Authors: Stephanie Stevens
The insistent hammering in his head was aggravated by the pounding hooves of his mount as it cantered toward the brook. Baron Alan Thurston was suffering mightily from a night of extreme overindulgence of women and drink. He cursed himself silently for having agreed to meet Tiffany so early.
At twenty, he cut a handsome figure, being of common height for men of his day and possessing a pleasant face. He was dressed quite fashionably and befitting his class. A young man of his times, he was required to assume his father's title and the responsibilities that came with it. Thus, he was hell-bent on sowing his wild oats and enjoying all the pleasures his position afforded him: wine, women, and gambling. Considering himself a man of the world, he was a bit annoyed at Tiffany's summons, having no longer the time to devote to the girl.
The pounding in his head lessened as he breathed in the air and felt guilty over his thoughts. After all, there was a time when he truly enjoyed her company. He smiled recalling their first meeting. He had returned from a holiday from school and thought to ride. It was a brisk autumn morn and, to a fourteen-year-old, a perfect day to ride the courses. He had ridden to the meadow and saw a mounted young black stallion break through the woods. To his eye, it appeared as if the rider had lost control, for the stallion was tossing and turning its head, its eyes wild, and flecks of foam appeared at its mouth. He signaled his mount into a canter to try to reach her, but the stallion was galloping at breakneck speed. He watched, stunned, as the girl reigned her mount, clearing the first two jumps with a skill most boys his age did not possess. But it was the last jump, a three-foot-high stone wall, that caused his eyes to fill with fear, and justifiably so, as the stallion refused it, dumping the girl head over heels to the other side. He had nudged his horse faster to get to her side and was surprised when he saw her stand up, brush the seat of her britches, and glare at the stallion. She picked up a stick, remounted the horse, wheeling him back toward the wall. He recalled thinking she was foolish in attempting such a dangerous act. The stallion snorted and tossed its head trying to veer off course but was held in check. When it was two feet away from the wall, Alan noted the stallion's hesitation, and visions of a broken girl filled his mind. However, she anticipated the refusal and brought the stick down on the stallion's hindquarters when they were one stride from the wall, sailing perfectly over it.
From that day on, they became friends, riding over the meadows adjoining their properties. Whenever he was home from school, they'd meet at the bluff to explore the recesses of the glen and streams. She was a capital companion for a young boy; she didn't squirm when baiting her own line, could climb the stalwart oaks faster than a monkey, and was mischievous and full of pranks. But then his life had taken another course and he found stimulation on a different level, and no longer spent lazy afternoons in Tiffany's company but rather wild nights carousing with his friends.
The stumbling of his mount brought him back to the present. He shook his head, feeling decidedly better, and wondered where Edmund Rathsburn would venture to tonight. Possibly to London to one of the clubs to play a hand of cards or roll the dice.
Meanwhile, Tiffany, lost in self-pity, scolded herself, being ashamed of such feelings, knowing they were self-serving. She brushed the tears from her cheeks just as Alan came through the trees. Teary blue eyes lit up on seeing her love. She jumped up, watching him dismount and tether his gelding.
While strolling toward her, he spoke. "Well, sweetling, I hope this is good, for you have me up and about at this ungodly hour." He stopped, seeing the tears in her eyes.
and caught her as she threw herself into his arms. Tiffany sobbed brokenheartedly, wetting the front of Alan's crisp white shirt.
"Whatever is the matter?" Alan pushed her from him, holding her at arm's length, so he might see her face.
"I . . . I'm . . . being sent
awayyyy,"
she stammered between tears, "to ... to France!"
"That's wonderful, Tiffany; why, you'll love it, the court, balls, theater. Nothing to cry about."
She sniffled, wiping her nose against her sleeve. Alan frowned, withdrawing a handkerchief.
"Is that what this is all about?" he asked increduously, for it was every girl's dream to go abroad. She nodded her head, her tresses tumbling from their pins to her shoulders.
"My goodness, Tiffany, I thought something horrible had befallen you. France is the center of fashion, art, cuisine. Why, you'll love it!"
He pulled her into his arms, telling her all the wonderful things that would happen to her in France. Tiffany wept, not listening, just finding comfort in his arms.
Still leaning against him, loving the feel of him, she whispered, "But Father did it as a punishment, Alan."
Alan made a face, wondering how the earl could consider France a punishment. Patting her head absently, he said, "Well, take it from me, Tiffany, it will be a far cry from one. Why, France is quite enlightened, you know, not pompous and stuffy as England."
Tiffany leaned back to gaze up at him. She whispered brokenly, "And he sold Xanadu, Alan ... he sold my horse." Fresh tears appeared in her eyes.
"Well now, sweetling, 'tis not as bad as it seems." He cupped her chin and continued, "After all, very soon you will be a young lady, a child no longer, and time to put aside such childish notions."
Tears dampened her thick, sooty lashes as she whispered, "I . . .1 will always miss him. I ... I don't think I can put him aside."
"But of course you can! Why, in two years time you'll be busy snagging all those French gallants, dazzling them with your beauty and wit, and not even have time to think of the beast."
She lifted her downcast eyes when he called her beautiful. Her cheeks streaked with the path of her tears, she asked, "Do you really think I'll be beautiful, Alan?"
He smiled softly. Looking down at her tear-streaked face, red nose, and disheveled hair, seeing the promise of future beauty, he said, "Why, of course, and when you return, you'll not even give me the time of day, I wager, for you'll have a line of suitors a mile long."
Startled blue eyes met warm brown eyes. Tiffany declared, "Oh, Alan, you will be above them all. I will always love you." She paused, searching for the words to express her feelings."Why, I will hold my heart only for you, for I love you above anything."
Her childlike sincerity tugged at his heart, and as he gazed at her face, he thought that one day she would be very lovely indeed. "Ah, sweetling, I, too, hold a special place in my heart for you." His words erased all the hurt and gave her something to hold on to, something to see her through her exile.
"Will . . . will you miss me? Will you wait for me?" she asked shyly.
He read the question in her eyes and gave her the answer she needed, although in his own mind, he knew that people's feelings for each other changed. But she would learn that as she grew up. Right now she needed something to hold on to, and so he gave her hope. "But of course, sweetling, but of course."
Tiffany slowly made her way to the window, resting her head against the frame, watching the first rays of sun kiss the earth good day. She thought this would be the last time for quite a while that she'd watch the sun rise over and touch the earth of Courtland Manor. Turning from the window, she made her way slowly to the table, where a small breakfast awaited. She sighed and poured a cup of hot chocolate, wondering if she would find her next bedroom as comfortable and inviting as this one. The back of her eyes burned with the start of unshed tears, and she shook her head trying to stop them.
Tiffany walked to the fireplace carrying the Dresden cup holding her hot chocolate. She had made all her farewells to the servants she had known for fourteen years, had patted the heads of all the mounts in the stable, and had looked at Xanadu's empty stall. The tears that burned her eyes now fell in droplets, clinging to her lashes. Xanadu. No matter what Alan said, she would never forget him and would always miss him. She placed her cup on the mantel and fingered the plate of chocolate bonbons. A soft, sad smile touched her lips as she recalled how she and Xanadu shared a passion for the confections. Her mind screamed for him, and no matter the changes or course of her life, there would always be a void that none save Xanadu could fill.
Tiffany's reverie was interrupted by Clarissa, who waddled in carrying her pale pink traveling dress. "Oh, lamb, yer up and 'bout; good. We best get ye ready. Yer father's already had breakfast, and checking his watch, he is."
A look at her charge told Clarissa everything, and she quickly deposited the dress on a nearby chair, calling, "Now, now, lamb, don't be working yerself up."
Tiffany rushed into the open arms, laying her head against Clarissa's ample bosom, taking comfort from the woman who had given her the closest thing she'd known to a mother's love. Tiffany's shoulders trembled, her voice muffled by the embrace. "Oh, I will miss you so much."
Clarissa patted Tiffany's head, and in a voice close to betraying her own sadness, said, "Ah, lamb, 'twill be all right, ye'll see. 'Tis time anyway for ye to be gone from this place. Time to grow up and become the lady ye are. Best you be gone from 'ere an' in France with the duchess." Tears sparkled in the maid's eyes. Speaking more abruptly than intended, for she was beginning to lose control, she added "Now, lady, let's get ye dressed."
Clarissa left sniffling, carrying the unfinished breakfast tray. Tiffany stood before her mirror checking her appearance and wondering if she would ever be fashionably beautiful. You silly goose, she thought, what matters is that Alan thinks I'm beautiful. She continued to gaze at her reflection, making attempts at appearing haughty, sophisticated, batting her eyelashes as she had seen women friends of her father's do. She struck a pose: her shoulders straight, her lips drawn in a fine line, a brow raised delicately over her eye, revealing a look of determination. Speaking to her reflection, she said, "I am going to France, where I shall become a most beautiful, most sophisticated woman." Lifting her chin, she continued, "And I shall return to England and to the man I love." She held the pose but for a moment, until the fourteen-year-old girl emerged giggling at her playacting. She heard the boom of her father's voice and ran for the door, opening it, raising her skirt above her knees, running to the end of the hallway, where she paused unseen. She patted her hair, dropped her skirts, and took a deep, calming breath, then turned, proceeding to descend the steps, seeing her father waiting at the bottom.
"Well, you're finally ready, girl, I haven't all day to dally," he announced, abruptly taking her hand as she stepped onto the marble floor. "Now say your final goodbyes and let's be gone." He pointed to the line of servants who waited outside on the stone drive.
As the carriage pulled away, Tiffany pushed back the curtain from the back window, gazing at the line of servants who broke rank and were filing back into the manor. She watched for a long time until the figures became smaller and smaller. When she dropped the curtain, a lump formed in her throat and her whole world faded from sight.
The rap of the footman's stick against the carriage top brought Tiffany out of her reverie.
' 'It appears we are to arrive shortly, Tiffany.'' William turned, appraising her as he often did, looking for any sign of imperfection.
"Button up your pelisse, daughter."
She readily complied with his request, even though it was warm in the carriage.
"We will be met by the Devonshire family. Winifred made arrangements for you to travel with them." He cleared his throat. "It appears Charles and Carolyn Devonshire have been sent abroad on diplomatic services for the regent, and their daughter, Alysse, will be attending the same academy as yourself. They are close friends to Winifred, and you would do good to follow the example of their daughter.'' He peered sharply at her for any sign of disagreement. Tiffany realized suddenly her father was not accompanying her abroad, and in an effort to keep her emotions in hand, she bit her trembling lip to still it.
"It seems the girl is already betrothed to an earl," he said with a nod. "Yes, a fine example for you to follow."
Tiffany could not suppress her surprise. "Already betrothed? How old is she, Father?"
"Don't look so shocked, daughter. I have told you repeatedly it is a daughter's responsibility to marry to suit one's family. The girl is your age, and unlike you, has begun to fulfill her duty."
"But does she know him?"
"Matters not," he responded exasperatedly, "as it should not. One marries primarily for lineage and dowry. In your case, you possess both; however, you lack elsewhere, which I hope this stint in France will take care of."
Tiffany lowered her head at his comment but ventured on, "Do you consider the Marquess Thurston to possess both?"
The earl furrowed his brow at her and replied, "Of course. A good match once the baron takes on a bit more responsibility and stops his--" The sudden halt of the carriage interrupted his words. "Damn, Mason drives like a demon from hell!"
George, the footman, opened the carriage door. The earl stepped out, giving instructions to the footman regarding the trunks, and then assisted Tiffany in her descent.
They were approached by a handsome young man in his early twenties who escorted an older woman on his right arm and a girl about Tiffany's age on his left.
"Sir," the young man addressed William. "I am Brian Devonshire." He extended his hand, which William accepted. "And may I present my mother, Countess Carolyn Devonshire."
Tiffany watched Lady Devonshire extend her gloved hand, thinking she looked like most mothers; she was pleasantly plump, with blond hair swept up in a matronly style, and she possessed warm brown eyes. "It is indeed a pleasure, Earl Courtland, to make your acquaintance. Winifred has spoken kindly of you in the past." She turned to face Tiffany, and smiled. "And who is this darling child?"
"Lady Tiffany Courtland, Countess," William answered, and nudged Tiffany with his elbow. "Mind your manners and curtsy, Tiffany."
A blush crept over Tiffany's features. She curtsied as requested.
Seeing the young girl's embarrassment, Brian quickly intervened. "And may I present my sister, Lady Alysse Devonshire."
Tiffany looked from under lowered lashes at Alysse as she curtsied in kind. She was a petite girl who stood four inches shorter than Tiffany. She possessed beautiful curly wheat-colored hair and large, round cornflower blue eyes. She exemplified everything Tiffany longed to be.
While William, Carolyn, and Brian engaged in light conversation, Tiffany watched the footman at the boarding dock unload the trunks onto the cutter
Raven.
She stood shifting from foot to foot watching the activity, thinking this was the ship that would take her from England. She gazed toward Alysse, surprised to find her regarding her. Alysse was also shifting from foot to foot!
"Alysse, please stop that! It is so nerve-racking," admonished Carolyn when Alysse inadvertently stepped on her mother's slippered foot.
"Yes, Mama." Alysse shifted her eyes to Tiffany. A look passed between them, and both covered their mouths to hide the smiles that crossed their faces.
"It appears the captain is awaiting our boarding," Brian commented. "I think, ladies, we should leave the earl and Lady Tiffany a moment to make their goodbyes."
Alysse and Carolyn were escorted to the ship by Brian, who returned to wait a respectful distance from William and Tiffany, as he would never think of letting a young lady go unescorted around the docks.
Tiffany turned, looking up at her father, eyes glistening with tears. The earl, feeling uncomfortable and not able to abide an emotional scene, placed a perfunctory kiss on her forehead and hugged her stiffly.
"Remember who you are, your heritage, your position." His eyes became misty. "Now go! What I do today is far better for you than what I have done in the past." Shoving her gently away when she refused to let go, he headed toward the carriage and, without a backward glance, entered the coach, signaling the driver on.
Tiffany, through tear-welled eyes, watched the coach disappear among the hustle and bustle of the busy docks. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, preventing the tears from falling. She felt, rather than saw, Brian standing near.
Brian took her hand, gently placing it in the crook of his arm, and slowly leading her to the quay, said, "The tide is high, lady, and the captain grows impatient. We must be on our way to another of life's adventures."
Tiffany, biting her lower lip to stop it from quivering, inquired softly, ' 'Do you really think of life as an adventure?"
He paused before he responded. "Well, why not? After all, life is what happens while we are making plans and dreaming dreams. And during the time we are not dreaming or planning, life sneaks in with an adventure or two on the road to our dreams."
Walking up the gangplank and down the long companionway, Tiffany pondered his words, thinking, Why not? I have my dreams and plans. My trip, nay, adventure, to France won't alter them.