Breanne rose early the next morning. She knew of only one person that could help her with her predicament. She had to see him immediately. After traveling through a misting rain that turned the streets of Liverpool damp and muddy, she finally reached her destination.
"I need to see the Duke of Manchester, please."
"Do you have an appointment, Lady Torrington?"
"No. I do not have an appointment...but a dire situation compels me to speak with him at once," she replied, wringing her cold, wet fingers.
The man who answered the door nodded once. "I will inquire whether he may see fit to meet with you today...though no one sees the duke without an appointment," he informed her stiffly.
Gently biting her trembling bottom lip, Breanne tried her hardest not to cry. "I understand."
Nodding again, the man invited her into the foyer and, directing her to wait where she stood, he went to search out the duke.
Breanne stared down at her hands, fiddling with them, trying to still the tremors passing through her. If he didn't help her, what would she do? Would he be angry with her for causing a scene in his home? Breanne truly didn't know what to expect. To this day, the man still intimidated her. She'd grown more comfortable than she once was, but not enough....not when he was in his own realm, as he was here. He'd long ago given her permission to use his given name, and when Alla was around she did so. But, never had they been alone. Would he kick her out of his off—?
"Lady Torrington?"
Breanne quickly glanced up at the portly man who had returned and now stood in the doorway before her.
"He will see you. Follow me."
Breanne drew in a steadying breath, and followed. He led her down a corridor paneled with rich colored wood, and near the end of it, ushered her through a door on the right.
As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the door behind her closed with the sound of a kettle drum. Breanne whipped around, jolted by the ominous boom, and then reluctantly turned to face the duke. You are such a coward, she told herself.
The Duke of Manchester glanced up from the neatly stacked paperwork on his desk, his expression giving nothing away. With an unsettling ease, he leaned back against his leather chair after plopping his pen back into the inkwell without sparing it a glance.
With the small twitch at the right side of his mouth, the battle lines were drawn--Breanne saw it immediately. Which of them would speak first?—Was this what Alla went through? If so, the woman was a saint.
Breanne swallowed nervously, taking a small step forward.
"Your grace—"
"Please, sit," he interrupted, motioning to the chair stationed across from his desk.
Breanne immediately complied and stared down at her lap as she tried to gather her thoughts.
"Your grace, I—"
"I've given you leave to use my name, Breanne. Please do so, and look at me when you speak."
A flittering irritation flashed across Breanne's face, prompting amusement to shine in Brandon's eyes and cause the minutest softening to the rest of his features.
"Very well," Breanne whispered, looked down, caught herself, and with effort, met Brandon's eyes. "First, I would like to apologize for the scene I made at—"
Surprise showed on Breanne's face as Brandon lifted an impatient hand motioning for her to get on with it.
"I do not care about the stir you caused last night, Breanne. What I would like to know, however, is why you are on the verge of tears, and why you look as if you haven't slept all night."
Just him mentioning that she was on the brink of crying made the ridiculous liquid want to spill forth from her eyes. The gentle tone he used on her was fast proving to be her undoing.
"I've come to ask for your help," she whispered, one tear escaping. "My...my parents were not as unconcerned about the scene I caused as you appear to be. They ...they gave me an ultimatum, and I've rebelled against their decision."
Brandon's eyebrows shot up, clearly stunned that Breanne had actually stood against her parents. His curiosity was pricked. It must have been an intolerable ultimatum, indeed. He tilted his head slightly to the right, and Breanne found herself pinned beneath the deep ocean blue gaze he leveled at her.
"Continue."
Breanne briefly glanced at her lap before looking at him once again. "I need to secure passage aboard one of your vessels, and I need to do so quickly. My destination is Australia."
"No."
The harsh denial caused her to flinch, and two more tears soon followed the stray that had escaped earlier. Breanne nodded. "Very well," she whispered again, standing up. "Thank you for—for seeing me on such short notice. I'll find another way."
She held her composure until her hand touched the doorknob, when Brandon snapped out her name.
Turning to face him, she saw that he was now standing up; anger drawing his beautiful, yet dangerous looking features together.
"Australia is far too dangerous. You cannot go there. I won't allow you to do so alone."
"Allow?" she repeated, in disbelief.
"Yes, allow," he reaffirmed, his stance daring her to contradict him. "As the dearest friend of my wife, and as the wife of my own late...closest friend, you must see why I have to say no."
Breanne shook her head in denial.
"Adam would not want this!" he replied, slamming a large, tanned fist upon his desk. Taking note of the way Breanne flinched, Brandon turned his back on her, facing the window, and braced one hand upon his temple. "He would want me to look after you, Breanne, just as he would have watched over Alla had something happened to me. I intend to do so," he calmly stated, then whipped around to face her. "And I'll do it whether you wish for me to or not."
Breanne used to wish for brothers growing up. Now that she saw what exactly she was missing out on, she could almost be thankful that she was an only child.
"Brandon, you have to understand," she beseeched, stepping forward again, placing a hand on the back of the chair she'd been sitting in before. "I don't have a choice. I have to go."
Squirming under his stare, she cast a glance sideways until his next question prompted her to face him again.
"What was this ultimatum?"
"Marry Mr. Edgar Wilson...or be thrown out."
She couldn't look at him when she issued the quiet admission. But after moments of tangible silence, she couldn't help but peek up.
Disbelief locked his features in place until it melted away to reveal shock, frustration, and lastly anger.
"Did I hear you correctly?" he questioned, tilting his head. Steel underlined his words, and she could almost feel the fury emanating from him.
Breanne nodded, unconsciously taking a step back so as to retreat from the anger in his words. Brandon caught the action.
"Stop that," he snapped.
Breanne froze in place, and watched as he returned to his seat, seemingly defeated, burying his head within his hands.
"Adam, what would you do?" he whispered, brokenly.
Tears flowed freely down Breanne's cheeks, and she rushed forward, plopping in the opposite chair, and leaning in toward his desk.
"It would kill me, Brandon," she pressed.
He looked up at her, his expression clearly distraught and torn.
"It would kill me to marry him. To marry anyone. Please. Would you wish to be forced into a hasty marriage if something happened to—"
"Don't finish that question," he harshly warned, and then sighed, running a hand through his ebony locks.
"Even if I did assist you," he began, causing flutters of hope to rise up within her. "How would you convince Alla that this was the only way?"
Guilt struck Breanne, and she found herself avoiding eye contact with him again as she answered. "I was hoping that Alla would not know about this until I was already on board."
When she met his eyes, she saw that disbelief was written across his features yet again. "You wish her to murder me, then?"
The question caught Breanne off guard, and she found herself swallowing the chuckle that escaped her lips.
"I will write to her and have the note sent on the very day of my departure. Brandon, please. I am begging you ...I cannot do this without your help."
"I thought you said that you would have to find another way if I could not assist you," he returned flatly.
Breanne softly smiled; another tear escaping. "The truth is; I would live on the streets Brandon—"
"As if we would allow—" Brandon stormed, interrupting, but Breanne didn't let him finish, her voice rising in its turn.
"I would rather do that then give in to my parents again! They have crossed the line this time. You are my only way."
Brandon sighed heavily. "What of Adam's assets? What of his property here?"
"Left to other family," she replied, issuing him a sardonic smile. "So, you see, Adam has left this as the only option to me. If he wanted, he could have left me what he had here. He didn't. I do not know why any more than you do, but Adam willed the property he owned in Australia to me! If anything, it seems this is what he wished for me in the event of his death."
Brandon didn't miss the hurt expression Breanne clearly displayed, and though he was just as baffled as to Adam's decisions, he refrained from broaching the topic further to avoid sprinkling salt upon the wound.
Standing, Brandon said, "Very well. I shall assist you."
Breanne clapped her hands together, smiling a rare, true smile for the first time in a while since Adam's death.
"Thank you, Brandon. Thank you, thank you!"
Brandon nodded, still slightly conflicted.
"As soon as my affairs are in order, I shall send you the funds to secure my passage—"
"You'll do nothing of the sort. I will pay your passage. There is a ship leaving here in two days. Will you be ready by then?"
"W-Well, yes, but I cannot allow you to pay—"
"Allow me?" he asked, raising a superior brow.
"Now, you are going to pull rank on me?" she blurted out.
Brandon grinned, pleased at the fiery flare that came up into Breanne's eyes. His sudden change of expression caught her off guard for a moment and she viewed him with an expression of confusion.
"Do you recall a wager made by you and my wife aboard a ship? I do believe you came out the victor."
After a moment, understanding dawned, and Breanne drew her spine up. "Yes...you mean that silly wager about men and who would get noticed. I cannot believe she told you about that. And if you are coming to the conclusion that your wife is still indebted to me on such a score, I am quite positive that the amount in funds we wagered would not be enough to secure passage on your ship to Australia."
A hard look came over Brandon's eyes. "Be that as it may, I have made my decision. You may expect documentation for passage soon."
Knowing that she had lost this battle, Breanne inclined her head to Brandon. "It is a most gracious offer. Thank you."
Brandon returned the gesture, stopping her one more time when she pulled the door open.
"Do be careful. And, do not forget to send that letter to Alla. Know that in keeping this from her I shall now have to put up with a very angry and obstinate woman for many nights," he said, scowling.
Breanne smiled again. "Thank you, Brandon...for everything. I shall miss the two of you so much." On those last words, she quickly closed the door.
Two days later Breanne stood in her room looking in disbelief at her packed bags. I can't believe this is really happening, she thought. Tears threatened to fall, so shaking her head and gathering strength, she headed downstairs to confront her parents for what would possibly be the last time.
"Really, Breanne, you must know that you are overreacting!" her mother called out from the drawing room.
Breanne paused on the stairs with her bags for a second, and then continued on her way to take them outside to the hackney carriage. The sun had not yet risen but she needed to get an early start. In the two days following her visit to the duke, she was able to tie up affairs with Torrington's advisors, receiving a portion of the funds he'd left her, and eventually the rest would follow. She declined her mother's repeated insistence that her father's solicitor examine the papers Torrington's brother had left for her. They were no longer a matter of urgency, as she did not need to secure residence in the Liverpool townhouse. Since she would be delivering them in person, there was no reason why she should not retain the services of an Australian solicitor, who would no doubt be better informed with regard to their laws, contracts, and documents.
So lost was she in her thoughts whilst taking her luggage to the carriage that she did not notice who stood before it.
Edgar Wilson.
Clothed in dark green breeches and a tan jacket, his colors and posture reminded her of a tipped peacock. He stood, lanky and awkward, blocking her access to the carriage. Breanne's gaze dropped down to his large feet which he shuffled against the sidewalk several times out of nervousness, effectively scuffing his black Hessian boots.
Whereas any other gent might carry flowers in his hand, hoping to woo his love interest, Edgar Wilson decided to hold none other than her father's fishing pole, which she had accidently left at Alla's party, and which his parents inexplicably must have retrieved on her behalf. Breanne's lips hardened in irritation. "Good morning, Mr. Wilson," she acknowledged, veering around Edgar to hand her luggage to the driver.
"Miss...Miss...Crabtree."
Breanne whirled to face him, staring in anger and disbelief.
"I-I mean, Mrs.—Lady Torrington," he cleared his throat, and Breanne took a startled step backwards as he bustled forward and dropped to a knee, holding the pole up as an offering. Breanne was tempted to snatch the thing out of his hands and knight him with it, so silly was the gesture he was making.
Edgar did not look at her, but kept his head down, offering up the fishing pole. Breanne pinched the bridge of her nose briefly, before schooling her features and gently retrieving the item from his hands.
"Thank you, Mr. Wilson. My father shall be grateful to see it safe at home."
Edgar stumbled up from his position on the ground, dusted off his knees, and swiped strands of red hair from his perspired face, which increasingly reddened in tune with his hair.
Though waves of pity welled up within her on behalf of the man's awkwardness, all she had to do was think of the schemes he had attempted in the past, and she was relieved of the feeling.
"Good day," she said in farewell, and turned around only to draw up short when he appeared directly before her.
Using one trembling hand to hastily brush the wayward locks of hair aside once again, Edgar swallowed convulsively and then finally spoke. "Lady Torrington," he began, straightening his spine. "I believe that you and I have unfinished business to discuss."
"With all due respect, I beg to differ, Mr. Wilson. Now, if you'll excuse me—"
Mr. Wilson's eyes hardened, as he side-stepped, blocking her entry to the house. "Your parents informed me that you were planning on leaving. I must say, I never expected that such a decision would be made—by you. I do not understand why you are being so difficult."
Irritation briefly flashed in Breanne's eyes as she looked up at him. "I've given my answer to my parents, and now I see that I must grant you the same courtesy. I cannot marry you. I am sorry."
He side-stepped her again when she made a move to leave. "Our union would satisfy all parties involved—"
"No, it would not," Breanne replied in a firm voice. "It would not satisfy me."
Edgar stepped forward, roughly grabbing her arm, revealing yet another glimpse of the man she'd come to fear, the other side of him lurking beneath the outward appearance of obvious ineptitude.
"Mr. Wilson!" Breanne tried yanking her arm from his grip, but to no avail.
He yanked her forward, towards him. "You will be back. If you leave, you will not be gone for long. Do you think that you can make it on your own out there?" He sneered, his eyes flickering towards the direction of the port and then settling back down on her. "And when you do come back, know that no one will have you. No one but me. And I will be sure to receive a"—his free clammy hand trailed down her cheek— "proper apology for all that you have put me through."
Breanne's cheeks flushed in anger. She yanked her arm out of his grasp once more—at the same time he let go—causing her to stumble. She quickly regained her balance by grabbing onto the black iron rails which lined the bricked steps leading to her parents' residence.
The satisfied gleam reflected in his eyes showed her that he'd timed her release deliberately. He wanted her to fall. Breanne's eyes barely watered up, and she lifted her chin a notch. "Goodbye, Mr. Wilson."
He smirked, and then turned on his heel, strolling down the street, nodding to passersby on the opposite side. Breanne looked down at her hands, which were now shaking out of ....anger? Fear? Who knew? ...Maybe both.
Turning around, Breanne reentered her parents' residence.
The shock that came over her mother's features with her defiant entrance would forever be ingrained in Breanne's memory. It was priceless. The fact that Edgar had arrived just in time to intercept her departure, despite the fact that no one, save Brandon, had been informed of its timing up until that very morning, was a testament to her mother's relentlessness. Only she could have sent for him. Clearly, her mother thought she would actually give in on the spot and agree to marry that dreadful Edgar Wilson.
She shook her head, how can mother possibly say that I'm overreacting? The way she saw things, this was her mother's choice, not hers. She suppressed the tears that tried to escape as she turned to go back into her bedroom and collect the last piece of luggage left there. Becky waited inside, holding her bag and weeping. It took all of Breanne's being not to cry with her. After all, she did not want to go. She wanted to stay close to Alla and Becky, but there was no use wishing for the impossible.
"I will be perfectly fine Becky, I promise," she whispered, giving her a hug.
"You've sense in yer' head. I'm knowin' that you'll be fine; but I've watched you since you were a babe. 'S hard to letcha' go," Becky choked out.
Breanne patted Becky's back and quickly broke free from her, determined to keep her composure, at least until she was out of the house.
She walked over to her nightstand and collected the satchel of papers on top. Fortunately, when she had opened them for the first time, she saw that there was a map, showing the location of Torrington's land, plotted out with dashed lines indicating the adjacent parcels belonging to Reese, and someone else whose scrawled name appeared to be 'Cobin' or 'Cobrin'...possibly 'Cotrin.' It was hard to tell. No township appeared on the map, but at least the property was next to "The Blue Mountains." At first she was afraid it was only a local name, but it appeared on maps Brandon had given her as well. She knew approximately where in Australia she was headed, at least.
After grabbing her bag from Becky, Breanne gave her an envelope that had been on the nightstand beneath the satchel. "Would you please make sure that the Duchess of Manchester receives this missive?"
"Yes, my lady, of course." Breanne gave her one last quick hug, and rushed down the stairs, pausing for a moment when she heard her parents talking in the drawing room.
"I do not like this," her father said.
"Mr. Crabtree, all shall be well. Breanne shall not be able to endure the distance from her family, nor the loneliness that she will face living on her own. Mark my words sir, she will decide to return within two months of her arrival in that godforsaken land. I shall be stunned if she is not back on English soil in a year's time, at the very—"
"Well, mother, father, this is my last bag," Breanne interrupted, walking into the drawing room. Her parents remained seated as she stood in the center of the room.
"Breanne," her father crooned. "You cannot really mean to leave."
"Well," she answered, looking at her mother. "I do not mean to marry Edgar Wilson, so I have no choice but to leave, as you and mother have made clear."
Mr. Crabtree took a swig of his wine, and Breanne had to force herself not to raise her eyes heavenward in response. She looked at her mother, willing her to change her mind. Whether her mother and father loved her or not, they were the only family she had. She had just lost Torrington. The thought of losing everything familiar to her was more than she could bear.
In spite of everything, she was compelled to plead her case once more. "Mother, please believe that I am sorry for my actions." She placed her bag on the floor and took a step towards her, wringing her hands. "If it is your wish that I learn from my mistakes, I assure you that I have. You have made your point. My bags are packed and I must admit; I am scared witless. I only...," she trailed off when she saw her mother's eyes take on a satisfied gleam. Breanne sighed, "You are not going to change your mind, are you?" she asked, forlornly.
Mrs. Crabtree shook her head. "No, my dear, I won't. You still have time to change yours, however." Breanne looked at her hands. "You've admitted you are fearful and you have good reason to be, my dear. Australia is truly a barbaric place, a wasteland filled with dangerous criminals and heathen natives. You will be completely alone in a country half a world away that you have never so much as seen. You will be without a maid and without a friend in the world," her mother airily replied. "You do not have to go through that, dear. Please stay here. Your father and I wish for you to do so."
Those last words were spoken with a solemnity that resembled sentiment. Perhaps...just perhaps, she may actually miss me. Breanne looked into her mother's eyes, unable to squelch the glimmer of hope she felt at possibly having one last opportunity to change her mother's mind. "May I please stay with you and father, remaining as I am?"
Mrs. Crabtree averted her eyes from Breanne's, poising one delicate finger to her lips, as if in thought.
"I promise you, I have learnt from this mother. I'll not disappoint you again."
Breanne waited, and was taken aback at the mixed expression of disbelief and scorn that twisted her mother's delicate features. "The same words came from your mouth when you were six years old, Breanne, after you kicked that boy."
Breanne expressed genuine surprise. "Mother, I was six—"
"Your age is no excuse for your actions. I did not believe you then, and I was right not to trust in your abilities. Had I trusted in my own instincts and sent you away to a finishing school then, perhaps we could have prevented your ruination. I shall not ignore my better judgment a second time." Her mother stood up from the couch and picked up Breanne's bag. "If you'll not have Mr. Wilson, you shall leave this household. This is your last opportunity to maintain some semblance of propriety and obedience. Do what is right, Breanne."
Breanne slowly turned to her father. He watched her sadly and then raised the wine to his lips, draining the remaining quarter glass in one gulp. Sighing, she slowly walked to her mother, and staring her in the eyes, relieved her of the bag she held. Mrs. Crabtree's mouth opened in shock as she watched her daughter slowly make her way to the front door... and out of the house.
Breanne didn't cry. She did not break apart when she stepped inside of the carriage, nor did she burst into tears when it lurched away, leaving behind the only home she'd ever known. Once settled, her head fell back against the cushion and she closed her eyes. This cannot be happening. It hadn't been a full month since Torrington's death, and she was leaving behind every person who had ever given her a sense of security.
Her eyes suddenly flew open. It was surprising that her mother, who was strict on the merits of propriety, allowed her to leave her family without a chaperone. She's been disregarding much in the way of propriety lately. It only showed how much her mother wanted her to marry. Breanne began to think that maybe her mother hadn't planned ahead. Mother thinks because I am in a vulnerable position that I will do her bidding...but I simply can't. Not this time.
Breanne turned her head, and absently stared out the window as the carriage traveled through the city. Alla will no doubt be out of sorts with me for not personally bidding her farewell. If I had gone to see her, she would have offered for me to live with them, and that would have only incited more gossip in the ton. I did the right thing. I need to take responsibility for my own actions. She closed her eyes on the thought. This is how it's supposed to be. I am alone, and I shall always be alone. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye, and she immediately dabbed it away. She shouldn't feel sorry for herself. Although life had never been kind to her, she had to make the most of it; she was determined.
After describing the circumstances of her departure in a letter to Alla, Breanne promised that she would write again when she settled in Australia. Alla would likely receive her letter that evening, and by that time she would be hours away. Breanne sighed in despair; I will miss her so much. I only hope that mother and father will see their mistake in sending me off, and soon. Although fate would have it seem that she was meant to be alone, she had no wish to be.
Breanne closed her eyes once more. She didn't want to think any longer. Contemplating her circumstances was beginning to make her melancholy. If using my mind is depressing, maybe I should cease using it. That way, I would be a perfect match for Mr. Wilson. She smiled sardonically at the thought.
"We're at the port, my lady!" The driver called down from the perch. Breanne's eyes flew open and she sat upright, looking around. She stepped out of the coach and turned to the driver who had just hopped to the ground and started unloading her luggage.
Once Breanne boarded the ship, she was shown to what would be her living quarters for the next couple of months. The room was certainly more spacious than the one she'd occupied the last time she was aboard ship. Even the bed was slightly larger. Mentally, she made a note to write Brandon, thanking him for the accommodation.
Walking to a nearby window, she watched as other passengers boarded. Though her chances were bleak, she couldn't help but wish that a carriage would wildly barrel in amongst the others, and her parents would rush out to find her. They would tell her that they made a horrible mistake, that they understood why she wouldn't marry, and that they would always support her, regardless, because she was their daughter. That was all she really wanted anyway. Their emotional support. But, when had she ever received that? Scoffing at her fanciful wishes, she turned away from the window to the man who'd just delivered her last piece of luggage, making sure to thank him with a tip before he left.
Once the ship started moving, Breanne headed for the side rail at the top deck and absently fiddled with the laced cuff on her black mourning gown as she stared into the water below. Panic immediately set in. What am I doing? I should be with my family! I've never been alone! Is Edgar Wilson really all that bad? Her heart railed at her, 'Yes!'
Breanne certainly held no attraction for him. But beyond that, if he at least possessed half a brain, or an eighth of one, she might have done the unthinkable—might have given in once again as was her typical behavior. Her cold fingers clenched to form a small fist at the idea, and she slightly shook her head.
She would not be saddled with someone so unintelligent and dull, someone who didn't even realize they were such, and instead had the gall to look down upon others. Before meeting Adam, Edgar Wilson had tried to corner and compromise her not once, not twice, but five times. Her features crumpled in distaste as she relived the memory of him pressing his slobbery mouth against her cheek, after she'd quickly turned her head causing him to miss her lips. It was only her quick thinking, pretending she was going to be sick all over him, that caused him to hastily release her mere seconds before his father conveniently made an appearance.
How could a mother approve of a match where the so-called gentleman would try to compromise her only daughter to get what he wanted?
Breanne's body suddenly trembled. The cold, brisk sea air had finally pierced through and shattered her thoughts, prompting her to seek the warmth provided in the dining area.
She couldn't help but notice in a mirror as she walked to a vacant table that her cheeks and nose were beet-red. Another shiver ran through her body as she took her seat.
Once a plate of chicken and boiled potatoes was set before her, she kept her focus upon her food, rather than make eye contact with anyone aboard the ship. For all she knew, some passenger could have attended the party nights before, witnessing the embarrassing spectacle she'd made of herself. Breanne felt her cheeks heat up at the thought of it. With every bite of food Breanne took in, she recalled each detail of that fateful night. She finally sighed. Lord knew she wasn't the type to make a scene, and yet, contrary to Alla's assurances, the tongues would wag for days—weeks even, until someone else did something even worse than she had. Was it wrong to hope someone would? It isn't wrong if said person wanted to be in the center of—
Her inner dialogue ceased the instant her stomach violently churned and heaved at the swaying of the vessel, causing her to lean forward, her hands slapping the table top. Blatantly aware of the curious glances being tossed her way, Breanne bit down on her lower lip, gently dabbing the corners of her mouth. She then scooted her chair back, and eyes followed her as she carefully made her way back to her quarters, closing the door with a soft 'click.'
"Oh God!" she called out once alone, and hastily dropped to her knees, snatched up the chamber pot and forfeited her meal into it.
That night, Breanne lay in the bed, staring into the darkness and listening to the sounds of the ocean spray crash against the ship as it ploughed through the waves. One pale hand firmly latched onto the wooden rail lining the bed, her grip increasing as the ship tipped hard to the right. If she wasn't holding on, she would roll right off of the thing and onto the cold hard floor. Of that she was certain.
It was only in the night that she finally allowed the tears she'd been holding back to slip out. She wanted to curse. She wanted to scream, to yell towards the heavens, to anyone who would listen, and ask why. Why was this happening? What had she done wrong? Hadn't she tried her hardest to abide by all the rules? Certainly, she wasn't perfect, but she always tried to be...to be what her mother wanted her to be, what everyone expected her to be...perfect.
Of course, Adam had never expected that of her. Adam knew her virtues, which he praised, and also her faults; though she often wished he was blind to them. With his quiet regard and easy manner, he helped her to improve upon her person and to gain confidence in herself. He made her feel as if she mattered, as if she were the most important person in the world. Never had he chastised her in front of others as her parents had done, but instead guided her. He guided her to completion and with him she felt whole, accomplished, fulfilled. Breanne's bottom lip trembled. How would she do this without him? She didn't want to. Really, she didn't.
The days on the ship passed in bright blurs of needless activity and conversation brought by the many passengers surrounding her; and yet, she felt oblivious to it. Numb. Her comfort, she found, was in the darkness, in the nights, when her emotions were a bit less contained—a bit wilder. She wasn't there, wasn't present during the days aboard the ship. But every night, every single night, Torrington's absence tortured her, every inch of her body singing with pain.
Nausea was just another thing that overtook her as the ship toiled about the sea, struggling to reach its destination. She was sick, lonely, and distraught. Breanne smiled grimly in the darkness. If they didn't reach Australia, she wouldn't care. If the ship were to sink to the inky black depths of the ocean, she would feel nothing but...relief. The pain would be gone. Wasn't that what really mattered?
She couldn't do this alone. Of that she was certain.
On the last day aboard the ship, Breanne felt a tiny spark of determination to find her way. A spark wasn't very compelling, but it was more than she had to begin with. She settled her mind to work on it, to try. For him. Eight weeks aboard a ship of distant strangers could drive anyone mad. Eight weeks of nausea, loneliness, pain, despair, and her own wicked, morbid thoughts would have driven anyone aboard that ship insane, had they got a glimpse into what she was feeling. But as always, she hadn't let the mask drop with anyone else around her. It was firmly in place, an ever fixed mark.
After such a dark eternity, when they at last disembarked, she mentally restrained herself from kissing the soil, and still felt quite off balance as she walked on firm ground. This was not her first sea voyage, and it always took time to 'get her land legs' as the sailors put it; but this time it was far worse. Her unsteady gait drew curious stares, and she soon supposed that others took her for a drunkard. If she had made a habit of eating on a regular basis, her legs might not have felt so loose and out of control. It's your own fault, she thought.
A piece of luggage in each hand, she endeavored to balance herself out as she stood near the wooden ramp, absorbing the drastic difference between the climates and surroundings of the home she'd left and the new one at which she'd just arrived. Breanne had never been anywhere without a chaperone, and couldn't help but feel self-conscious as people ambled about around her – people of various races and colors, some leaving the ship, and others loading luggage upon carriages. Only she stood immobile, her feet feeling like they were stuck in place as she took in the hustle and bustle of the night. Move, Breanne!
Catching sight of what appeared to be an inn; she waited for a few horses and carriages to pass before struggling with her luggage, dragging it across the wide dirt lane, toward a tall wooden building. It certainly seemed like a nice looking building for the area being....what was it her mother called it? Barbaric.
"Hmm." Resting her luggage on the ground, Breanne allowed her hand to fall upon one of the posts holding up the building, her fingers gently tracing the exquisite swirled detail carved into it. Realizing she was drawing attention to herself, she drew her hand away.
Setting her shoulders, Breanne hoisted her bags as best she could, ascended the steps, and leaned to peek inside a nearby window. At seeing patrons at tables, and a man behind the front desk, she straightened her spine and walked into the place.
Breanne looked around once more and bit her lip nervously as she stepped inside of the inn. Chatter inside the wooded building waned as she made her appearance. Her black ensemble caused her to stand out among the others considerably. She took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale confidence, and approached the man behind the counter.
"Wha' can I do for you, miss?"
"I would like lodging for the night, if it's available," Breanne said. The man turned to the wood planked wall behind her, removed a key from one of the hooks and dropped it on the counter between them. After paying for the room, Breanne flushed a light pink when her stomach all but yelled at the innkeeper.
A hefty woman, standing next to the man, smiled. "We 'ave rabbit stew if you're interested, miss."
Rabbit stew sounds horrid; but beggars cannot be choosers I suppose, especially when said beggar is famished. She nodded, took a seat at the only unoccupied spot, a table in the center, and removed her hat. The white tablecloth was speckled with crumbs and stains from the previous patrons. A tarnished three pronged fork and a spoon was set before her. She picked it up and inspected it. Unwilling to eat any other food than what she had requested, Breanne scraped the fork off, all the while wishing she had never inspected the cutlery to begin with. Light laughter reached her ears, causing her to look about the room. Her fingers quickly dropped the fork and she tried to ignore the fact that she was being laughed at and ogled, and now strongly regretted supping on the main floor.
Breanne quickly returned her attention to the tablecloth, fiddling her fingers on the surface, feigning an interest in them. When she had grown tired of that occupation, she developed a sudden fascination with the patterns of speckled dirt covering the single-paned windows. After her soup was finally brought out to her, she picked up her spoon, and fought the urge to examine it again as she dipped it into her bowl.
The first bite was heavenly. It was a pleasant surprise; she hadn't thought that rabbit stew could taste so good. She had only taken five bites when she froze, slapped a hand over her mouth, and bolted to the counter.
"The privy?" she quickly asked the woman.
"Down the hall, miss."
Breanne hastened down the narrow hallway and entered the privy. One thing was certain; rabbit stew did not taste so well the second time around. Breanne slowly made her way back to the table, and returned the bowl of soup to the man.
"There's still quite a bit left. Was it not good to ye' miss?"
"It was delightful, truly," Breanne quickly answered. "I've never had it before, but I think the journey here, along with my weariness has prevented me from being able to finish it. I thank you very much for the soup."
The woman nodded, satisfied with her answer, and looked beyond her to the next customer. Breanne moved out of the way, collecting her things and heading to her room. Fatigue rushed through her body the moment she sat upon the bed. The feeling didn't astonish her, given the distance she had traveled and her sudden illness after eating the soup. No doubt, her stomach would be unsteady for a few days since she hadn't eaten much during the journey, and she had been seasick throughout - though, she couldn't help but wonder if the rabbit soup was foul.
Breanne hadn't bothered looking around her cramped quarters. She'd only dropped her luggage onto the floor and plopped on top of the bed. I haven't the strength to change into nightclothes. I only want to sleep. On second thought, what would her mother think? Breanne softly sighed. Mother is not here, she told herself. Decision made, she heaved herself upright, pulled the heavy covers back and got into bed. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty for her lack of decorum, but the feeling was quickly extinguished as she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her once more.
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A/N: ***REVISED*** PLEASE NOTE: New readers, this novel is going through major revision. If you do NOT see the word "revised" along with the chapter title, it means that portion of the text has not yet been updated to reflect the altered plot points. Read such chapters at your own risk. Chapters marked "REVISED" have been updated and are perfectly safe to read. :)
Long time, beautiful, precious readers: Please reread the revised chapters as they come out. I know that I am testing your patience (hopefully not beyond the breaking point); but these "new old" chapters pave the way for the ending of the story, and the continued series. So, if you skip the re-read, you may wind up frustrated and confused. Thank you SO MUCH for your continual love and faithful readership!
(This note will accompany each of the revised chapters, until the book is complete.)