11. Coincidence or Not? by Lizzie

Coincidence or Not?
lizzie

It was still early in the winter eve; a cold, icy rain had replaced the brief warm spell of the last few days, the Hall itself kept out the cruel bite of the wind and damp. A thick, woven runner covered the mahogany floor and silenced the young Lord of Festival Hall’s footsteps as he walked the length of the second floor hallway, the mellow scent of lemon oil hung in the still air. The same dark, rich wood paneled the walls and sturdy doors. Soft glow from numerous sconces gleamed off polished, gold accents on frames of various paintings, mirrors and doors, creating a welcoming atmosphere in what could have been a somber corridor.

Thorne paused outside the heavily carved door at the end of the hall, this level was reserved for special guests and the woman within fell into that category, at least in his mind. He’d not yet told his siblings about Lizabeth being here and the slight uncertainty that started to form in his mind, he dispelled by opening the door and stepping in. The light and cheerful suite that the youngest Masque had put his guest was a sharp contrast to the dark and distinctly masculine hallway. It suited her. One glance at her peaceful, sleeping form erased the last of the doubt. It felt right having her here.

Shifting the package under his arm, Thorne approached the bed, unworried that she would awaken. About to set it on a chesterfield positioned not far from Aliveri Ivory marble heath where a low, inviting fire popped and flickered, he caught sight of Lizabeth’s few articles of worn clothing hanging in the open wardrobe. Obviously they were all homemade, most likely by her hand. Looking back to the package containing a new dress he’d purchased, Thorne shook his head. No, giving her new clothes could be implying that hers were not good enough. He didn’t want anything to spoil this night. Instead he finished the journey to the bed, kneeled and shoved the gift under it. He’ll give it to her some other day.

The crumpled red skirt and peasant style blouse Lizabeth wore stood out starkly against the soft blues and ivory of the thick quilt she was sleeping on. The way her hair tumbled over her face and pillow brought a smile to the reserved Lord’s mouth. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he allowed his fingers to trace over one of her strong cheekbones, “Awaken, Lady Lizabeth.” The young woman was sleeping on her side and before she stirred, he swept locks of tawny hair away from her face, he wanted to see her large, gray eyes when she awoken.

Soft lips part as if in anticipation of a kiss before she was fully conscious. Lizzie was sure that he was going to kiss her and watched his masked face lower closer to her own. Her whole slight body tingled, she’d never wanted anything so much in her entire life than for Lord Thorne to close the gap and kiss her with intensity that her young body was experiencing. She felt his fingers caress lightly along one cheek just before his lips were about to seal over hers.

And then she woke up.

Staring at an immaculate pant leg with dismay and confusion written all over her features, Lizzie struggled with the impossible and tried to form words. Lord Thorne looked calm and elegant, like always, but was wearing different clothes from when she last remembered staring up at him. Her body still throbbed delightfully in what was moments ago stimulating areas but now were highly uncomfortable places as she stared, bemused, at his cool and distant masked face. It took a few tries before she managed to force out, “What happened?”

“You fainted, I’m afraid. You have been asleep all day again.” Thorne sat back and let his hand fall to twine with the other on his lap. The smile he offered contained a subtle regret.

Lizzie forced herself into an upright position and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Her bladder was protesting heavily and sleep still fogged her mind. Every inch of her seemed stiff and unused but even with the evidence of her body, Lizzie couldn’t believe it. “Fainted? What? I’ve never fainted before in my.. “ Her voice trailed off. But she had.

The first night she stumbled upon Festival Hall and encountered the youngest Lord of it. “You are tired.” He had whispered in her ear. About to protest, the next thing she remembered was waking up on a chaise longue the following evening. No, that wasn’t right, he’d said, “Sleep.” And she had. Wide, questioning eyes studied his. What had he said last night? She tried to recall but only the memory of the anticipated kiss swarmed to her mind, bringing a furious color stampeding to her cheeks.

“I have to..” She broke off and rose abruptly from the bed, gaze whipping around the spacious room, flustered. Lizzie needed time to think, and really had to heed the call from nature. “Where is the..?” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if there was a chamber pot or a separate room here for such needs.

Thorne felt the change in her but his pleasant and calm demeanor didn’t change a fraction. “Yes, of course.” The young Lord of Festival Hall stood with an easy grace and swept one arm towards a door. “Take your time.”

Chancing one last glance at his handsome face, Lizzie rushed from the room. For some reason her heart felt like it might shatter. The luxury of the coral and white bath chamber was lost on Lizzie. It seemed like she hadn’t gone for a year or longer. Nausea gripped her stomach and it had nothing to do with the little amount of food she’d eaten lately. Quickly she thought back over the last few days, time in which she’d first entered Ravnglade and met the Lord Thorne Masque and his family’s Hall containing an abundance of misplaced spirits.

The boogies were what brought her here, called to her even from the back of a horse as she rode past. What if it hadn’t been those? What if it were something else? Then there was the bump on the head and her falling asleep on her feet right after meeting the mysterious young Lord. The following eve some monstrosity out in the gardens had attacked her. She’d lost a lot of blood and her memory of the incident stopped at the point when the ghoul raked its hellish claws down the front of her. She found out later that Lord Thorne was a healer, he’d had taken care of the deep wounds with some exotic herbal compress. Color flooded her cheeks once more at the knowledge that he’d been the one to undress and attend to her.

Weren’t servants for that? Some part of her mind taunted. Outside of a single maid, every night had been solely with him. He was keeping her a prisoner! Lizzie’s eyes widened at the knowledge and panic sent her frightened gaze past the large, oval tub towards the window that offered a way out.

***

Thorne ‘s eyes narrowed on Lizabeth’s back as she hurried past him. Just as he feared, she was starting to question. Of course she would, who wouldn’t? He demanded of himself. One thing was certain, he wouldn’t let her go. Thorne knew he’d do whatever it took to keep the young woman at his side. As soon as the door shut his eyes closed completely and the whispered spell wasn’t heard above the crackle and hiss of the fire. Outside, the air chilled further and formed a heavy layer over the window, creating a solid block of ice that spanned the glass and anchored to the shutters on either side.

Restless, he moved to the chesterfield and placed his hands on the back, while staring intently at the closed door. Fingers curled into the pale blue and ivory silk damask covering the plush, short couch, betraying his disquiet. She would not escape that way. Now there was only one way out and that lead back to him, a small, self-satisfied smile drifted to his thin lips.

***

She flew across the tiled floor and shoved at the window. The fact that she’d done this just over two months ago in Kameria wasn’t lost on her. She’d escaped once, she’d do it again. The other bath had been on the second floor as well, injury was preferable to being kept prisoner. The damn thing wouldn’t budge an inch. Something didn’t seem right about the way the light reflected back at her from the surface of the glass. Her night vision was terrible but it seemed like something was covering the window. Squinting, she could make out patterns but didn’t know if they were from vines or what. Damn the darkness out there!

Backing away from the window that lead nowhere, she bumped into the corner of the long counter below a mirror of equal length. A scream almost forced its way past her lips when she wheeled around and was confronted by the haunted reflection of herself. Somehow that steadied her. She looked a mess and quickly bent over the sunken, shell-shaped sink to splash water on her face and rinse her mouth.

Think, Lizzie, think! He’d been nothing but kind and if he’d wanted you dead, he’d had ample opportunity. He’s only ever been a gentleman. And the attack by that dreadful creature could explain fainting last night and sleeping all the day. She stared hard at herself while trying to right the chaotic mess of tawny hair with her fingers.

No, something wasn’t right here. She sensed it. You’re being paranoid, she scolded herself. But that thought didn’t stop her from jumping when Thorne’s concerned voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Lady Lizabeth? Is everything fine?” Thorne placed his hand on the door and lowered his eyes to the knob. He would smash the door down if he had to.

“I’ll be out in a second!” She kept her voice as calm as possible. Smoothing out the wrinkles as best she could on her way to the door, she began to think of other ways to escape. Pulling it open, his masked face greeted her and all thoughts of fleeing vanished from her mind the instant her eyes met his mismatched ones.

“I was concerned that you might have fainted again.” He withdrew his hand from the door and stepped away, granting her exit. Thorne cleared his throat before she could question his logic. “I would like to take you someplace. Out for dinner and to see the city.” The smile he presented her contained an abundance of charm.

Relief melted a certain amount of tension. Try as she might, she couldn’t drag her gaze from his, just like she couldn’t stop the answering smile that appeared. “You would?” Lizzie didn’t question the swell of joy in her heart at the invitation; it proved that he wasn’t keeping her captive.

A voice in her head demanded caution against foolish notions of romance between a Lord and girl like her. The differences were as vast as the area between Madh-Akul and the Mystical Storm. He probably feels responsible because of the bad things that have happened. Doesn’t want you giving bad press to some reporter out there about cold treatment, shoddy construction, ghoulish attacks or an overabundance of ghosts. He had every reason to try to present himself in a positive light. The voice ground out the hard facts. But the moment that Thorne’s smile widened, casting him in a more youthful and approachable light, Lizzie purposely shut that voice out.