Born to Run

Chapter 9: Coming and Going

Julian was not sure what had just happened. Esme was beautiful, that much was certain. She was tall, fair and gently-proportioned. Any man would wish to take possession of such a prize. The way she spoke... that dreamy smile of hers. It was enough to turn him into a schoolboy.

But he was the master. How could he turn to mush, hinting that he needed her? She would be good for Lizzie, no doubt. She was good for the palace. Esme Goldworth was good for him. Anything Julian wanted, it would be his. Pushing the double doors open, he entered his bedchamber, undressed, and laid awake. Her body drove him to want to own her. It was nothing more than that.

(#)

“Fitz, would you stop pacing? It is making me dizzy!” Peter scolded his younger brother. “What are you so impatient about, anyway?”

Fitz stopped to glare at his brother. “It is none of your concern.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, and then looked at the grandfather clock. “It is my concern, because you are irritating me! Are you waiting for someone?”

“No.” He said coldly, glancing too at the clock. “I must go. Tell Mother and Father that I went on an errand in town, but will be back for dinner.”

“Where are you going?”

“Errand.” Fitz said, not looking at his brother.

“You know Mother and Father do not approve of your interest in Miss Esme, Fitz. What future is there in marrying a farmer’s daughter?”

“A happy future,” Fitz answered. “I will not let her go, Peter. It will have to take a great deal more than Father’s refusal for me to give up.”

Peter shrugged. “Very well, Fitz. It is only your funeral.”

Fitz nodded, and sighed. “I know.”

And with that, he left for the palace.

The gazebo was exactly the same as they had left it… Such a magical place, Fitz thought. She must sense that I am here. He sat a while in the quiet, when he heard his name. “Esme,” he gasped. Fitz met her in the middle of the gazebo and kissed her tenderly. “You came.” He murmured. “I have not stopped thinking of you.”

Esme wrapped her arms around his neck. “I didn’t think you would be here… Oh, Fitz,” she closed her eyes. “I was so frightened for you… I have hurt you.”

He pushed her back gently to look into her eyes. “Hurt me?”

“I wish I did not have to do this, Fitz… I wish…”

“Hush,” he said, pulling her to him. “You are doing what you thought was best. I cannot be hurt because of that.” He whispered into her hair. “I love you.”

Then she pulled away, arms crossed and her back to him.

Fitz stepped forward, arms over hers, but she resisted. “Esme,” he said, surprised. “What is wrong?” He turned her to face him, but she would not meet his gaze. “Dearest?”

“We cannot continue like this, Fitz,” she said, looking coldly out at the forest.

His jaw dropped. “Why not?”

“Your parents do not approve, the distance is becoming too great…” she choked on her words. “I fear that love will not be enough, Fitz.”

He tipped her chin and kissed her hard, but she did not respond. No. “Mr Mansfield has something to do with it, I imagine?” he asked, jealousy overtaking him. “Is he the reason you no longer welcome me here?”

“He has not touched me, Fitz…” she looked up at him. “Yet.”

Rage pumped through his veins. “You do not love me, then? Right after you said you do?” Thomas had been right.

She took his hands and kissed them. “I thought I loved you, Fitz… But now…” she said shakily, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You deserve more than a wealthy man’s plaything, Fitz.”

“And you assume that you cannot protest? You assume that because you are sweet tempered and beautiful that the advisor’s son will turn you into a harlot?” He looked into her tearful eyes. “Have you ever considered, Esme, that I might still love you even if he does use you?” he asked softly. “Why do you doubt me?”

“I am very sure, Fitz, that we will not be happy together. I loved you, but now, I see what might become of us.” She told him. “You deserve much better than a ruined farmer’s daughter.”

“So you do not wish to see me again?” The hurt was too evident in his voice.

She released his hands. “I am sorry, Fitz. Give your family my regards.”

“I thought you would come back to me, Miss Goldworth.”

Esme sighed. “So did I.”

Fitz became angry. “So, you decided that I am no longer interesting to you? You’ve moved on, have you?” He said loudly, staring hard at the girl before him. She wasn’t a farmer’s daughter anymore. He had thought that she would be his wife.

She looked down at the floor of the gazebo, wishing that studying the cracks and splinters on the worn white would somehow give her the words to explain.

“It is the Prince, isn’t it? That is why you’ve decided to leave me. He has touched you!”

Esme looked up at him tearfully. “Fitz, please calm down. I do not care for the Prince, and he has not done so much as look at me.”

They both knew it was a lie. “That is not true, Esme. A man would have to be blind to not look at you.” His gaze swept over again. Why did he have to let this go? He saw the admission in her eyes. “Good day, Miss Esme Goldworth. I hope someday some man finds a way to deserve you. I certainly have been unsuccessful.”

As he turned away, Esme fought the urge to run up to him and beg him not to leave. But logic overruled impulse. There was no other way to save him from ruining every chance he had in making a good marriage. It was something that she just couldn’t provide. “Godspeed, Mr Fitzwilliam.”

(#)

Kenneth mounted his horse, and nodded to the three women. “It has been wonderful seeing you all again,” he said.

“Surely your departure can be delayed for just a little longer?”

He shook his head quickly. “I must not delay any longer. I am needed immediately.” It was a lie. He wasn’t due for another week, but the sooner he got to Esme, the better.

Heidi sighed. “Very well. Godspeed, Ken,” she grinned.

Nodding, Kenneth spurred his horse, leaving the farmhouse to cough up the dust. Gripping the reigns, he set his horse at a gallop, wishing that the palace was not so out in the country. It was a strategic move by the King, placing his palace in the middle of nowhere… But not exactly accessible.

He had to get to the palace. There was no time to waste.

Much to his chagrin, thunder rolled across the sky, getting louder and longer each time. Gray streaks hung over the sky, the gloom spreading across the still pale blue. Ken thought of the colors that he would’ve used had he the time to paint the landscape. He had been an artist before the army knocked on his door, calling him to duty. He didn’t see clear blue anymore, it seemed. After all the violence, there were only light and dark shades of gray to paint what was before him now. A gloomy, colorless landscape. What kind of future was that?

He travelled a few more miles and was pelted with cold rain, light and sparse to begin with. But then, as he continued on, only a torrential downpour was there to greet him. Groaning inwardly, he pressed on. Maybe he would take refuge in a small town on the way. At least then he’d be able to break up the long journey to the palace.