Faces of the Wind

Chapter 46

Showers washed London's houses and streets at different intervals through the night despite that the gale prevented the clouds from plotting for rain. Edgar has decided to stay indoors, especially when his mother and sister have only arrived in London the day before. They hurried to Deane two months ago as soon as they learned that Jeremiah, the Longfeathers' eldest son and heir, was staying in Steventon for a while. The Medleys still had hopes to get him betrothed to Dora, but only two weeks ago, the Longfeathers held a ball to announce their son's engagement to the daughter of Lord Viscount Millerton, and she was perfection.

"What a howwid little fewwet Jewemiah has chosen fow a wife," Cora Medley complained in her squeaky, self-righteous voice, accepting a macaroon from the footman. She sat across her precious son, Edgar, in the sitting room.

Dora crossed her legs beside her mother and agitatedly shook her free foot. "I wonder what he saw in her—she's mousy, pretentious and as tall and broad-shouldered as a man." She turned to the footman, looked down her nose at him and said, "Bring more tea and some cake. Mrs. Bates knows these macaroons are too sweet for my taste."

"M'lady," the footman replied, "Mrs. Bates has informed me the Eccles cakes should be ready in a few minutes."

She vigorously turned her face away from him as if to snub him.

"I heaw you sold a painting fow five hundwed pounds while we wewe away," Cora said to her son, who was busy reading a few letters as he sipped his tea.

He looked up from under his spectacles. "I see news has already reached Hampshire," he smiled proudly, revealing his big teeth that were a copy of his sister's. He had a downturned smile that looked more like an expression of disgust.

"News has also weatched Hampshiwe that it has been that little wat Adwian Blackfowd doing all the painting fow some yeaws now," she added, "I told the gossip women that was nonsense; my son's establishment employs a lawrge numbew of paintews, and the Blackfowd bwat is the most sluggish cweatuwe evew employed by us."

"Quite a brat," Edgar spat, snatching his spectacles from his ears in one swift move, "he is difficult and aggressive. He often invites violence and has this way of staring at me as if to remind me of his breeding and my humble origins." Edgar's voice reeked of distaste.

"Well," Dora said, a smirk of malice pinching her left cheek, "I told Bernard and Edward that your employment of Adrian was merely an act of charity after his father disowned him and left him with nothing." She chanted the last word.

"I could not be more grateful to Jeffrey," Edgar put his spectacles back on and embarked on opening another letter with his silver paper knife, "even though he loathed me for being the son of a seaman, he did leave me a golden goose, and I intend to milk it dry."

"What a creative metaphor!" Dora and Cora laughed in loud hee-hows like a pair of excited asses.

***

"Has the cat got your tongue?" Arden grimaced, "Please don't make this more awkward than it already is."

Adrian swallowed and looked at the window opposite to him and behind Arden. The wind slapped tiny droplets of rain against the glass and it was as if they were begging to be let in. "I think," he swallowed again and licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, "I am late to work. There is... a penalty – if I am late to work, I must stay longer... hours, you see."

Her jaw dropped and she clasped her hands because she did not know what else to do with them to prevent inviting another slap. "I have just proposed to you, Adrian!" Her brows painfully furrowed.

He looked back at her face. The look in her eyes was intense. He dampened his lips again. "Yes," he swallowed, "I believe you've just done so."

"Uhuh?" She raised her brows defiantly.

"I do... I mean – I want to... marry you," he scratched the back of his neck, "but – you see, I—"

"Will you stop stammering already?" She snapped, "Just say what you want to say!"

He nearly jumped. He looked at her a second then said in a steady, not-loud-enough voice, "I cannot drag anyone down to this pothole of destitute and despair in which I live. Not you and not anyone else, but especially not you."

Her face fell and her heart sank. She wished the floor beneath her feet would crack and a long arm would emerge from under the ground and pull here deep into an abyss. She wished she could be lost and forgotten for eternity. She pressed her clasped hands against her stomach. "I understand," she said, barely hearing her own voice. She cleared her throat and spoke a tad louder, "No need to beat around the bush." She turned and slowly and absentmindedly made her way to the door and left. She gently closed the door behind her.

She was gone... again. Adrian's head dropped forward, his chin almost touching his chest. His arms rested on his thighs and hung between his legs. He stared a while at his bare feet. He wiggled his toes then looked up. She has forgotten her hat on one side of the chair's back.

It was not too late, and maybe someone has stopped her on the way to say hello. He jumped, took the hat and hurried to the front door. He put a hand on the doorknob and stopped a second to breathe. What if she rejected him? She very likely would. What if his heart broke again? But her return has revived in his heart a small seedling of hope that he thought had long died. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"You got my hat." Arden said and he jumped. She leaned against the wall beside his front door, her arms folded. She turned and looked at him. She longed to hug him, to have him, to surrender her heart and body to him. For nearly two years, his image never left her mind, and she wrote him hundreds of letters that she fed to the fire. She wanted to keep him, to love him, to own him. She wanted to nurse his wounds, to bathe him, to comfort him. She longed to hold his hand and escort him to bed, to lie beside him or tuck him in. She longed to light a warm fire before he arrived home, to be home for his return in the evening, to help him take his coat off, to quarrel with him over trivial matters. She longed to cherish every moment with him.

"Yes," he replied, his forehead tense and his mouth closer to a grimace, "your hat and... I must find you a ring. A proper ring."

Arden's face did not beam. She snatched her hat and put it on. "Took you a while," she said, her tone bitter, "I do not wish to be with a man so reluctant to be with me." Her skirt ruffled as she walked past him and down into the road.

He watched her stride away, feeling the air get sucked out of his lungs. He slowly climbed down the four stone stairs and followed her then stopped a second. "Arden," he yelled at the top of his lungs, and everyone around stared, some even stopped walking or doing whatever they were doing.

She stopped and turned around to watch him run to her. He dropped to his knees and looked up at her, his eyes groping for her. "I don't have a ring," he said, "but will you please, please – will you please marry me? I want you to be my wife... please." His throat was dry and his eyes ablaze.

A smile formed a small dimple near the right corner of her mouth and shone through her dark eyes. "Get off your knees," she said, "you needn't kneel to get me to marry you. You only had to follow me twice, and you did." Her smile grew wider and she gave him her two hands to hold onto.

***