Lady Trent (4 page)

“No, no,” he corrected, “not in such a way
as to reverence and minister to the poor and needy, but…but as my
wife.”

She went still while he lowered her hands.
“It is surely a shocking request, but the very reason I sent for
you. Because I remembered the goodness of your heart and am
convinced, especially now, that you would make me happy these last
days of my life—however many remain. No man of my line has lived to
see an old age, and I am now forty-nine. I have a sickness that
comes and goes; these days more often than once upon a time.”

“But Lord Trent, I am—“

“—I know.” He gazed at her as if he already
loved her, his expression so soft and gentle, so kind. Her heart
went out to him. “I know the manner of woman you are and I assure
you…I will not press you to lose your virtue. You may keep it. That
will be an agreement between you and I so that after I die you may
return the same as you are, if you wish. Please. Consider it.”

She looked down and then back up at him
before giving her head a hesitant nod. “I will consider,” she said,
certain she’d just told a fib. How could she consider it? It was
completely impossible.

“Two days,” he kindly suggested. “And if you
would be my guest here…A room has been prepared for you. At the end
of the second day you may give me your answer. Whatever the answer,
you and I shall be at peace.”

He offered a comforting grin, patting her
hands before releasing them, and walked toward the door. “Edwin,”
he called out. The doors opened and one of the guards stepped
inside. Jacob motioned for her. She came near to join him.

“Show the lady to her quarters.”

“Yes, sir,” he obliged, and swept her
away.

******

She not very much later sought solace in the
chapel…at the altar where she knelt and prayed.

“I know this is not your doings,” she
whispered. “It…it cannot be. But such a donation could go so far.
When I think of what could be done.” She sat up. “But I have taken
my vows. Will I break them now? Is any sort of charity worth
it?”

She pulled herself up and covered her face
with her hands. Of course she could not break her vows. Then again
she did not want to pass up such an offering for the people.

She dropped her hands, staring up toward the
ceiling. “What shall I do?” She lowered her face, an idea coming to
her. “If this is to be so, give me a sign,” she prayed. “Please,
there must be some sort of sign.” She glanced about, her eyes
coming to rest upon the gloom of unlit lamps and candles. “The
lamps,” she quietly pointed out. “If this is what you want me to
do.” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Nothing
happened. “The candles, then,” she observed, and still nothing. “If
you would only give me a sign,” she pled. “If you do not, I…I…” She
slouched. It was no use. There was no use tempting God.

“It has been written,” said a voice from out
of nowhere, “not to tempt him.”

Her body stiffened and her blood went cold.
She swung around toward the direction of the voice—the entrance
where an elderly man with a long grey beard to match long grey hair
stood gaping upon her. His large frame was clad in a thick, black
robe, and one hand clutched the curved handle of a cane which he
used to make his way down the aisle. He had a patch over one eye,
and a slight limp, she noticed, as he came forward.

She had raised a hand to her heart which had
skipped a couple of beats. “Sir,” she breathed, “you startled
me.”

“Yes, yes, I see.” He came to stand across
from her, resting his palms on the crook of his cane. He glanced
toward the left and then to the right before simply asking, “What
are you doing?” Very thick brows only
seemed
to be drawn
together. A natural crease between them made them appear so.

“I…” She glanced down and up and over. “I was
just…” How could she explain herself? She only brought herself to
ask, “Who are you?”

“Ah!” Lips pressed together, he grinned. “I
knew exactly who you were upon sight yet you do not know who I
am.”

“I am sorry but how am I to know?”

“Perhaps if I was donning brown or white
opposed to this you would have some idea.”

She studied his black robes, thought for a
moment before guessing, “The priest?”

He slightly bowed his head. “Father Nelson,
it is.”

She again looked him up and down, judging his
apparel which he noticed her doing. “I suppose black is not the
most appropriate color when it comes to the Sacred Orders…that is,
according to your standards.”

“Well, no, not exactly. White is the
preferred color, but not the whitest.”

“That is in
your
town,” he corrected.
“And I suppose the setting here is quite different as well.”

“Your temples and chapels are much more
extravagant than those in Westerly. Extraordinary.”

“Yes,” he agreed taking a look about himself.
“We of the Western cities do appreciate having fine things to look
upon.”

“The people of Westerly will be fascinated
when I tell them about it.”

“Indeed,” he plainly agreed, leaning on his
cane. “Then you have decided to return?”

“Yes,” she said, and then with furrowed brows
guessed, “You know about the proposal?”

“Ah, ah, yes, indeed I do…and perhaps a
choice other. I like to think of being the first to hear of it.
Jacob brought the idea to my attention some time ago. Heeeee, um,
asked my opinion of it.”

“Then you are a confidante of his.”

“I have advised him in all sorts of
perils…some pertaining to matters of the heart…some the soul…and,
um, others more natural.”

“Then he values your opinion,” she guessed.
“I assume you agreed seeing as to how I am here in this place
seeking an answer as to what I should do.”

“Oh, yes, I did agree. But this, my child, is
a decision he would have made with or without my consent. No matter
the case he would have followed his heart.”

Her shoulders were not so straight anymore.
She’d quickly fallen into an even deeper state of utter perplexity.
“I do not understand. There must be hundreds of women in New Ebony,
all at his disposal. He could certainly have whomever he chooses.
Out of them all…?” She could go no further.

“But if it were so that he could have
whomever he chooses? Well, then, you would not be here in this
place seeking such answers. You have
become
a choice.”

She found the statement to be very
unsettling.

“These other women…” he gave one hand a
casual flip. “Their nature does not quite line up with what he
perceives would make him happy. Now, I was not granted the
privilege of reading this message of yours. From what I hear it was
quite poignant.”

“Poignant?”

“Touching.”

“Oh.”

“To the best of my knowledge it was destroyed
although he does claim to recall it word for word by memory alone.
But I was rarely granted access to the palace in those days. Since
his heart has been renewed he keeps me close at hand.” He observed
the unlit candles and lamps. “Seeking an answer, eh?”

Having been caught bargaining made it seem
all the more ridiculous than what she’d actually felt doing it to
begin with. She was a bit embarrassed by it all.

“I fear making the wrong decision. How am I
to make it at all? After all, the people of Westerly are very much
in need. But who am I to give up my heavenly vows in exchange for
earthly ones?”

He thought for a moment before saying,
“Certainly, yes-yes, certainly.”

“Then you agree with me?”

“I mean, certainly I see your point.” He
chuckled quietly. “Who am I to question another’s convictions
concerning such things, what they feel is their vocation, whether
it is or is not genuine, is or is not temporary or eternal.”
Turning, he used his cane to step nearer the altar. It was then she
noticed its remarkable design. Indescribable. It spiraled down in a
snakelike form, aligned from top to bottom with rubies of various
colors. Very intriguing “You are spoken of well,” he commented,
“Rachel the Elder, known for her piety and sincerity, her
generosity and intelligence…her ability to practice these things
without impudence, and to teach matters pertaining to charity and
truth with all modesty. Rachel the Elder whose only fault is an
occasional bout with the temper.”

She was caught off guard by these
descriptions. The final one especially fazed her. She frowned
heavily upon it. “That is spoken of as well?”

“Hum?” Lips pressed together, he nodded.

“I have done well to control it over the
years,” she defended. She tilted her head to the side. “How would I
be spoken of at all?” She asked, and then again recalled his
mention of her temper. “Even
that
people have heard of?”

“Even that,” he agreed.

She expelled a deep breath. “I would not have
guessed.”

“Tell me,” he urged. “Have you and those in
Westerly ever heard of a Father Nelson?”

She smiled compassionately. “I cannot say so,
no. I am sorry.”

“No need to apologize, child. Westerly is a
secluded place. I assume the citizens have not even heard of such
men as Mosley or Nathalie.”

She thought for a moment before simply
studying him with clueless eyes.

He grinned at her. “Then I shall not be
offended.” With that he eased down to sit on the top step of the
altar, very carefully as if to not hurt himself. “Have you any
other faults?” He came to ask. “Other than this temper that
occasionally gets the best of you.”

“Well, I am certain there are unfavorable
things about myself that I do not see.”

“Westerly produces fine people,” he
decided.

“And you?” She found herself asking.

He laughed silently. “I have many faults.
Some are quite apparent, others not.”

“I suppose that to be the case with us
all.”

“Yet you can name nothing in reference to
your own. I, on the other hand, do not find it difficult at all to
do so.”

“Your title speaks for itself. I am certain
you are a commendable man to be here in this position.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “I help guide the
people and they overlook my imperfections.”

“What sort of imperfections?” She carefully
prodded.

“Well,” he held onto his cane, staring
outward past her left side. “Let’s see, I, um, have been known to
drink too much wine on occasion.”

“I suppose that could be overlooked.”

“I once took a man’s life, although in
defense of my own…if it is to be justified at all.”

“That could certainly be forgiven.”

“I also have three sons, each by a different
mother, and two daughters of the same.”

“Oh,” she replied, humbly startled by the
confession.

“That, child, was many years ago. I was
young, and quite dashing if I do say so myself.”

“And the people allowed you to stay here in
the…?” She stopped. “Forgive me, I—I should not pry. But I have
never heard of such a thing.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Things are done
quite differently in Westerly.”

“Well, I have not heard of such a profession
of guilt, not amongst a member of the High Clerics. Our town has
not been faced with any such problem.”

“Perhaps a man with, um, say clerical
ambitions in the same situation would venture away from Westerly
opposed to risk becoming a spectacle.”

“No,” she disagreed. “The people are very
swift to forgive. Everyone knows this.”

He grinned. “Yes. Yes, I suppose.” He took
hold of his cane to pull himself up. She instantly went to him,
taking his arm to assist…not that it was necessary. He seemed able
enough. He straightened himself, patted her on the shoulder. “Go
now, get some rest. Unless, of course, you wish to remain and
wait.”

“Should I wait?”

“I imagine you already know what to do.
Although,” he glanced about, “such a thing as candles and lamps
lighting themselves would be nothing short of a remarkable
observance.”

His wise old unpatched eye met hers. She
smiled at him, and even laughed. “I’ll walk with you.”

CHAPTER THREE

She slept peacefully that night in the
comforts of a very exquisite chamber. The room was the coziest, and
certainly the most sophisticated she’d ever occupied. Its size
alone was likely equal to that of dozens of her small, humble rooms
combined. She imagined the furnishings cost more than that of all
the citizens of Westerly’s combined.

At first she’d paced back and forth across
the floor, a finger to her chin examining the proposal, and once
and for all decided that she would certainly decline it.

But she imagined what it would be like to
live in such a place, to be married to such a man as Jacob Trent.
He was not only wealthy, as she now saw for herself, but also
rumored to be the emperor’s most favored noble. Oh, and he was
handsome as well, and tall and strong. She would be the envy of
every available woman in the Great City and beyond. She would have
no need for anything, and actually have more than required.

Of course this didn’t line up with her
vocation. She could not indulge in such a lifestyle, nor could she
simply abandon her calling and the citizens of Westerly. They
needed her. No, she decided, she was called to be as she was and so
she would stay.

She awakened that morning to a tapping on the
door. The maiden, Tilly, who’d been assigned to assist during her
stay entered with a tray and offered her breakfast.

“Good morning, milady,” she kindly greeted.
Rachel sat up stretching. She thought of how well she’d slept, also
considered the title she’d by now been referred to as oodles of
times—milady. How could one adapt?

Tilly came forward and positioned the tray
across her legs then went about straightening the room although
hardly in need of it.