fly to the time of day//simon basset

sixteen

As I arrive back at Clyvedon there are servants moving furniture all around.

"What is all this?" I ask. Simon is standing there directing the men. "Simon? Is everything well?"

"Ah, Betty. Yes. I'm setting up work in the east wing," Simon explains.

"What's wrong with the study?" I ask.

The man drop the table and I hear its impact with the tile floor.

"Careful!" Simone shouts. "You shall have to excuse me."

I find Mrs. Colson walking down the hallway.

"Your Grace," she greets.

"Mrs. Colson? Do you have a moment?" I ask.

Mrs. Colson and I sit in the morning room with tea.

"I wished to talk to you about all that has happened since I arrived. I feel as though you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot," I tell her. "I am so very grateful for your guidance,

Mrs. Colson. The truth is I fear the Duke might not be entirely at ease here at Clyvedon, which is of course no reflection of you or any of your staff."

"No. I... I quite understand," Mrs. Colson tells me.

"You do?" I ask.

"Master Simon... Eh... I beg your pardon. His Grace... His childhood was not always easy. After the death of my late mistress, the duke lived almost exclusively in London."

"Do you mean to say that Simon grew up here on his own?" I ask.

Mrs. Colson nods. "We did our best to take care of him, to mind him as his mother would have wanted."

"Of course you did," I say. "The late duke must have loved his wife very much to have struggled so after her death." Mrs. Colson does not look so sure. "Was it not a happy marriage, then?"

"It was strained," Mrs. Colson informs me. "He wanted an heir. She wanted a child. She kept trying long after the doctors warned her not to. Every month when her courses came, it broke my heart to see her."

I place my hand on Mrs. Colson's reassuringly. "She was lucky to have you."

"Everyone talked as though it was her fault. But how could they know that? It is not always the woman who is barren. Sometimes it is the man's fault, of course," Mrs. Colson says. She stops for a moment. "Oh dear. I am afraid I am speaking out of turn."

I shake my head. "No. Not at all, Mrs. Colson. You were saying?"

"Well, I said to the duchess what my mother said to me. A womb cannot quicken without strong, healthy seed. And then, just as she was finally blessed with Master Simon... we lost her," Mrs. Colson says.

After my talk with Mrs. Colson I still have yet to see Simon. I head to the east wing to find him. He is sitting in his makeshift study.

"Working late, Your Grace?" I ask.

Simon looks up at me. "Curse it. What time is it?"

"These books seem to have taken possession of you," I tease as I sit on his lap.

"Those people rely on me to make a living, to feed their families. I should not have stayed away so long," Simon insists.

"Why did you?" I ask.

"No particular reason," Simon tells me. "Business in London. But then I met this impertinent young lady with the kindest of eyes."

"I am serious," I tell him.

"As am I," Simon says.

Simon leans forward and kisses me. I pull away after a moment.

"Simon."

"Betty."

I kiss him once more. Simon deepens the kiss before standing up with me in his arms. He places me down on the desk in front of him. I push him away.

"Your Grace, we must get ready for dinner," I tell him. Simon groans. "No. I have not seen you all day and now you can wait for what you want."

Everything was going wonderfully on our honeymoon. Things have gone south since. I am sick of Simon lying to me. Falling right into the hands of the game that he is playing.

I am sitting on the couch lost in my thoughts. Simon walks in in his robe.

"Are you ready for bed, my dear?" Simon asks.

I shake my head. "No I am not." Simon looks at me confused. "I have been unable to stop thinking about it. You really do think me a fool don't you?"

"Betty what is...?" Simon starts.

I stand up. "No. I know how children are made, Your Grace. I know that you are not unable to have them. You simply do not want them."

"Betty... I... I..." Simon stumbles over his words.

"How could you?" I ask.

"How could I?" Simon questions.

"You lied to me," I state.

"I did not lie," Simon insists.

"I trusted you," I tell him. "I trusted you more than anyone in this world, and you took advantage."

"I told you I cannot give you children," Simon states.

I shake my head. "'Cannot' and 'will not' are two entirely different things."

"You chose this for yourself," Simon argues.

"You chose to lie to me!" I shout at him.

"I did not lie," Simon insists. "I thought you were prepared. I thought you understood how a child came to be."

"You took my future from me, the one thing I wanted more than anything," I insist. "Ezra has wanted nothing more than a little brother for years."

"I was prepared to die on that dueling field rather than marry you and take your dream away," Simon reminds me. "I would have died for you. You were the one who insisted on this union. You told me I was enough."

I laugh bitterly. "That was before I knew you. Do you know, I even felt pity for you? 'Poor Simon,' I thought. 'How it must pain him to never know what it is to be a father.'"

"I never asked for your pity," Simon tells me.

"And I never asked for your betrayal!" I shout.

"Beatrice, I..." Simon starts.

"You what?" I question. Simon hesitates. "You what? You love me? No, you most certainly do not. You do not know the meaning of the word. You do not lie to the one you love. You do not trick the one you love. You do not humiliate the one you love. I know one thing for certain this is not love."

All is fair in love and war, but some battles leave no victor, only a trail of broken hearts that makes us wonder if the price we pay is ever worth the fight. The ones we love have the power to inflict the greatest scars. For what thing is more fragile than the human heart? The bond between man and bride is private, sacred. But I must tell you, I have learned that a grave fraud is afoot. As if the Featheringtons did not have enough to be dealing with, Miss Marina Thompson is with child and she has been from the very first day she arrived in our fair city. Desperate times may call for desperate measures, but I would wager many will think her actions beyond the pale. Perhaps she thought it her only option, or perhaps she knows no shame. But I ask you, can the ends ever justify such wretched means?