The Lady Yves

Chapter 1

Lord Barley Yves was every part the aristocrat everyone claimed he was with his raven black hair and beard. He stood tall and proud in his attire, his hand occassionally running over his beard as his brown eyes darted around the ball room in which a dance was currently taking place.

All night long, he had stayed in the same spot and his eyes followed a beautiful redhead that was currently waltzing with an older man, her father.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" a voice said to his side.

He turned to the person beside him with a small smile on his lips. "Yes, mother. She's the one I pick. She's the one I want beside me when father's legacy is gifted to me. He would be very proud of my choice, wouldn't he?"

His mother nodded. "Her name is Marisol Windermere. Heiress to the Crest Inheritance. She was born of Lord Windermere's infidelity, from a foreign escort-not a very good background, but the Lord claimed her as his own and considering that he does not have any other children, she is the only one to inherit all his wealth in the event of his death. That wealth can elevate your status, son."

Lord Barley only grinned then walked out of the ball room. He called for his driver and footman. "I am ready to head back to the manor," he said, climbing into his horse drawn carriage.

His servants settled in and the journey back home started.

When they were halfway to the manor, a woman suddenly came out of the dark and jumped in front of the carriage, the footman pulling the horse reigns so hard that the carriage teetered on its side dangerously for a second before it balanced again.

Enraged, Lord Barley yelled at the footman. "What is going on there?!"

Something thumped against the side of his door and grabbing light, he illuminated the window, only to be met by the bloody and bruised face of a negro woman. He hauled himself back, away from the window.

"Help me!" the woman wept out to him. "Help me, suh (sir)."

Lord Barley, affronted, instructed the footman to go on.

He was a man that never ever associated himself with negroes. He did not hate them but he did not love them either even though they were almost everywhere! Almost every family in this side of the country had numerous workers of their kind on their plantations and before he turned 30, Lord Barley had been in charge of some at one of his family's plantation. All he had to say was that he wished never to see another Negro near him for as long as he lived.

The carriage began to move but the woman moved right alongside it, stumbling in the dark but never giving up.

"SUH!" she kept screaming, banging on the side of the carriage until irritated, Lord Barley got the wagon to stop and jumped out, his cane in his hand, prepared to whack the woman.

He raised his cane high, about to strike her when she fell to her knees, the small bundle that was strapped across her chest moving. He halted his movement and stared at the woman as his servants watched on.

"Suh," the woman begged, her pitiful ragged skinny body now refusing to hold her up. She was covered in dirt, mud, blood, all sorts of things and the smell that emanated from her was just vomit inducing. "Uh beg, help. If you ain't gon help me, help ma babe." She unstrapped the bundle and held it out to him. "Tek ma chile, suh. She small and them men want ter buy her! I ain't selling the babe. She small, suh."

Lord Barley just stared at the woman. Then they heard shouting in the distance and the barking of dogs.

The woman suddenly pulled out a knife from her rags and stared hopelessly at him. "If you ain't gon tek de babe, suh, uh gon kill her and meself," she cried. "Bahd man can't tek her." She raised the knife, about to strike the bundle but Lord Barley cried out.