Chapter 9: We Dance into the Lonely Hours
Malia felt as though she had blinked and the next day had arrived. The seconds ticked by too quickly, and the hours seemed to speed on without allowing her the chance to breathe before the next one came. She thought moving slowly would make time see sense, but no such luck.
She had not yet made up her mind. To meet the Magistrate or not, to go dive into the deep, dark void of sin or to not? To possibly break a otherwise good man's heart by reminding him of the reality of their situation, as if he didn't already know... As if it mattered at all to him.
He was married. He had children! And yet he pursued Malia as if these things didn't matter.
What do you want?
She thought of what Brandon had said about choices, and how they were like rivers. Everyone made different choices, like the water of the river flowed differently every time it came around. But she knew that everyone with half a mind for morality thought a man betraying his wife-however horrid a wife-was a bad thing to do. Malia would not be exempt from the punishment that was to follow, she knew this.
'I will not deny my heart. No matter what the cost, Malia, no matter what the sacrifice... I will not...'
The feeling of his hand on her face sent shivers up her spine. She knew she wanted to feel his touch again.
"God, I hardly even know him!"
"Know who?"
Malia frowned up at Jane, who was watching her with an odd look. The servants were lazing about, finding odd chores here and there to complete, and as of the moment, there was nothing specific for Malia or Jane to do.
"No one," Malia said quickly. "I was just thinking aloud is all."
"You know," Jane leaned forward. "You never did say what the Magistrate wanted with you in the market."
"Really?" Malia felt her gut churn. "Rather odd, I thought I did. He just wanted me to... Well, he had something he wanted me to say to Mr. Boatwright. A message."
"Something he couldn't say in front of me?"
"Apparently not," Malia said, hating herself for lying to her friend. "He said to take the message straight to Mr. Boatwright and tell no one else."
Oddly, Jane seemed to buy it. "Well then I won't ask."
"Thank you."
"But the Magistrate seems like a handsome bloke, eh?" Jane's eyes flashed with an odd glint. "Rather easy on the eyes up close to be sure. And his daughter is a sweet little thing! But the Magistrate is indeed handsome, for an older man."
"I..." Malia cleared her throat, not knowing what to say. What if she agreed? Would that make it too obvious? "I suppose..."
"Not that he is old old," Jane continued. "I should think he's about the age of Mr. Boatwright, give or take a handful of years or so younger perhaps. But just to have him in the room either scares the wits out of you or leaves you breathless."
Malia said nothing to that... Because, again, she agreed.
"I will say this, Abigail is a lucky woman," Jane snorted. "She always has a foul look on her face, but to have a husband John Quincy is an achievement."
One she doesn't deserve...
"I don't suppose they're made for each other?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well her with her stony brown and him with his stern expression... I do like a man who broods," Jane winked. "Malia, you're blushing."
Malia turned away from her friend and stood. "We have work to do."
Jane cackled. "So you lust after the Magistrate too? What, so that makes you like the rest of us young girls? For shame!"
"Stop it, Jane," Malia said, though she didn't mean it. It felt slightly good to know that she was just like the others girls with her feelings for the Magistrate. Although it did make her stomach turn to entertain the possibility of him feeling the same way towards many women himself, as men often did.
And does he invite every woman he lusts after into his underground cellar? He's a Magistrate, he should know better!
Yes, he was a Magistrate... And a reckless one at that! Malia didn't dare to think of what could possibly happen if she... God, dare she? But why not? It was like Jane had said, Abigail was a foul woman blessed with luck to have a husband like him. Malia hardly saw that as fair. Why did that horrid witch, get to have him all to herself?
"Malia?"
She looked up at her friend and sighed. "Come on, we have work to do."
What do you want to do?
XXX
There was an ethereal spirit that the night brought to the wayward soul. Malia felt this the moment she woke up to the moon's light and stared about her soundless bedroom. Jane was fast asleep, breathing deeply with a soft vibrato when she exhaled.
Slowly, Malia crawled out of her bed and landed lightly on her feet. She tried to breathe quietly through her nose as she threw a shawl over her nightgown and slipped on her sandals. The whole while, she kept watching Jane, but the girl was an extremely heavy sleeper. There could have been pirates sacking Dawn-Bridge and likely the girl would have slept right through the rampage.
Still, that fact didn't stop Malia from being careful in trying to sneak out of the room. The servant's quarter was asleep, as they were into the later hours of the night. Usually no one roamed these halls after hours. So when Malia slipped out of her room and out into the hall, she speed-walked to the stairs leading down into the kitchen, and lightly stepped over to the door.
She placed her hand on the handle and paused, feeling the cold metal seep into her blood. She had decided not to think about the actions that would follow too much, because if she did, then she would question everything. There was no turning back the moment she stepped outside, she knew that. She accepted it.
Abigail doesn't deserve him.
And she did?
Malia shook her head and braced herself; not daring to look behind her for fear that it would make her change her mind. She pushed all doubt out of her mind and began to turn the knob.
"And where do you think you're going?"
Gasping loudly, Malia whirled around and placed a hand over her heart, which was racing fast enough to explode out of her chest. "Brandon!"
"Are these nightly excursions of yours something I'm going to have to expect to happen often?" Her friend asked, stepping into the light, a questioning look on his tired face.
"Go back to sleep, Brandon," Malia said, trying to keep her voice down to possibly cover up the fact that she had nearly screamed earlier.
"Tell me where you're going."
"Out."
"I can see that," he drawled, not amused. "Where?"
"Never you mind, now go back to sleep!"
"Malia, this isn't like you," Brandon frowned at her. "Asking questions about choices, sneaking around the house when everyone else is asleep. You've been distracted lately, I wish you'd tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"A common tune you dance to," he grunted. "You know eventually I'll find out what all this is, right?"
Malia knew he was right. "And when you do find out, you can tell it to the Boatwrights, to all of Lanfore, and possibly even all of England, but for now, leave me be!"
"I won't."
It was Malia's turn to frown. "Excuse me?"
"I won't," Brandon said again, crossing his arms over his chest, "tell the Boatwrights, that is. Or Lanfore... And certainly not all of England. If I find out what you're doing, I won't say a word to anyone."
Malia was confused. "Why... Why not?"
"Because it's your story to tell, Malia, not mine," Brandon sighed. "And it looks like nothing I say will stop you. Go, then. Go do whatever it is you want to do. I'll cover for you."
"Why would you do that?" Malia asked warily. "What's in it for you?"
Brandon shook his head. "You've been through enough here, Malia. You've always had to follow a very thin and breakable line so people wouldn't think something ill of you because of who you are. I think if anyone deserves to step over that line for the sake of grasping at some sort of happiness, it's you."
Malia didn't know what to say. Something about this was not right. Why would he cover for her and expect nothing in return, was their friendship that deep?
"Trust me, Malia, there's nothing in it for me," he gestured to the door. "But eventually you'll have to tell me what this is."
Malia could agree to that. "Ok, I will. I promise," she smiled at him. "Thank you."
Brandon nodded gravely. "Don't mention it."
Malia smiled at her friend one more time before slipping out the door and into the crisp, midsummer night.
XXX
John paced the underground cellar, impatiently staring at the door. Hopefully she knew where to go. He had enclosed certain details in the note, but not enough. Perhaps he should have written them out explicitly. Why hadn't he? There was also the chance she had never gotten the note, and the idea was far too bleak to entertain. He needed to see her...
But what was all this, his obsession with this girl? Was it love? No, he highly doubted that. Not love, perhaps infatuation, but not love. Men didn't fall in love so quickly, that wasn't how the world worked. He had only seen her for the first time a few weeks ago, and though she had made quite the impression, still he knew it was not love.
So then what was it? He knew he must be confusing the poor girl. She likely didn't know what it was either, perhaps that would be the reason why she decided not to come.
Still, he waited. And paced. He paced so much he thought he would form a rut in the ground. A fine thought, to be sure, but not something he needed to happen presently. His whole body was ready to give way.
He was usually so good at reading people and knowing what the right answer was to every situation. But this girl was an anomaly, something from an entirely different world... An ethereal, beautiful creature that poems were written about. She clouded his judgment and, oddly, that was something he knew he wanted. Always following the thin line of propriety grew tiresome, especially when one was forced to. She allowed him to see and dream things he never could before, and for that he knew he couldn't stop with the want of her.
So was that the reason why he needed to see her? As if dreaming about her wasn't enough? John was always a man who knew what he wanted; it was a part of his success. But here, in this point in time, he was confused. Blissfully ignorant of his own needs, wanting so much just to look at her and touch her.
John heard the door shift and he skidded to a halt in his pacing. He looked to the door and felt his heart thrash against his chest. Could it be? Was she here?
Silence followed. He waited and held his breath. Then, he heard a light knocking on the door.
"Malia..." John felt her name roll off his tongue. His heart was soaring now, and he almost forgot to rush over to the door and open it but, when he did, and her face was revealed, it seemed to soar even higher.
"You came," he said, almost too joyfully, holding the door open wider so she could come in. "You cannot know how much this means to me."
Malia stepped in; lowering the shawl she had used to cover her head before turning to face him with an odd expression. "This is very secluded."
John nodded quickly, closing the door and turning to face her slight form. "Yes, I thought it would be better if we-"
"I don't know that anywhere we meet is better, Magistrate," she said. "You'll still be married with children if we met here or some tavern."
"Malia..."
"It's all right," she assured him, smiling lightly. "I made my choice, I'm here."
"And for that, I am eternally grateful."
"I know," she bit her lip and looked around her for a bit before turning once more to face him. "So are you still a Magistrate here?"
He shook his head, striding forward quickly and taking her face into his hands. "No... Not here."
With that, he lowered his lips to hers, and all logical thought fled from his mind.
XXX
New Orleans, Louisiana, 1850
"I can hardly believe that you still asked for nothing in return," Ronald Sibley shook his head. "There must have been something."
"There was," Dorsey said, staring out his study window. "I just didn't know at the time."
"And now?"
Dorsey turned his eyes to the man, and said nothing.
________
Author's note: So sorry we didn't post this yesterday like we promised! We hope you still enjoyed it. Leave a vote and comment, let us know how you liked it! We hope you enjoy the rest! Thank you so much for reading!