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 A Tale for Valentine's day. View next topic
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Cheezie



Joined: 29 Nov 2007
Posts: 12

PostPosted: Fri Feb 13, 2009 2:36 pm Reply with quoteBack to top

The year of my birth was 1788, England was prospering and the Merchant wealth had created an entirely new class of people; the class I was born into. My father was a successful trader, my mother a doting wife and mother of two. My brother James was seven years my senior, needless to say my birth was a happy surprise. I remember very little of my early years, the gardens of Clayton Hall, our summer home, were among some of my fondest. Mother would always have guests for tea and small parties, and I would play with the other children among the reeds, chasing ducks and playing hide and go seek for hours on end. I remember a wooden swing hanging from a large oak; that swing would eventually play a pivotal role in my later years.

At the age of seven, I was sent to school, a rather prestigious boarding school where young ladies were taught the finer arts of needlepoint, painting, etiquette, language and politics. The purpose of the school was to turn young ladies into fine wives for those lucky enough to marry. The ones for whom luck did not run its course became teachers, governesses, nurses and the like, respectable professions for ladies of any status. My ambitions to adulthood were simple, I wished to be as good a wife and as doting a mother as mine. Madame Pierot was a harsh task mistress, any fault was quickly punished and any success met with a hard nod of the head, the only acknowledgement that any of her young ladies had done well. Through all of this, I thrived; I grew to become one of the top graduates of my class, much to the pride of my parents and happiness of my brother. When I emerged from finishing school at the age of sixteen, I was fluent in French, knew enough of politics to keep intelligent conversation and was well educated in all manner of etiquette. From teaspoons to doilies, I was a master, and proud of it.

The summer of 1804 saw my coming out party, my introduction to adult society and the carving of the road that I would lead throughout my life. Throughout that night, I was the belle of the ball. My dance card was full and my heart elated at all of the attention that I was receiving. It was that night that I met Lord Gyorgi Kertesz; my future husband. Gyorgi was easily twice my age and thus any attention garnered from such a fine man was encouraged by my parents. My father’s businesses had seen more than a few hardships; with the mounting wars on the continent, supplies running to and from were met with harsh tariffs and taxes. To father, the attentions received from Lord Kertesz was a blessing, for he had enough wealth to see my father away from debtor’s prison. This was something I knew nothing about, but Lord Kertesz was kind, doting, and mysterious enough to keep my interest.

Winter of that same year moved our family into London, to our home in the same neighborhood as Lord Kertesz himself. Perhaps this was by design of my father, perhaps not, but the number of parties allowed us to see each other often. By day I would receive letters and gifts of all sorts, by night I would attend parties where I would see my dear Gyorgi and we would dance until I felt my feet would nearly fall off. At this time I was beginning to see the monetary hardships that my father had been hiding for so long. Our staff was reduced to two from five, our housekeeper and her husband. Mother and Mrs. Smith would cook and clean, I would sew, and Mr. Smith would tend to all the chores too heavy or cumbersome for the ladies to lay a hand on. Father would lock himself in his office or go to meetings to try to garner the funds to keep our family afloat. James, or should I say Captain Hyde, was an officer in service to his Majesty. We saw little of him in that time, but felt his presence always.

Over the winter months and into the spring, my fond recollections of Gyorgi grew into love and with that, a hope to someday marry the man that had stolen my affections. Though it was not proper to vocalize my feelings for him, I made certain that he was the sole receiver of my regards. As summer drew near, all of the signs of our eventual move emerged. This was all much to my regret, for I had come to spend every afternoon gazing out my window across the park and at the home where my heart resided. The day came when the carriages were packed and all was made ready to leave. As we made our way to the carriage, I sent Mr. Smith to the home of my love with a letter and small gift. Upon his return, I was notified that the lord of the manner was not at home but the package was delivered to one of his servants. My heart sank.

A week, which seemed like an eternity, came and went without word from Gyorgi and with each passing day my heart broke a little more. I took to stealing out of the house every night, to walk the rocky shore near the summer house and lament my lost love. Another week went by and on a clear night I stole out to the seaside for my nightly stroll. Nothing seemed amiss at the start of my journey, the warm summer air and the full moon caused me to look up at the stars rather than out. It was perhaps that reason that I did not see them, the men of Bonaparte’s army who had rowed across the straight to scout their advance. It wasn’t until their arms were about me and one of them had clamped a dirty hand over my mouth to halt my screaming did I know they were there. I was so frightened that I nearly fainted but somehow I kept enough wits about me to stay awake. I prayed to God, with every fiber of my being prayed for mercy and with a flash it was there. My knight, my savior, my Gyorgi had come to my rescue. I will never be able to tell you how he managed it, but all nine men were down and I was in his arms in less than a minute. I must have looked a fright with a dirty scuff on my face and a torn dress, but to look into his eyes I only knew that I loved him. He carried me all the way back to the house, to the swing hanging from the large oak. It was there I received my first kiss, and it was there I vowed in my heart that as long as I drew breath, he would be the only man that I would ever love. He left me there, on that swing, with a kiss and a promise that we would be married before the next full moon. My chastity was unbroken and my virtue intact, no one was the wiser as I stole back into my bedroom and into my bed.

True to his promise, Gyorgi and I were married before the next full moon. In a garden filled with imported night blooming Jasmine, under the twinkling stars that could not match the ones in my eyes, we were married. My mother cried through the entire ceremony, my brother refused to attend, Mrs. Smith carried on about all of the bad omens. It seemed the only two that were as delighted as I were my father and Gyorgi himself. I had spent the entire month preparing the most beautiful empire waist gown, in the same white as the Jasmine. My bouquet and the wreath of flowers in my hair were made of the same flower. The only people in attendance were my family (minus James), the members of Gyorgi’s house, and we two; but to me, it was the most romantic and beautiful wedding I could ever imagine.

The event itself lasted a brief two hours, two hours from the time I walked down the aisle of petals in the garden until he carried me over the threshold of his summer home, our summer home. I was seventeen, a respectable marrying age, and as Gyorgi laid me down in our wedding bed, he called me his eternal child bride. I laughed at this comment, telling him that only my love for him would last an eternity, but the seriousness of his expression quieted me. I did not speak again that night, for but a brief pause his lips were on mine while his hands tore apart the dress that I had labored to create. No word of protest was uttered as I felt a prick at my neck, near my shoulder, before I was lost in the ecstasy that was the first night with my husband. As my life drained away, the last thing I remember was the pattern of the fabric of the canopy and Gyorgi over me bidding me to drink. Then, without protest, I did what my husband bade of me, I drank.
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PostPosted: Mon Jul 27, 2009 2:21 am Reply with quoteBack to top

Very interesting story.... I like it!
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