Faces of the Wind

Chapter 53

As if blowing into a gigantic horn with all its might, the gale howled outside, while a fire raged inside. Two people on one sofa and under one blanket nuzzled up to each other, their hearts content and their minds at peace.

"I wish to tell you something," Arden said, pulling Adrian's arm and wrapping it round her shoulders.

"Tell me." Tonight, he was calm as a still lake on a hot summer day.

"Well, you might use it against me one day."

"Ah! I won't deny that."

"I'll tell you nevertheless."

"I knew you would."

There was silence before she said, "I don't want you to ever leave me, Adrian," her voice now closer to a whisper, "I'm afraid of losing you. It can drive me insane... really, utterly, truly insane."

"That is not likely to happen."

She scoffed. "Don't make promises you cannot keep!"

"Because I, too, am frightened of the mere idea of losing you," his voice did not waver.

She turned and looked at his face. For the first time, his forehead was relaxed. It always looked tense, whether he was content or distressed. His eyelids looked heavy, and his cheeks a little flushed. "Lydia tells me everyone in London now knows who painted all those Medley establishment oils." Her face creased into a wide smile as she said it.

Adrian shifted in his place but did not comment.

"I think Mrs. Longfeather might have had a hand in this."

"Could be," he replied, "after all, I did sign the ones she bought." A beam escaped through his eyes, and Arden caught it. Her smile grew wider.

"And now I'm married to a famous artist—Lord be with me!" She teased.

"I am not so yet..." he could not help but smile, "not until I start making thousands. I'm still a squire with overgrown grounds and not much ready money."

"One masterpiece and you'll begin to lay golden eggs," she paused then added, "and I shall be left here to dig out potatoes and write stories no one reads." Her smile faltered but she did not let him see it. She swallowed. "How about I brew us a dish of tea?"

"If you fancy that."

She slid from under his arm, which he pulled back. His side felt a little chilly when she left. Only this woman could redeem him. The woman he could not understand nor see as a raving beauty has nevertheless put a spell on his heart. The sight of her was strong wine to his eyes and heart. Like a warm haven, she filled his life with all that he lacked. If not for her, he would not wish to wake up tomorrow.

How women have influenced his life! Like the wind, the women in his life had different faces and have somehow left their mark. Some bent him and others broke him. Some pushed his sails while others wrecked his ships. Some were like a soft breeze on a hot day; they briefly revived him but had not a lasting impact. Others spread fires in his fields and in his path. Some were like a windstorm; wrathful and destructive. They blew at his lands and devastated his crops. Arden has been both the excitable wind and the soft, refreshing breeze. She has pushed his sail and moved his ship all the while brushing gently through his hair, tickling his senses and bringing good into his life.

His cousin Lydia, Irene Longfeather, Lady Longfeather, Mrs. Longfeather, Mrs. Macy, Bonnie the whore, Mrs. Bumbleton, his own deceased mother whom he barely remembered, his aunt Catherine, his aunt Natalie and even the horrid Dora Medley and Kathleen Snow—who has now definitely become an adulterous Medley—have all scarred him... either for a good cause or a bad one. 

God bless all the great women who walk on the surface of Earth and those who rest underneath for they have certainly made a difference.

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