Born to Run

Chapter 18: Setting the Scene of a Play

Julian was outright furious the evening he found out that Esme had gone to town. “You have a hand in this, I know it!” Julian cried as he barged into his father’s study. “You sent her away!”

Morton looked up innocently from his work. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do not dare act like you have done nothing,” Julian said through his teeth. “You can hide nothing from me.”

His father shook his head. “Son, she will be back. It is not as if I have sent her away for good.”

“You do not approve, do you?” Hate boiled in his veins. How could he even be remotely related to this man?

“Approve?” his father thundered, his temper giving way. “You intend to have her? To marry her?”

Julian looked away, remembering what he had told Esme. You should rule with me. He turned back to his father. “Yes. I do.”

Morton’s expression filled with shock. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am, sir. No matter what you have planned in order to sway me, my affections will remain as they were from this moment onwards.”

Shaking his head, Morton stood. “Your silly infatuation will not last, son. We will see about this steadfast love.”

Julian clenched his fist, and stormed out of the room. What did he know about steadfast love? Mother died of a broken heart, had she not? Morton hadn’t married her until she was on her deathbed. She left him two illegitimate children, and that was all he wanted. Heirs. Forget the love that Mother had for him.

He could still remember Mother’s quiet sobs at night. Maybe she was the only one on the planet that actually loved him. How could she love a monster of a man? How could she love a father that denied her children a secure place to lay their heads until right before her death?

Slamming the door behind him, Julian sunk down into an armchair in the parlour. “Maddie, get me some whiskey. Now.”

(#)

Her posture was stiff and straight, Fitz noticed as he watched Esme from a balcony above the Mansfield’s box. Something bothered her. Was it him?

To be truthful, Esme was not the same. Of course, she was as beautiful as ever, but there was something different in her manner. This was not the Esme Fitz had fallen in love with, but he couldn’t put his finger on why that was.

He caught her gaze as she looked up briefly to where he was sitting, and could not miss the frustration in her eyes. What was that? Quickly, her gaze darted back to the play. Surely she could not concentrate on the actors. Their talk could not wait any longer.

Fitz took two steps at a time as he went down the stairs, and stood before the curtain that led to the Mansfield box, waiting to catch his breath. “She will take you back, you know she will,” he told himself, though his doubts were louder than his own voice. He opened the curtains just a crack. “Miss Esme, I need to speak to you.”

She rose slowly, and turned to him. “Is it urgent?”

He nodded. “Very urgent.”

Esme walked to the curtain and followed him out. “Why, Fitz? You know it will never work out as we had planned? Why have you not given it up?”

Her words stung. Hadn’t she wanted him once?  Fitz took her hands and held them tightly. “I have a plan for us, Esme. We can get married!”

She looked confused. “Fitz…”

He continued quickly. “No, I have it all figured out! You come with me and we can move to Scotland! Then, we can be married as man and wife with no family to object, and you can teach piano, and I will find work…”