Promises Unkept

Andreas Edwin I : Milieu

A/N: A Three chaptered backstory of the one Character I felt a keen need to redress.
Please note, I said REDRESS; not Justify. Nothing justifies deceit.
But do remember, no man is born Devil by Default.

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It was early spring and an year long before she came, before great tragedies touched the manor of Ashleyton. The Lord of the manor had just returned to the country, long before the season had ended but for a man not so inclined on finding a wife, London_ at this time of the year_ held little interest.

He didn’t come alone. He never came alone.

Lord Adelwood had a whole league of best of his colleagues come to Ashleyton, consisting of an ever significant presence of Lady Christiana Ivy, Andreas Edwin, Robert Penfield and Clarke Bartlett.

It was an amorphous phase of their lives, things were simpler. Hearts were intact and love and hate had not yet been proportioned into sharp daggers. The joy of youth was nebulous, there was no weight weighing them down, with a little concept of ‘I’ and ‘mine’.

For Lord Adelwood and his friends, it was always ‘we’ and ‘us’. ‘They’ and ‘them’.

There were laughter, political debates and hunts to put in effect.

Ivy was the best of them all_ a ‘huntswoman’, as Stephen stated it; and for the gentlemen, always a challenge to get through. Returning from their bird hunting trips, Clarke would always be sour having been grossly beaten by Ivy. Robert would be satisfied by what he had and almost happy that he killed any bird afterall.

Edwin_ he cared too little for hunting. His rifle, most of times came back unused_ or abused, by being employed to remove vines from the way and cobwebs. He always was more inclined on studying wildflowers_ chamomile and buttercups, watching hares chase each other and squirrels tracing the right kind of nuts. He had never been the violent sort. A quiet, charming young man, as Mrs. Hopkins_ Ashleyton’s housekeeper used to say.

Only Stephen used to be happy at Ivy’s conquest, almost proud of her, of her unaltered victories and only he resolved the clash and conflicts Ivy and Clarke fell into.

One time, Ivy had almost punched Clarke.

Yet, that punch was nowhere near as hurtful as things that would happen in the years to come. Some wounds do not manifest from physical blows.

It was an year before things changed. For better and for worse. Before small things slipped out of their lives and big things happened.

An year before she came, and alter everything unaltered.

But that was later, still some three hundred days away.

That morning, Andres Edwin had been having his morning saunter in the backyard of Ashleyton, alone. Sun had just dawned and the whole estate was resonating with the pre-chorus of morning birds.

Pre-chorus, because the chorus was yet to come. The sun was yet to untouch the horizon.

He had been standing under the chestnut tree, where a tuft of wild dandelions had taken root. He had been admiring the sensuous taste of lemon grasses in the morning air, and how it unruffled his dark hair. Made him feel as if he was just another of the mulberry bushes, loved by mother nature.

Then a cat had come and rubbed itself against his shoe flatteringly and Edwin had laughed. Out loud at the ginger little feline.

A sweet disruption in his peace.

He bowed down and picked it up. Well fed and it was rather heavy. His fault. What he had assumed to be the wisped bouquet of fur was actually an amassed bundle of fat.

It mewled and purred in his arms as he caressed its neck.

“Good morning, Miss Fat Feline.” He had greeted it at one particularly loud purr. “How come I find you here this early?”

He hadn’t asked for an answer but he was answered anyway.

“I brought it here sir.” A witty, female-ish voice had answered. “And it’s a Mr.. A Tomcat.”

Andreas, who had glanced up with start at the woman standing there, looked back down, only partly attentive. He lifted the cat and peeked between its hind-limbs.

“Mr.….Furball, then.” He smiled a little. “Do I know you?”

She showed her teeth, which was to say, she smiled. “I know you.”

Edwin tilted his head in askance.

“…Sir.” She finished, then clarified. “I work here.”

“Oh.” Andreas nodded and returned back to scratching Mr. Furball’s neck distractedly. “Thus you know me.”

“Yes, Mr. Andreas Edwin.”

He lifted his head again and saw that the smile had changed, turned rather mischievous. The glee of saying the name of a superior, on his face. Vocally.

“Can I have him back?” She spoke and pointed at Mr. Furball. “He is too lazy to leave your embrace himself but if someone finds out I am keeping him, they will have my neck.”

“Why?” He had inquired, curious. “What harm is he of?”

“Harm?” She had laughed. “He drinks a bowl full of milk I sabotage under their noses. And one fish is always lacking from the plate of ten. What do you think? He basically eats all you do. Illicitly.”

She talked to him like he was her co-worker. And Edwin had been befuddled.

She was pale. Black hair and blackest pair of eyes. He had been entranced. Unfairly.

She took the cat back and turned away and left. Unfairly, again, having known his name and not giving him her own. When she had stepped close to him to take the feline away and hand him back his empty-handedness, he had smelled dianthus on her. And Magnolias. He had smelled the spring and whole Ashleyton on her.

But, as it went, she had ruined his solitary walk. And she had distracted him to an emotion more unsettling than the fact, that he shared his lunch with a cat in the kitchen.

By the time he had stepped out of his trance, and from under the spreading chestnut tree; the morning had grown warm.

Wings of dandelions spiraled the air and promises of future swelled the morning ambience. It was an year before great things happened. It was an year before love was loved and lovers were hated. Friends turned into enemies and sisters died. Before promises ere made and promises were broken.

Before she came and changed it all.

Life had been simple and Andreas Edwin had been a simpler man.