Angel of Ash (29 page)

“There is no call for anger, Asher, the fault lays with me, I simply placed the envelopes in your lady’s hands when I entered the library.”

It was too late, Asher wanted to say.

Angel paused, her hand trembling over four fallen envelopes, only two had been addressed to Asher. The four were for her. Two from her father, one from Hunter and one from her aunt. “These letters are mine sir,” she said excitedly. “My father!” She exclaimed, smiling widely.

Asher looked and could do nothing. Not now, not in front of Anthony. His fists tightened at his sides. No, it was unraveling, it all was coming undone. He watched as she excitedly opened the envelope from her father, reading through it hurriedly, a smile upon her lips, until she frowned, a deeper frown.

Anthony and Asher watched.

The same frown marred her face after she read the letters from Hunter and her aunt. She looked up with questioning eyes towards Asher who watched her broodingly.

“They say,” she began. “They say they have sent numerous letters and have worried over me. They say they have not received word from me. Yet, how can this be so? I have sent letter after letter. Nearly a dozen to each of them. They say I have not replied to any of their letters, but how can this be so?”

Asher did not speak.

Anthony stood, staring at Asher, he knew guilt, and he knew fear. “Asher, the lady has asked a question of you.”
Asher still did not speak.

“Asher!”
“Leave my home, Anthony,” he said slowly, coldly. “I sicken of your face mooning around my wife’s.”

“You sicken of your own blackened heart, you bastard.” Anthony returned. “Tell her; tell her why she has not received their letters! Tell her why her family and friends have received nothing from her!”

“Leave!” Asher yelled.

Anthony would not be stopped. He ignored Asher, turning towards Angel. “You see don’t you, you know why, don’t you. He’s kept them away from you, intercepted your letters. Don’t you see?”

Angel felt a rush of lightness blind her momentarily. She slowly as if under water turned her head slowly back towards Asher, who still stood tensely, angrily, daring her to question him. “Is this true?” She asked softly.

He did not answer.

She stayed seated upon the settee, the many letters in her hands, wondering how many she’d received, wondering so many things. She’d never get answers.

“Anthony, if you would kindly excuse me,” she said, standing up, the letters tightly clenched in her hands. She did not spare a glance at her husband, leaving the room and the intense silence.

“What is your problem?” Anthony asked as soon as Angel was out of ear shot. “Why would you do such a thing?”

But Asher would not answer him. He picked up his two letters, one from his mother, and another from a man of business. He sat upon a chair, opening the letters, ignoring Anthony, who marched towards a window, looking outward.

It was long moments before Asher would speak. “It was only a matter of time,” he said.

“What? That she found out what you were doing?”

Shrugging, he smiled bitterly. “Only a matter of time. I do not fault you, Anthony.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You have left your senses? You should fault yourself. Why do you treat her as you do? What evil has she done upon you?” He asked bewildered.

“If you do not mind, I do not feel like riding, you may excuse yourself.”

Anthony left angrily.

Angel did not come down from her room for dinner, nor did she come down for breakfast the next morning. Asher knew she pouted, upset with him, he thought of going to her, but decided not to. She’d get over her anger, he told himself. He wouldn’t utter that he missed viewing her face next to him, could not admit such things even to himself. He took out his anger out the servants, seeing they could do no right in his eyes. On the third day of her isolation, he’d had enough, stomping from the breakfast room where he’d dined alone and to her room, turning the doorknob.

It was locked.

He swore angrily. Turning towards his room and entering the hallway which led to her door. That to was locked against him. Three hard raps he gave her to answer him. “Open this door.” He bit out angrily.

Silence reigned. He used his booted feet to knock the door aside, angry and deep inwardly down, hurt.

She jumped, fleeing to the other end of the room, staring at him, her chest rapidly rising and falling. “What do you want?” She cried. “There is no more pain you can inflict upon me! No more words that will hurt me as have done already. So what do you want?” She cried.

He stood still, watching her like a hawk. “You shall not lock your door towards me.” He finally spoke softly.

She laughed, wildly, wickedly. “I grow mad, here, with you! I will leave, Asher, my father is already sailing here. I am leaving.”

“Never!”

“Why! You don’t care for me! How could you hate me so much when all I ever wanted to do was love you,” she began, her voice dropping, tears falling from her face. “All I ever want to do is love you.”

“You should not discontinue.” He managed to say.

She laughed. “Oh, Asher, don’t you see, you don’t want my love. You want me to hate you for some reason. Well, you won, are you happy? I don’t hate you and I don’t love you, I am so tired. Soon, I will give birth and I am so tired, all I want is peace. All I want is to be free from you.”

He shook his head numbly. “No, there is no freedom, you’re mine, you will reside here, and you will stay with me.”

The little fight which she had seemed to have left her, she whittled in front of him, became so very small and vulnerable. “You are my end, Asher, I see it now.” She spoke quietly, gravely. “A great evil will occur. You should rejoice, then. You will be free of me.”

He could say nothing, trepidation racing his heart. What mysteries did she speak of? What horrors did she utter against him? “I know not of what you speak of. You shall reside here, I will allow your father visitation if you so wish it.”

He turned at his last spoken words, intent on leaving when just moments before he’d wanted nothing more than to be near her. Yet, her words scared him, shook him to his very core. A warning, they were uttered in, a warning.

“Asher!” Angel called after him. “No more, Asher, I cannot take a moment more of your hate. Whatever wrong I have done you forgive me but a moment more of your hate will send me to an asylum. No more, Asher, I am your wife, I am your family. Respect me as I have respected you. You are not my jailor, you are my husband. Give me the respect due me.”

Asher did not respond.

Angel turned upset, but grim resolution in her. She was so tired. Instead, she dressed, ignoring the shattered door that led to Asher’s room.

“Where is my husband?” She asked Mrs. Bates moments later, downstairs.

“He has left for his office, my lady,” Mrs. Bates said.

“
But, my lord, gave orders,” Mrs. Bates began stammering. “You weren’t to leave, without…his,” she tried to say.

“
My husband and I have come to an understanding, Mrs. Bates have a carriage at my disposal or I will walk to my destination, it matters not to me. I have no jailor nor slaver in this household. Do not dare question me again.”

Mrs. Bates thinned her lips nodding resolutely before turning away; she didn’t allow the mistress to see the smile that played upon her face. Angel waited in the front hall less than ten minutes before the groomsman announced his arrival. She left Asher’s house in which she had been a prisoner in for more than three months, sickened at her weakness for allowing her own self imprisonment. Asher’s betrayal had delineated all forms of loyalty. She cared not at his approval at his anger for her actions. He would always find some excuse; always find her lacking and wanting.

“
Where to, my lady?” the head groomsman said, in his splendid red livery, a jockey hat sitting on his dark hair rakishly.

“
Anthony Hawthorne’s residence if you please, the master’s cousin,” she stated emphatically before being escorted inside.

He whipped his horses and they were off momentarily, and she smiled, quite happy, free, a weight having been lifted, away from Asher’s damned house and many mood swings.

Anthony lived less than ten minutes away from Asher in a stately townhome, she knocked smartly upon the door, giving the groomsmen’s orders that she would be no more than an hour. It was still early yet, just eleven in the morning. She cared not for protocol, the ways of English society. For once in her life she would be the bearer and deliverer of her own tidings.

It was Anthony himself who opened the door, staring at her wearily, but with no small smile.

“
And what do I owe this pleasure, my lady?” He said, escorting her inside, perusing a curious look out into the street, Asher missing.

“
Owe your pleasure, to my curiosity, Anthony,” she began, allowing him to take her light cloak, bereft of a bonnet. Anthony could sense the difference in her from three days ago, the grim resolution.

He escorted her to his study, ringing a bell for refreshments before sitting himself across from her, curiously intent, but aware of her femininity the improperness of their actions.

“
Asher will always grow…anxious, no matter what I do, Anthony, I will not blacken my soul to save his anymore. I am married not a slave.”

“
Well said, my lady,” he said, pausing when a cart was rolled in by a maid who looked at the two questioningly. However, she set up the refreshments and then left, her feet near flying, Anthony stood, closing the door soundly behind the two as Angel poured their tea.

“
Now, tell me why my husband hates me so,” she said softly, allowing Anthony’s gasp of breath, his choking fit to subside before she added one last word to her unusual question. “Please, Anthony,” she pleaded softly.

“Asher does not hate you, my lady-”

“
No, please, no. Do not whitewash the black horror of our marriage, I bid of you. I am quite fond of you, Anthony. I appreciate your humor and your loyalty to my husband and your befriending me. But more than that, I appreciate your honesty. Now, please, I am asking you to tell me why my husband hates me so.”

Anthony paused, his sight upon the opened French doors, it was a balmy spring day. The sun was out. All should be right with the world and yet here he sat contemplating on breaking this lady’s heart. “Asher had a hard life, my lady. It should have seemingly all been well, especially with a family such as his. Now, you must understand what I tell you is known to only his immediate family and then what I will tell you, well, some of it only known to me.”

“I understand, Anthony.”

“When Asher was six he was in a horrid accident. He fell down a chasm upon his parent’s property. He went missing for more than seven days. When they finally found him, he was half-dead. His family, of course, were able to nurse him back to health during the ensuing months, but something, perhaps the fear broke his mind in some horrid form. There was something not quite right with Asher after those days. He rarely spoke, was withdrawn and distant. The only peace he had was with Hunter, she somehow managed to stem the fear within him. A little more than a year later he witnessed a man brutally stabbing his wife and child in the village, Asher tried to stop the man, just eight years old and was nearly killed. He had more than six stab wounds to his body. Once again he danced at death’s door. When he healed from those wounds Asher did not speak for more than six months. The doctors feared for his sanity, there was talk among the villagers that he was haunted, that the devil followed him. It was during that time that he met her. She was a villager of the upper level. Her father owned his own farm, was related to titled gentry in London, her mother was dead.”

“What was her name?”

“Deborah.”

“Please continue, Anthony.”

“He started speaking again, started smiling ever so often. But there is also a madness in our..the Hawthorne family…dark melancholia, some of our family members have it, our uncle, Timothy…Hunters’ abuser, grandfather. A madness that even the Lady Maria’s many cures…cannot cure. Mind you I grew up with the brothers, and Asher and I are of the same age and the closest of cousins and friends. He is like a brother to me, they all are. During the next few years Asher’s life was indeed endangered and after every horror he faced, what had made Asher who he is now started slowly building. Pain, fear hurt festered within him even when he fell head over heels in love with Deborah when he was but nine years of age. They were nearly inseparable. The families made no qualms that they favored the two young lovers. It was only Deborah who seemed able to calm the demons which haunted and chased Asher. Often. They married in secret at 16 years of age, but told no one. Asher was so honorable, once upon a time ago. He would not lay with her until she was his wife. But Deborah wanted a large wedding, and Asher, Asher wanted whatever Deborah wanted. So he waited as the wedding was being planned and they lay together as man and wife. The love he had for her, she could do no wrong in his eyes. When they turned nineteen, they wedding was finally in plans, the parents deemed the two ready, Deborah was pregnant, and they were to be married…this time in front of the family. But,”