Her Sister's Fiancé - Book #1

Chapter 29

This is the music that I listened to while writing this chapter. I love the hauntingly beautiful score from The Mission! It's so ethereal.

Eek! I'm getting on a role here! Two chapters in one day! That's unheard of for me! I hope you guys enjoy this. Goodbyes are never easy. Keep an eye out for more special stuffs coming your way!

    "Are you sure about this?"
    "Yes, sir. Lavinia and I think it would be best for us to get away. As long as we stay here, the story will stay alive and fresh with out presence as an eternal fan in the flames, but if we're gone, we'll get a little peace from the gossips, and Cassandra will be able to get on with her life. Neither of us wants her to be unhappy." Ethan tried to gauge Ezra's response, but it was difficult to tell what a man was thinking when faced with only his ramrod straight back.
    "Cassandra doesn't care, you know." He said softly. "She came in here laughing earlier about some old woman who was speaking ill about her in one of the shops. It doesn't seem to touch her. At least, not when Lavinia is here to help her." Ethan rose quietly and moved around the large desk to look out the window beside his father-in-law.
    His attention was immediately captured by a slender figure in a vibrant green gown. A smile touched his lips as Lavinia lifted her nose high and sauntered down the path, swaying her hips dramatically as Cassandra laughed uncontrollably. The two had certainly gotten over the past and were enjoying each other's company immensely. He had attempted to convince Lavinia that he didn't mind staying here as long as she was happy, but she had seen through that. The sliver of his heart that didn't belong to her would always be in Scotland. Besides, she had said, Cassandra's name had suffered enough because of them.
    He couldn't help but stare at how different the two girls were. Lavinia's dark hair was piled on top of her head as it willed while Cassandra's golden locks were intricately woven in a fashionable hairstyle—more out of habit than a desire to attract attention now. The fact that no one had discovered the truth about their births was beyond him. Lavinia didn't look anything like Lady Antrucha, and Cassandra was nothing like her 'father'. The fact that the gossips of the ton had not already been fabricating stories about their origins continued to surprise him. He had noticed their the stark contrast between him from the moment he met them, yet he supposed he never would have suspected the truth. Perhaps it was simply too scandalous for fine ladies to imagine.
    Suddenly, the two began moving through the steps of a dance, lifting their noses high and attempting to look sophisticated. They collapsed against one another, failing to keep the act up for more than a few moments. Ethan smiled, his eyes, not for the first time in the last five seconds, roving appreciatively over the figure of his wife.
    "We're going to miss you. Both of you." Ezra snorted a silent, humorless laugh. "I had begun to think of you like my son, and her, well, I don't know how I'm supposed to get on without her. She's been the candle in my world of darkness for twenty-odd years." The words came out tense and hoarse, and Ethan wished he could do anything to take away the hurt he was causing the man. "Of course, you'll come home for the holidays. Scotland isn't that far away." Ezra turned toward him, forcing a smile in spite of the tears in his eyes.
    "Of course, sir. We'll be here often. Probably, you'll get tired of seeing us." Ethan failed to sound as lighthearted as he'd intended. Ezra was more of a father to him than Lord Brodi had ever been, and knowing that he had to leave this man before he'd learned everything he wanted from him was proving more difficult than he'd imagined.
    "Oh, yes, it'll be a constant drudgery whenever you come." Lord Antrucha smiled softly. "Seeing your highland face will take all the joy out of the holidays."
    The two of them moved across the room together, knowing this was their last chance at a real goodbye and unable to find the right words to express what the other had been to them in the past weeks. Suddenly, Ezra jerked Ethan into a spine-cracking hug.
    "You take care of her," The words were strained, and it was evident Lord Antrucha was holding back tears with a thin thread of resolve. "My little girl. Don't you dare break her heart!" The older man heaved a shuddering sigh, pulling away with a sniff. "And you be sure to write as soon as you know when my grandchildren are due." It had been a poor attempt to lighten the mood, and Ethan nodded, forcing himself to smile.
    "You'll be the first to know." The two men clasped hands and nodded silently to one another before Ethan left the room.
    When his son-in-law had gone, closing the door behind him, Ezra moved back to the window, his eyes trained on his daughter as a sob wracked his body. He had known it was coming some time, but now it was upon him, and he wanted nothing more than to clutch her to his chest and refuse to let her go, but she had spread her wings and begun to fly, and wherever he path led her, it wouldn't be to him anymore. He was losing his little girl. She had become the woman she had always been meant to be, and her life was no longer interwoven with his own.
    The door burst open, and Ethan sprinted across the lawn, capturing Lavinia in a hug. Ezra could see the joy illuminating Lavinia's features as she settled into her husband's embrace. Ethan brushed her hair out of her face and turned to say something to Cassandra before stooping and kissing his wife. Ezra had never felt such pure happiness while unimaginable pain was crushing his heart.
    "We couldn't have it, Pen," He whispered, clutching the miniature he always carried close to his heart. "But they've got it, and they're going to be happy, so, so happy." And with a sigh, he turned back to his desk but found himself unable to concentrate on his work as he flipped open a small notebook and stared at the words written in a swirling, feminine hand on the page:

True love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never dead, never cold,
From itself never turning.*

    I will never forget you, my love. No matter where you go or what you do, you have my heart as fully and completely as you did the day you dared dance with a girl who was left behind.

    Oh, yes, they had it, and they wouldn't let it go. Lounging back in his seat, he closed his eyes, remembering a time long, long ago when a dark-haired young woman had spun about a room of bright lights in the arms of a starry-eyed youth who had lost his heart to her from the moment they moved in the first dance step and never been able to get it back.

*I didn't make this up. It's a poem from the 16th century by an unknown author.