Seventeen years, ten months, two weeks, three days...
Each moment is agony.
Every second of every day, George Beaumont is reminded of his young wife's untimely death. With every glimpse of that painting up on that mantle, with every glimpse of his...
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Edited
Autumn of 1870
Raymond watches the cover of his book as the room fills with the drone of dull Greek. He loathes having to sit still and listen to the man. He thinks of Anne, secluded in Ravensworth. No Greek lessons for her if she did not want it. Her Greek was perfect. He wants her there with him to throw pencils at the teacher then laugh about it when he looked away. All boys' school, he thinks. He couldn't bring her along if he tried. Even his mind has taken to droning out his thoughts. Perfect. Just perfect.
He picks at a loose string from his sleeve, attempting to saw it off with a piece of charcoal, which is more than impractical. Once that becomes boring, he looks at the sketch that is scrawled out on the parchment. It is the beginnings of Anne's solid-black hair, as well as the diamond shape of a kite well above her head. He wants to draw her with a nice, big smile. It would have to suffice until he sees her again and could give her the tightest embrace be could. He has to watch the drawing flying her kite until then, though.
Yes, even a drawing is having more fun than he is, and his only consoling thought was that it was his last year.
Before his thoughts wander back to a certain raven-haired young lady, a knock resounds through the schoolroom.
The teacher mutters something in Greek before opening the door, and as soon as he does, a flushed delivery boy enters, holding out an envelope and saying something that Raymond cannot make out.
"Marshal," the teacher says, referring to him. "A telegram. The man claims it is dire news. Read it." He barely understands what the teacher is saying, for his accent was thick. He hopes that the words are not what they had sounded like, but the teacher holds the envelope out to him with a grave expression.
Raymond scrambles awkwardly out of his seat, still holding his drawing of Anne. By the teacher's desk, he hurriedly opens it, aware of everyone's stares resting on him. His mind floats. Dire news? The only dire news he can think of is anything concerning his father, and so he braces himself. He finds something else, though. Something far, far worse.
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