran it over her forehead. She placed her other hand over her daughters. She was not hot or cold. She was simply unconscious. Lady Edwards stopped wiping her head and looked at her daughter intently.
Her lips were dry, she looked like she had not slept, her face tired. 'Oh God could it be?' she stood from the bed and looked at her husband 'Oh God,' she said again shaking her head, tears filling her eyes.