Cloaked Heart

.·:*¨༺ Five ༻¨*:·.

Even possessing knowledge of his aunt's character, Win had not realized how difficult it would be living with Lady Luisa. Obviously, he had never been in the position to appreciate what a demanding woman she could be. There were endless errands to run, paperwork to fetch, not to mention endless letters and cards to write. All of them seemed beyond the capabilities of his aunt who retired to her day and would leave everything to Win.

Throughout his first week, Win looked forward to receiving text messages and emails from Gulf. Sometimes, if time permits, they would do a video call even though Win wasn't very fond of it, but he needed a break from all the things his aunt was asking him to do. Everything was supposed to go well, until one day, Gulf insisted on talking to him over the phone.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he managed to excuse himself and quickly went to the privacy of his room to answer the call.

"I apologize, you seemed busy," Gulf said.

He exhaled a little louder than he intended. "You have no idea. But, that's not important right now. What seems to be the matter?"

"Well, I called because...Sir Adams had replaced you with Mr. Smith. I don't know why he had done so, I begged for an explanation which he wouldn't give, and he wasn't obliged to do so, but-"

"But...he told me he will wait for my return!"

"That's what I thought so too. This is why I'm calling you. I cannot help but suspect that there must be more to this matter than I can ascertain..."

As Win ended the phone call with Gulf, he was experiencing emotions that veered between anger and despair. He stayed for some minutes in his room, drained of all feelings. Tears sprang to his eyes despite his vow as a child never to cry again even when so many misfortunes afflicted him. This, however, seemed unfair, and he has a reasonable suspicion where the blame must lie.

As soon as he composed himself, Win went downstairs to find his aunt fortunately alone in the drawing room, resting on a daybed with the curtains drawn against the sun. When Win entered the room, Lady Luisa raised her head, "There you are, Win; just the person I would wish to see. Do not delay and fetch me a small dose of medicine. I am having a terrible headache. Make it smaller, for I intend to be at Lady Bradwell this evening. Why are you still standing there? I'm in agony here!"

"Aunt Luisa, did you write to Sir Adams requesting him to dispense of my service?"

Lady Luisa looked shocked. "I did not. Why would I do such a thing..."

"I am relieved to hear you say that, but..."

"However, I did pen him a letter just to inform Sir Adams that you do not wish to return since you are back to your family where you belong."

Hearing this, Win became so angry. "How can you do such a thing?!"

Lady Luisa once again looked shocked. "I fail to see why you're so upset about this. We discussed your future on your very first day here, and it was decided-"

"YOU decided, even though you knew full well that I intend to return at the end of the Season. This is not, I assure you, the end of this matter. I will obtain a position elsewhere and I do not doubt that Sir Adams will provide me the necessary recommendation."

"You really are the most stubborn brat I've ever had the misfortune to encounter!" Lady Luisa accused as she fell back on her daybed.

"Yes, I probably am," Win agreed as he turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─

Whenever he could escape his aunt or his cousin, Win would retreat to the conservatory to read, hoping to have some peace of mind. For the first time in many years, Win allowed his thoughts to dwell on his own attempt at literature. Some years earlier, during a quiet summer back at the academy, he penned a novel that he titled The Son of the Devil, a tract in a gothic genre that was currently in much fashion. The villain who torments the innocent hero with such viciousness was based upon the gentleman he had encountered as a child. The Marquis of Vanderveer. Even though it has been years since he had last seen him, Win was still able to describe him in minute detail. Sometimes when he had a reason to think about his literary work, he would be amazed at how much evil he attributed to the man. Although he didn't regret writing it, he find his childish ramblings rather embarrassing. Yet, he resort to believing that no one, apart from Gulf, would ever read it.