Chapter 3

Ava’s father had barely released her from his strong arms when she saw the grand carriage and its occupant. With nervous intrigue, Ava focused her gaze upon the graceful woman with emerald eyes and ruby hair. Noticing the fierce inquisition of the woman’s gaze upon both Catherine and herself. Yet despite propriety Ava did not feel the need to curtsy, almost as if some unseen force prevented the simple action, she did not fear this woman or her wrath and yet Ava could not place what emotion she felt at this moment.

Beatrice met the eldest’s gaze with equal interest, as she fought back the wave of tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. At long last she had found them, found the future of Wilshire and this the duchess knew, without a doubt for the girl looked as her mother the only difference her pale green eyes and the culmination of Charles and Annette’s hair. Vibrant silken locks, that resulted in a dark fire atop her head; its rich reds and deep browns glowing beneath the sun light. Beatrice continued her surmise of Ava and was pleasantly surprised, she had a slender waist, without the confines of a corset and her maturity had begun to bloom, despite her obvious attempts at hiding the womanly curves beneath her dress.

Finished with Ava Beatrice turned her attentions to the younger of the two, Catherine with her golden hair gleaming like the rays of the sun, bluest of blue eyes and a softly contoured face. The duchess’s heart swelled with emotion as she saw her daughter, her beloved Annette at the same age in this young girl. Yet she could not deny that her heart pounded for Ava, the eldest whose defiant attitude reflected in her eyes had reminded Beatrice so much of herself as a young woman.

Cautiously like a cat to a dog Beatrice stepped forward to take Ava’s delicate hand in her own; turning it about she took notice of the small calluses that if not treated right away could prevent a marriage of breed, yet just as Annette’s and her own were, Ava’s fingers were long, slim and ever so delicate. Silently Beatrice thanked the lord that she had had the insight to order a dress in every size made, for the rags the girls wore now would merely present them as chambermaids.

“Come now girls, we must dress you for the journey,” Beatrice primly stated, her heart sinking as the girls turned heartbroken eyes upon their father.

Upon hearing Beatrice’s comment Rebecca, her handmaid came forth from the carriage her arms laden with rich silks and velvets. “Shall I go to them now Milady?” Rebecca questioned.

“Not as yet,” Beatrice replied seeing the look upon the girls and Charles faces.

“Journey, papa what does this stranger say” Ava pleaded her heart already in the know.

Charles merely dropped his gaze to the ground as Catherine in her most dramatic state began to wail.

“Papa I demand you tell me just what is afoot” Ava cried in desperation as she dropped to her knees in the dirt and clung to her sobbing sister, in an attempt to soothe the child.

Charles hung his head in shame, for he had not the courage to explain this to his daughters and yet at this moment he knew it was necessary, “My dearest Ava, Catherine.” He began unsurely, his voice cracking as he met Ava’s disappointed gaze, her eyes that were filled with the same anger he had seen so many years before. “The woman who stands before you is your grandmother,” he murmured, his gallant effort to fight back the tears failing.

“Your mother was the Lady of Wilshire,” Charles barely whispered, his heart shattering as he thought of how to tell his girls this story. “All the fairy tales she used to sate you with were but a few of her experiences.” He murmured feeling as if his world would soon cease to exist.

Ava’s mind began to spin, as she remembered her mother having taken her into her lap just before bed as she told her with such enthusiasm tales of a young princess. Yet until this very earth shattering moment, Ava had always believed it was merely a tale of love, riches and romance, when the young prince had forsake his kingdom for the princess.

Tears began to trickle over Ava’s cheeks, “This does not explain why she has come Father.” Ava whimpered, realizing by the stricken look upon his face that there was more to this story than he had stated.

Charles gazed brokenly upon his eldest daughter, wishing there was something he could do to change the circumstance. “I am truly sorry Ava,” he murmured stepping towards her to envelope her in a comforting hug, his hands dropping to his sides in defeat as she stepped away from him. “You are at an age when you should begin to consider your union, tis why I accepted your grandmother and grandfathers proposal when they sent post a month past,” Charles stammered sadly. “I’ve no other option in this matter my dearest,” he murmured.

Before Ava could question her father further in the matter, Catherine suddenly burst into tears and dramatically cried out, “HE DOESN’T LOVE US ANYMORE!” as she turned and ran into the once happy home, her fitful sobs trailing after her.

Beatrice watched with a combination of heartache and humor as Charles Morgan, ran after his youngest, while Ava followed after, nipping at his heals. Silently she beckoned her handmaid to stay, for despite Beatrice’s loathing for the man, he deserved the opportunity to explain to his daughters the love he felt for them, a love deepened by his own ruin.

Once inside the house, Catherine crumpled to a heap upon the floor, her thin shoulders violently shaking as she sobbed. “I demand you tell me everything father,” Ava snarled her eyes menacingly dark.

Charles hung his head in pity, “Your mother and I indulged in a forbidden love affair, an affair that ended in her ruin.” He began sorrowfully, “I in turn could not bear to live my life without her, so when we arrived at the ship that was to bring her to America, I boarded, thus forfeiting my position within society.” His blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he spoke. “I have given my heart and soul to our family and had your grandparents been able to conceive an heir I am sure that they never would have come.” He whispered blinking away at the stinging tears in his eyes. “You Ava are the Vis-countess of Wilshire, and because of my greed I must make amends to my wrongs.”

Ava stared at her father with a mixture of heartbreak and disbelief, “So we are to accept this and leave with family we had no knowledge of?” She questioned rather irritably, tears trickling down her face.

“Unfortunately I have not the power to stop this,” Charles lamented sadly, silently praying that his daughter's would someday find it within their hearts to forgive him.

“Why can you not come?” Catherine questioned suddenly as she stood beside her sister, her tears subsided.

“The option given to us that fateful night was to be that both your mother and I would be presumed deceased,” Charles explained dully.

“Yet father,” Ava began her mind spinning with thoughts, “If you and mother were presumed deceased then however would we have come to be?” She questioned, “Grandmother could easily explain that she found us all,” She added.

“It is not that simple dearest Ava,” Charles murmured, “for I can never return to the life in which I left." He explained sadly. “If it were to be found that I am your father, you and Catherine will be forever ruined,” He finished as he hugged his daughters one final time before exiting the cabin, for if he stayed any longer his own tears would spill forth.

Charles set eyes upon Beatrice the moment he stepped from the shelter of the cabin, he felt defeated and heartbroken for she was forcing upon him the worst imaginable torture, she gave him no other option than to give up his children, his last remaining link to the love he’d shared with Annette.

“They wait for you inside,” Charles murmured pitifully, anger and heartbreak tearing him to shreds.

“And what have you spoke to them of?” Beatrice questioned, wondering how much damage control she would be faced with, hoping that he had not explained fully the reason for their being in this forsaken area of the world.

“The basic information,” He replied anger beginning to rise within him.

“That does not tell me much,” Beatrice coolly exclaimed, narrowing her eyes dangerously upon him.

Charles stormed forward, stopping not an inch from her face as he bent down low to whisper to her. “You milady are out of line, this is my property and you’ve no government here,” He snarled angrily, “I have told my girls enough and if you wish to know further then you shall have to pull it from them.” His words were filled with venom and hatred, “Now go,” He snarled, turning before the duchess could say anything further, and taking his cart to the barn, along with his wife.

No sooner had they arrived in the confines of the barn, did Margaret end her silence. “What on earth have I married?” She accusingly snapped her honey eyes wide with emotion.

“The choices in which I made as a young man, do not affect who I am today,” Charles sneered back.

“If you wish me to stay in your home you will tell me of these choices,” Margaret fired in return, her anger and upset spilling forth, leaving him with little hope of avoiding her any further.

“My daughter’s mother and I had an affair,” Charles lamented, feeling somewhat at ease after finally speaking the torment from so long before. “She was betrothed to another, and I had been married, my wife with child when she found of her own condition.” He continued when Margaret said nothing further. “I had a choice to go back to my rightful home and resume my duties as a Duke, but when I arrived at the ship with Annette in tow, I could not for I was then consumed by love of the most in-depth kind.” He finished, unable to continue any further as the tears he fought so diligently to fight back rushed forth. Spilling over his cheeks in a torrent of fat drops.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Margaret whispered, unsure of what to do, something in her reaching out to her poor, broken hearted husband, as she felt his pain. Tentatively she stepped forward, taking him into her arms to gently soothe him. She did not know if she could ever love him, but she knew that he was terribly heartbroken and he was her husband, and this time as he leaned in towards her she allowed his lips to meet with hers, a warmth surging through her body as he deepened the gesture.

Ava stood in silence as their grandmother, the duchess Beatrice of Wilshire set about dressing Catherine and herself, as she thought of their father’s words. He had in few or more words explained that his love for them prevented his ability to ever deny them the right in which they were entitled and with a promise of daily writing Ava and Catherine, quietly agreed to his terms.

Then there was the matter of the grandmother in whom they had never known, who stood before them now and offered Ava and Catherine the world, a world in which Ava consoled herself with the thoughts that now she could search for the young man that as a thief in the night had stolen her very soul. A world where she could only hope to dream that one day she could become his. Still her heart ached for this was nothing in comparison to the betrayal she felt at her father’s seeming willingness to let them go as if they had been of no consequence.

The sun was low in the darkening sky when they emerged, Catherine a vision in a pale blue silk trimmed with cream colored French lace and Ava gowned in yards of regal green velvet, trimmed with a heavy gold piping; they were princess’s in one of mothers stories and yet Ava’s heart could not accept the joy. For the day after she became sixteen, she and her sister left their father, the farm, the only life in which they had ever known and set off on an adventure grander than ever could be imagined.

With strength Ava had never known she possessed she comforted her quietly whimpering sister, as she stared out the thick glass of the carriage until they could no longer could see their fathers figure. Wonder filling her mind, would ever she see him again, or would her new life be far too much to allow?

Henry arrived in New York around mid afternoon, his body weary and worn from over a week of travel; throughout the rest of the day’s journey, he found he had been unable to quiet his mind of the young woman upon the farm. Now as he stood upon the dock, the cool ocean breeze blowing across his face, he took Storms reigns within his palm his desire for her at its peak.

Doing the unthinkable Henry led his hunter from the docks, towards an awaiting messenger and hurriedly struck a deal, if he delivered the light of his life to the one in which he hardly knew the young man, could keep the pound of gold he carried upon him. With greedy eye, the messenger agreed and off he set upon the only thing Henry had ever cherished, towards her the girl in which someday Henry hoped to make his wife.

As Henry strolled down the street he felt the emptiness immediately, Storm had been his companion for as long as he could think and at the glimpse of a pretty face, he had given him up. Yet with Storm there he would have excuse to visit again and when the time was right, execute his plan, he silently reminded himself…

Margaret duteously, made her way about the farm gathering eggs, feeding the chickens, preparing fresh butter and cooking meals, while Charles toiled his days away in the fields with the horse. He’d not known why the duke had bestowed upon them such a fine specimen but in his position he was in no manner of decline; the messenger himself merely stated “for the angels mercy” whatever that was to mean. Yet when he’d spoken her name Charles nearly died, his daughter had allowed stranger upon their farm while he had been away. Even as the thought escaped his mind, Charles dismissed it, she was gone and obviously, the duke had been smitten. Who could blame him, she far more resembled a princess than the farm girl he had all these years pushed upon her and with a little luck maybe she could marry him, enjoy what she should have been entitled.

Alexander loving watched his young sister Sophia, while she happily played upon the floor with the fat little puppy their uncle had given her for her tenth birthday, her black curls bouncing up and down with each nod of pleasure.

He turned his gaze towards their uncle Roberto, the king of Spain, who nervously waited outside the doors of the birthing chamber, which at this moment had gone quiet. The strain evident upon his glorious face, tension apparent within his every move. Sadly, he smiled upon young Sophia pulling at Alexander’s heartstrings, silently he wished there was more to be done to relax his beloved uncle.

Suddenly the door to the birthing chamber opened and Queen Veronica’s hand maid rushed out to grab more cloths alerting the two men at once; Alexander’s gaze fell to Maria’s bloodied apron, “How is she?” he heard Roberto question tightly, his voice a cocktail of nerves and fright.

Alexander saw the grim look upon Maria’s face and heard the words he was never meant to. “She is in a straight your majesty, yet the doctor only fears she can never again bare child without risking her life.” she answered truthfully.

Alexander scowled and silently damned the maid for not having at least attempted to comfort his uncle.

Reassuringly Alex stepped forward to wrap a thick twenty two year old arm about his uncles shoulder, “you know Uncle, Padre told me that while my mother birthed me he found solace in spending his time with you,” Alex smiled, “Possibly you might find just the same comfort with me?” he questioned hopefully.

Roberto’s shrug was indifferent, yet his young nephew’s words had eased him some, “Very well, we shall take a stroll about the gardens,” he accepted pensively, wanting desperately to relax a bit.

The palace gardens bloomed at this time of year with heavenly scented roses, brightly colored hibiscus, peony, sweet pea and so many other beautiful plants. Their happy faces smiling as bees and butterflies fluttered about.

Alexander was brought back to the day when his beloved sister had been born; silently the three walked past the bench where he and his father had sat when their uncle came with the news that would forever change their lives.

“Alejandro, Alexander,” The tension and heartbreak were evident upon Roberto’s face, “Penelope, has birthed a girl,” Roberto was unable to withhold the heartache that was written across his face. “Sadly, Penelope did not make it,” He stammered brokenly his usually composed face crumpling as the unshed tears spewed forth.

Silently Alexander wished his uncle did not think of those moments, yet pleasured himself with the blessings that were his luxurious gardens.

By the time they were completing the second trip through the gardens, the doctor appeared, Alexander took a protective step forward and fell into silent prayer, as he saw the instant despair upon Roberto’s face.

“Your majesty” the aging man began, causing Alexander’s heart to beat wild. “Your queen is well, as is your daughter.” before he could say anymore Roberto elapsed into joy, wrapping his thick arms about the frightened man.

“Sire you must let me finish” the doctor spoke once he’d been released, “Queen Veronica will never again be able to bare child or you will risk the very loss of her life” he finally managed, cringing with fear that the king would order his head be dislocated from his body.

Alexander watched in pity as Roberto’s face blanched, he’d been able to sire a daughter but not a son and his wife could never bare children again, his wife who he truly loved and wished no pain upon. Before Alex could say or do anything his uncle sullenly dismissed himself from their presence to retreat to the castle. Where Alex knew he would call upon Veronica and his newly born daughter before locking himself within his quarters to mull the news over.