Love Give Me Strength

"Go to your bosom, knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know."

July 13th

On a warm summer night, the Duchess Gardens would usually be brimming with people. This night, it was deserted because of a curfew. Even with the Montagues in mourning and the Capulets celebrating, there were plenty of people ready to slit throats in the capital. After several nights of brawling, the Ducal Guards had ordered everyone to their homes at dusk and were keeping watch nightly at popular assembly spots.

It was therefore very convenient for Lady Anne Darcy that her youngest brother, Samuel, was the Captain of the Guard in the capital. He asked only a very few impertinent questions before agreeing to shepherd her into the Gardens for a critical rendezvous well after curfew. "Have you something to defend yourself with?"

Anne nodded. Almost every grown woman carried at least a small knife concealed on her person, and some were known to carry daggers to rival a man's. (Rumors were always swirling about the size of Regan Capulet's weapon and where she hid it.) Hers was kept in her boot, and she kicked it for good measure. "I shall meet you in the Fountain Yard in half an hour."

Samuel agreed but had no such intention. It was true that he was not particularly close to his sister. He had been just old enough when Anne left to be angry with her for upsetting their mother, and he had grown out of caring about much of anything by the time she returned. If he cared more, he would never have agreed to help Anne meet someone clandestinely in the midst of a flare-up. Yet, he felt enough for her and for her children not to entirely ignore her safety. He began to follow her, intending to wait just close enough to hear if she cried out.

Behind him, one of Captain Fitzwilliam's men came running up. A noblewoman's daughter had stabbed one of their men after being caught in violation of the curfew. She was claiming that all four wounds were in her defense, and only the Captain's judgment would suffice. With the self-assurance that his sister was as tough as she seemed, Samuel followed his man out of the Duchess Gardens.

Intently, Anne hurried through the dark, empty park. The bells rang ten o'clock as her heels clicked on the steps leading into the sunken garden. It was a place she hoped never to visit again, for it filled her with shame. It had been here, on a cool night in December, that she had been first lured into this scheme. Her heart and head had been full of warm thoughts about her son and his future, approaching so rapidly. Mothering him and his sister had been the centerpiece of Anne's life for years, and she was finally to see if she had done it right, if she had raised a good man. All that was missing was the one thing that her 'friend' offered to her for such a small price.

What a great bargain it had seemed! Beatrice Montague wasn't a particularly bright or warm girl, but she had good blood and a nice fortune, which Anne instantly decided was all that was important in a daughter-in-law. Fitzwilliam would marry the girl, a high-born lady who would mother the future of the family line, and George would be returned to them. Blinded by the promise of it all, Anne spared not a thought for what her new "friend" could possibly gain by attaching Fitzwilliam to Beatrice. She was sixteen again, reliving an emotional springtime with a full heart and a closed mind. Today at last, her son had bruised her heart enough to let it hear the desperate shrieks of her own good sense (if such a fool as she could claim good sense at all.) Even now, she didn't understand the entire scheme. She knew only that it must end.

"You failed," a low voice sneered.

"I did what I could and more than I ought."

"There are no rewards for effort."

Anne pursed her lips. "I don't care about your rewards."

"That is not what you said the last time we spoke." If a voice could smirk, this one did as its body circled around Anne. "You were quite interested in what I had to say about your poor husband."

"I was a fool to ever listen to you. George is dead."

"Oh, is he?"

"George is dead these many years," she insisted. "I want nothing to do with you and your conjuring from now on. My son will will marry whomever he likes. I won't interfere anymore and neither will you."

"'Tis a mad world that makes you choose between your husband and your child. What a shame it would be if you gave up the chance to correct that mistake."

Anne replied hotly, "It was not a mistake."

"Is that what you tell yourself, Anne, so you may sleep - alone - at night? It wasn't a mistake to sacrifice him to those beasts?"

"I regret it, I wish it never happened, but saving the children was not a mistake."

"An interesting story coming from you, who would pass up the chance to retrieve what you lost. I offered you a treasure and asked a pittance in return! Did you even attempt to tell your son the price of his stubbornness?"

Anne had tried once to make the words pass her lips. The shame she felt had prevented her from speaking and ought to have been her first warning. Her cheeks flushed now to think of how much longer that warning took to reach her. How long had she thrown stupid, empty reasons for marrying that pitiful girl at Fitzwilliam? How many times had she risked his esteem, his respect, his love for this hollow promise of dark magic? At least she knew she could be proud of him; in a thousand years, he never would have given in to her. "My son is not a fool like his mother. He would think more of that poor wretch than to use her for his gains, and he would never put faith in you and your pretty tricks."

"Pretty tricks, are they? I was only trying to spare you, my friend, but have your own way."

"Is that what you wanted to see? Oh, do not look away now! Surely you have the stomach to see what he came to after you abandoned him, your beloved husband."

Anne cringed at this new vision of George, bloodied and gaunt. She had been taken in by this villain, yes, but also by herself. Whenever she quarreled with Fitzwilliam, she imagined his father over his shoulder, approving her actions. This was one of those matters where a parent must guide a reluctant child, she told herself, and certainly not an outrageous act of hypocrisy and selfishness. As long as George thought it was correct to surrender her children for her own happiness, it must be right. But George was gone, only a memory to which Anne was assigning the logic her own conscience would not bear. Her smiling, loving, happy husband was just a memory. Her guilt and her anger bubbled over.

"My mistake was agreeing to this stupid scheme in the first place! God forgive me for being taken in by such as you. There is nothing, not in Heaven or on Earth or in Hell that would tempt me to help you now!"

"Betraying me has consequences, Lady Anne."

Eyes flashing with anger, Anne grabbed the figure she had so long thought of as a shadow and slammed it against the wall. It writhed and struggled like a snake, but she held it firmly. "Angering me has consequences! Don't for a moment forget that I know your secret." For the first time, she saw fear in the other's eyes, and it swelled her confidence. "You will regret having ever existed, if you are found out."

"I could kill you right now."

She smiled dangerously, a lioness in the midst of the pretty little garden. "And yet I breathe, which tells me all I need to know. You will stay away from my family, from everyone I love or have loved, or I will dedicate my life, here and hereafter, to annihilating you!"

The shadow shrugged the lady off, having plans too important to be disrupted by this shrewish widow. The alliance might have hastened the journey, but one failure was a small matter. For every strong mind, there were ten that were feeble and easily controlled. There were easier minds to be had, better bonds to be forged. The path would still be cleared and the weak used to fell the strong. "Do not cross my path again, Anne Darcy."

The supernatural departure of her antagonist had knocked Anne over, but she gazed up happily. The night was clear. She remembered another clear night, a lifetime ago, in the garden of a cozy house worlds and worlds away from Verona. Just as they had found their proper place in that pretty little town, Anne found the sweet spot in George's arms. They looked up at the sky that had watched over them on their journey and remarked at how little it changed. The changes were all theirs - new home, new life, a new family.

"Family?"

"In seven months or so, yes. I'm hoping it's twins at least," Anne sighed. "If we're to have ten children, it would be convenient to carry them in pairs."

It was nearly midnight before Samuel could get back into the Duchess Gardens. He ran the distance from the gate to the Fountain Yard, but he wasn't too worried. Nobody had reported any trouble, and if anyone could handle trouble, surely Anne could? Indeed, she was waiting for him in one piece, nearly glowing with impatience.

"You are late."

"I had business."

"So did I, but I returned on time." With a very satisfied smirk, Anne joined her brother. "I will forgive you, but you had better arrive to Fitzwilliam's engagement party on time."

"What," he scoffed, "did you finally bully him into proposing to the Montague chit?"

"Hardly! That was a mistake, never to be thought - or spoken - of again. He's marrying Juliette Capulet." It was the first time Anne had said the words, and she liked them. "You must have seen them together at my brother's house. Maria said they all but took up residence in my brother's study while they drafted their contract."

"Is that what that was? Andrew's been insufferable for a week, like he found a bloody fountain of gold."

"Oh, I'm sure he sees a thousand benefits to him and his priorities. All that I care for is that my son is marrying for love."

Her brother nearly choked. "Since when?"

"Since right now, Samuel. Someday, if you ever grow a heart, you will understand."

"God forbid."

Next Post: "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."