14 | deceit
To the Earl of Springledge, Lord Byron,
Unfortunately, I must inform you that my sister, the Lady Lisbeth, has passed away last night, leaving behind a son. While I am aware of the tumultous nature of your marriage, with you accusing her of infidelity, my sister insists that the boy is yours. Her funeral will be held on the 12th Day of Summer at the Aglarose Cordesane. If you would like to pay final respects to your wife, do come. If not, simply ignore this letter.
Anne Genevieve Winterbourne,
Duchess of Cindertrappe
Today is the 11th day of Summer. Lisbeth's boy, whom we had named Orion, was well taken care of by my mother-in-law and I, but my own mother, the boy's grandmother, was too absorbed in grief to even look at him.
Orion was an adorable little boy, with curly tufts of golden blonde hair and gleaming grey eyes, just like my sister's. Cecily would swaddle him in linen and pace around the room, carrying him gently in her arms, while my adoptive brother, Gabriel, marvelled at this 'miniature human'.
"Have you never seen a baby before, Gabriel?" I asked amusedly. He quickly shook his head, and said, "No, Anne. No one brings their babies to court, and my relatives never showed me theirs either."
I smiled bitterly, knowing that all of Gabriel's blood relatives were either slaughtered or exiled. He never bothered to ask about them though, so we never told him about the fates of his relatives. "Well, now you can see one everyday. This is your nephew, Orion, and I want you to take good care of him."
He nodded half-heartedly, but then he paused and glanced at me. "What about you, Anne? Will I get a niece or a nephew?"
I chuckled lightly as I caressed my rotund stomach, and eventhough I knew that I needed a son, I never allowed myself to say that. "I don't know," I said to him. "We will have to wait and see."
"If it's a boy, I will teach him how to shoot arrows and swordfight, and we can go riding horses together!" Gabriel stated excitedly. "And if it's a girl, I shall teach her those things too, because I'm not good at anything in particular other than that."
"Oh, but you're so good at poetry. Surely she would appreciate that ?" I said, attempting to console him.
"No, Anne. That nasty McCarthy girl said that only weak boys like poetry. Is that true, Anne? Am I weak?"
"No, not at all, Gabriel," I reassured him. "She is the weak one. She has no talent, and she belittles other people to make herself feel better. She is pathetic."
Gabriel grinned brightly, showing off his front teeth. His smile contrasted drastically with the dreary situation we were entrenched in, making me forget about the horrific things we went through in the span of just a few weeks.
During the funeral the next day, I did not see the Earl of Springledge anywhere, while the Marquis of Lockebel arrived mere seconds after we did.
The handsome marquis had donned an elaborate traditional mourning garb in all-black, complete with a black feathered hat, which was usually worn by a widower who had just lost his wife.
While most commoners would simply dye pheasant or goose feathers to make it black, the Marquis had worn a hat adorned with darrow feathers, a species of birds that could only be found in Ravaeryn, a faraway kingdom in a different continent.
Since they were a rarity here in Phoenicia, husbands who wore a hat adorned with the feather of this particular bird were seen as thoughtful and loving.
However, they were notoriously expensive and were only imported when there were requests, since nobody really wanted to spend ten ingots of gold on bird feathers that would only be worn once during a funeral procession. Transporting the feathers from Ravaeryn to Phoenicia would take months, and unless the husband was anticipating the wife's death, logically there would be no reason why the husband would go out of their way and obtain the feathers.
The marquis's eyes were red and puffy, as if he had been crying non-stop for the past few days, and he had openly wept during the funeral, kneeling before my sister's casket and letting his tears fall onto the marble floor. My mother sympathised with him and walked over to the Marquis, patting his shoulders and comforting him.
Cecily however, looked at him in disgust. "I've never seen him cry before. I didn't know that he is capable of having emotions."
"Have you known him before, Cecily ?" I whispered back.
She nodded, her lips pressed tightly in a thin line.
"My mother arranged a betrothal between him and I, and he was nice at first, very kind and friendly, but after he met my sister, his behaviour changed drastically. At first, I thought he preferred Margaret because she is prettier, but then I realised that it is because she is second-line to the throne, and she has more estates to her name than I could ever imagine."
I frowned, glancing at the weeping marquis, whose handsome features were twisted in a heart-wrenching cry, and I began to think.
My father is the wealthiest, most powerful nobleman in the entire continent, and Lisbeth was his firstborn. Now that Lisbeth was dead, her part of the inheritance would pass onto her son, Orion. Conveniently, the Marquis had already claimed that Orion was from his seed, and any inheritance that the boy may receive would have to go through the Marquis first.
"Is he really that destitute ?" I asked Cecily.
"Depending on the context. If we are talking about a person who wants to live idly without working for even a day in his life, then he has enough money to last him for a thousand years. But if we are talking about someone who is trying to seize the throne, then he is quite destitute indeed."
"Seize the throne ? How ? On what claim ?"
"His grandfather, the previous Marquis of Lockebel, was my great-grandfather's illegitimate son. He is barred from ascending the throne, just like cousin Edmund. However, cousin Edmund is framed by my father, while the Marquis is most definitely illegitimate. I've heard some people say that the old Marquis's mother was a mere tea maid, and others say that she was a prostitute."
"He is a threat to my husband," I say, subconsciously glaring daggers into the back of the Marquis's head. "Why have you never told me about this, Cecily ?"
"I never considered him to be a threat to cousin Edmund. His claim is weak, and he doesn't have the resources to seize the throne."
"He is a threat. Anyone with a Chauvelot as their ancestor is a threat," I retorted hotly. "And now, he is trying to rise up to power."
The funeral came to an end, but the Earl was still nowhere to be seen. My husband and my brother were supposed to be the pallbearers, but then the Marquis volunteered to carry the casket, replacing my husband. He was incredibly adamant and did not accept our refusal, so in the end, we were forced to let him carry my sister's casket.
Just as we descended the marble stairs of the cordesane, I heard the sound of a horse's gallops, and I turned around to see Lord Cedric Byron, sitting on top of a mare, wearing a long fur trimmed coat that had definitely seen better days, his blond hair completely disheveled, his fair face smeared with dust and sweat.
Dark rings had formed around his eyes, as if he had not slept for days, and as he got down from the horse, I could see that he was holding a letter. My letter, to be exact.
"Your Grace," he greeted me, his voice trembling awfully. "Lissy, where is she ? My wife, Lissy."
The piece of parchment in his hand was crinkled, and his sweat had smudged the ink, and I knew that he had not let go of the letter ever since he first got it.
"Where were you ?" I asked, not answering his question. I could not bear to.
"I just received your letter yesterday morning, and I came here immediately, Your Grace."
Just as he finished his sentence, my parents came out of the cordesane, followed by Gilbert and the Marquis, hoisting my sister's casket.
Cedric's face became ghastly white the instant he saw the casket, and I had never seen so much pain on one person's face. He was still, like a marble statue, and his glistened with tears that had yet to fall.
Upon noticing the Earl's presence, the Marquis let go of the casket immediately, and stepped forward to confront him, leaving my brother in peril as he struggled to carry the imbalanced casket.
"Whoa! Where are you going ?!" Gilbert shouted as he tried to balance the casket, and I urged Edmund to go and help him, but before my husband even got there, Lisbeth's caskets was already in the safe hands of the Earl.
Cedric was seated on the ground, with one end of the casket resting on his lap. He was silent and wordless, and for what seemed like forever, he only stared at the rosewood casket.
"Gilbert, can I see my wife ?" he eventually said to my brother, his lips tightly pressed in a bittersweet smile.
Gilbert nodded, and lifted up the casket lid, revealing our poor sister inside, her face gaunt and eyes sunken, not at all resembling the beauty she was when she were still alive.
The Earl's smiles widened, and finally, his tears fell, rolling down his dust-caked face, cutting clean through them the way soap rids of grease. The tears then dripped down onto Lisbeth's cheek, so he tried to wipe it away with his dirty hands.
Everyone's eyes were on Cedric Byron, while the Marquis, who was prepared to publicly shame him, had shamed himself instead. His face was distinctly red, and instead of seeing his handsome face as I used to before, I saw a diabolical, repulsive beast.
That night after the funeral was over, we returned to Winterbourne Castle, with both the Earl and the Marquis tagging along. The Earl was crestfallen and inconsolable, while the Marquis had visibly recovered from his 'grief', but he maintained the act of wiping his already dried eyes once every two to three minutes.
I debated whether or not I should bring Orion out, since Lisbeth had specifically told me to never let the Marquis come near him, but I truly wanted to see the way the Marquis would react.
Reuel Huntingdon, the Marquis of Lockebel, insisted that we let him see Orion, and he had begun to talk about inheritance with my father before Cecily could even go and fetch the boy.
"So, according to my understanding, as the eldest, Lisbeth should've inherited more than her siblings, especially Gilbert, as he is the youngest," he argued, visibly flustered.
Very few men in Phoenicia agreed with giving equal inheritance to daughters, but now that it would benefit him, the Marquis had become a staunch advocate.
"I'm afraid I must disappoint you, then. Gilbert is my heir, and he shall receive the largest portion, regardless of order of birth," my father replied civilly. Lord Huntingdon, still disatisfied, turning his dark gaze towards Edmund and I.
"Then, you should split the inheritance into halves. Your second daughter is already a duchess, so I doubt she has trouble putting food on the table. Lizabeth would've appreciated you leaving a good sum for her poor, lonely son to thrive on," the Marquis persuaded.
"Lizabeth?" Gilbert chuckled. "My sister's name is Lisbeth, you bastard ! How can you love her when you don't even remember her name?!"
Whether this was intentional or not, I will never know, but Gilbert's words had obviously struck a chord with the Marquis. However, before they could fight, Cecily arrived with little Orion in her arms.
I took Orion from her, and walked to the centre of the room. "Look at Lisbeth's little boy. Such beautiful blond curls... I wonder where he got it from, since we Winterbournes only ever had dark hair, and my mother's Moreau family have dark hair too."
I watched as the Marquis' eyes slowly flickered from Orion's tuft of blond curls, and to the thick, golden locks of the Earl.
"I don't recall any Huntingdons with blond hair," Edmund interjected. "But please correct me if I'm wrong, cousin."
"He is my son! You can say whatever you want, but he is my son, and will always be my son! You're just greedy, aren't you Edmund ? You married your wife and secured wealth for yourself, and now you're depriving this boy of his inheritance!"
"Even if he gets his inheritance, what will he do with it? The money will go to his guardian, to you, and God knows what you intend to do with it," my father argued.
The Marquis was speechless, and he could only stare at my father, his face red with rage. Then, I saw Gilbert standing up and walked over to him, his lips spread in a thin smile.
"We all know what you're trying to do. And you won't get it," he spoke in a low tone. "Just go home. Leave. You will be doing a great service for us all."
My brother then patted the Marquis' shoulder, almost mockingly, still smiling bitterly. Knowing that there would be nothing for him even if he continued on arguing, the Marquis stepped back, leaving my brother's hand awkwardly floating mid-air, and without even saying a word of farewell, he left.
Once we heard his carriage take off, everyone let out a sigh of relief, and I finally approached the Earl, with his dear son in my arms.
His eyes watered again as he gently cradled the small bundle, and he said to me, "Look, he has his mother's lovely grey eyes."
Hi! If you liked this story, try checking out my other story, which is set in the early 1700s, Catarina and The Prince ! And please vote and comment, it means a lot to me 🥰
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