Faces of the Wind

Chapter 22

Arthur thought his brother's house was ominously quiet, and the air was thick as if all the joys of the world had been sucked from it. Mrs. Dusteby showed him into the sitting room, one of Jeffrey's favorite retreats in recent times.

He watched his brother, clad in his burgundy lounging robe, rise sorely from his wingchair to greet him. His eyes and cheeks were sunken and his skin pale like a hungry vampire. They embraced and proceeded to sit.

"Have you seen a doctor?" Arthur asked, his eyes fixed on his brother's frail face.

"Of course I have," Jeffrey replied, "which is why I sent for you today despite that we'll spend Christmas together in a few days."

Arthur nodded. He did not wish to hear the inevitable. Though one of the twins now looked a great deal older, slimmer and weaker than the other, there was still a great resemblance on the outside as much as the inside—not many would approve though. Only their mother knew how the two were very much alike inside out.

"I'm worried about Adrian," Jeffrey went on, "if anything was to—"

"I know his cure," Arthur interjected, learning forward with a solemn look on his face, "throw him to the wolves. If he lives, he'll be a better, stronger and wiser man for it. If not, he will definitely be in a safer place. In both cases, you won't have to worry."

A sly smile creased Jeffrey's pale face and he nodded. "As a matter of fact," he said, "this is exactly what I'm thinking but," he made himself comfortable in his chair, "since I cannot throw him to the wolves myself, I'll accept some assistance from the expert."

***

The doorknob softly turned and the door let out a loud creek as it was opened very slowly and carefully. Kathleen stood by the bed in her white lace nightgown that fell graciously on her curvaceous body and her rich abundance of ash brown hair was let down to tease her waist. The candle on the dresser illuminated her face a warm orange as she anticipated her visitor, her hands resting over her cleavage as if to calm her heart.

Adrian gently closed the door behind him and turned the lock. He slowly walked towards her, taking in her candlelit beauty.

"You are a warm drink on the coldest of nights; I could spend the rest of eternity drinking you," he whispered when he was close enough for her to hear him but far enough for her to feel safe.

Her heart rapped against her rib cage and she innately held one hand in another in front of her belly. "I think... I think I want to change my mind," she said in a soft, trembling voice, "what if someone has seen you come in here?"

"I can go if you wish," he said, half-turning to the door, "but once you're hammered for life, you won't have a chance at some fun."

The candle flickered a little before its flame grew taller, casting more light on Adrian's boyish smile, which melted inside Kathleen's heart.

"No," she gently caught his forearm near the elbow, "perhaps I could have some fun." A crafty smile creased her face.

He drew closer and took her hand in his, gently raised it to his lips and slowly kissed it. She froze and breathed heavily as he engulfed her hand in his warm, strong hands, and as she felt his lips against her skin, a sudden wave of warmth overwhelmed her heart and spread through her entire body, making her shudder.

"You can still be a virgin for your husband," he whispered, hypnotizing her with his eyes, "though I would rather snatch you from him sooner than later."

"So long as you think a virgin is a woman who never was in deep intimacy."

Sensing her consent, he moved closer, held her in his arms and she gladly held him in hers, and he gave her a gentle kiss on the lip. Intoxicated by the taste of his lips, she went for more... and they both surrendered to one another.

Outside was Dora Medley, lingering in the dark, barefooted and feverish with envy and anger. She followed Adrian when she heard footsteps outside her room. She was wide awake, having her heart for supper after the imbecile—this bastard Blackford—ditched her for her brother's charming fiancée. In her heart was a growing temptation to wake her brother and enjoy watching the two get caught red-handed.

***

Never in her life has Arden believed in confessing to man. She preferred to confess her sins to God in the privacy of her room and ask Him, and no one else, for forgiveness, but this was not her first time sitting in a confessional. When she was younger and easier to tame, her aunt Ursula took her and her two sisters regularly to confession, but she spent the time making up stories to the clergymen.

After having abandoned the confessional for nearly two years, Arden sat in the dark box contemplating, going in her mind over every word she wished to say. She had to twist her words and not be her blunt self so as not to sound too threatening.

"May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust his mercy," said Maverick in his kindest, most tranquil of tones.

A wave of anger engulfed her as she heard those words from the imposter who has driven Irene to perdition. "Bless me, vicar..." she paused to breathe and compose herself, "for you have sinned." She could not help it.

Recognizing this lady's husky voice, Maverick felt as if blood were drained from his face. His palms turned cold and sweaty and he swallowed a prickly ball of uneasiness.

"I know you were behind Irene's death," she carried on, "and I am sure you have a dirty past that compelled you to hide in a small parish like Steventon," she lost control over her tongue and unleashed her angriest thoughts, "you might be able to trick the simple minds of all those young women, but not me. I shall not rest until I've dug your dirt and exposed your wickedness to everyone in Hampshire—in England, too, if I can—and I have not the least concern for the Medley swine that has your back," she took a deep breath and exhaled before she added, "Amen!"

She stormed out of the confessional and left the church, every fiber in her body trembling with both anger and a satisfying sense of liberation.

***