Constance & Flynn (5) Flynn pressed his finger to her lips in an attempt to quiet her tirade, “I suggest your curb your tongue before you say something you shall surely regret.” Connie angry and her patience with his meddling worn thin shoved at him. Flynn caught off guard fell backwards and tumbled over the chair onto his back. Flynn just stared at the ceiling in shock querying his body wondering if she had broken anything. “Go away!” Constance shouted, and spun on her heel and stalked out the door. Flynn’s face clouded with confusion. Shouldn’t he be the one to be angry, mad, upset, frustrated? He was the one who had just been assaulted by a female! Of all people, a noble woman no less. Flynn sat up and adjusted his coat. Two footmen and a butler were standing their gawking. He nodded to them simply and left the room at a brisk pace. He planned to strangle Connie in her sleep. Suddenly a piercing scream shattered the very deceitful calmness of the house. Flynn’s blood froze in his veins. He broke into a run and looked down to see Connie crumpled at the foot of the stairs. He felt the same frightened emotions that he did when she fell ill at the house, he suddenly felt frantic as he stooped to her side within moments. He turned her over in his arms and gently tapped her face. “Come on, Connie, wake up. Come on you can do it wake up.” He start to feel along her head and arms and legs for any thing that was broken or swelled. He felt a burgeoning bump on the side of her head above her left ear and began to shout orders at the crowd of maids and footmen. “Get a doctor, I believe Lady Levenbaugh is injured.” He couldn’t believe he sounded so calm because on the inside he was in turmoil. He lifted her up into his arms and began to climb the stairs carefully. He signaled to a footman to show him to her chambers. Once they reached he laid her down on the large soft bed that dominated the room. Flynn turned to the footman and said quietly, “Make sure the doctor finds his way here, no delaying.” He looked down into her emotionless face. That face had been etched in his mind the whole time he was making a living for himself in France. He had come into a title of an old man he had befriended, and not to mention the title had money, he had become Lord Colbrook. Again he stared down into her face, with her eyes closed, and the firey hatred that burned inside her erased from her features it was impossible not to see why he had fallen in love. Little lines had appeared at the corner of her eyes, and in a sweep from her nose to the corner of her mouth. Even these new features had become dear to him. It was the same no matter how much she changed, and deep down he knew she felt the same. He thought curiously still no movement. Wait, that’s a lie, he thought, he saw a fluttering of her eyelids. “That’s right Connie, dearest, time for you to open those eyes so that I can look upon that face that has been in my mind since I first laid eyes on your stunning countenance.” She probably hadn’t heard half of what he said but it didn’t matter because he heard, and he knew he was sincere. She looked up and instead of having clouded confused eyes they were clear and comprehending. “I fell down the damn stairs.” Flynn smiled, and Connie smiled back, for a second he saw the old, happy Connie that he knew so well. Right before she cried out. Flynn stooped and asked her, “What’s the matter?” “My stomach, Please---“ Her plea was cut off by another cry of pain. Flynn dropped back from the bed and eyed her as she twisted and turned in pain. He slowly walked back to the bed as she reached a hand out to him and in a strangled whisper called his name. He pulled back the covers and saw her black skirts drenched in blood. Flynn paled visibly and looked wildly about. He wrapped her writhing body in sheets and carried her out the room. He saw the doctor walking at a slow crawl down the corridor. Flynn stumbled towards him and called, “She’s bleeding! For the love of God, move, move! He carried her back into the room and laid her on the bed. Her face had lost all color and sweat seeped from her fine pores. Her hair came loose from the bun and hung in long strand across her forehead and cheeks. She moaned loudly and convulsed on the wrinkled sheets. The doctor stepped behind him and said, “I’ll need lots of towels, sheets whatever, just linen. Bring water also, I’ll need you to bring a maid with you also I fear, my lord, your wife is having a miscarriage. Flynn nearly balked at the doctor that Connie was not his wife, until he realized that didn’t matter. She might die on that damn bed hating him, and her never knowing how much he cared. He hurried to do what the doctor had asked of him, and after it was completed his mind was full of doubts and regrets. He was sitting in the drawing room on the chaise lounge waiting for Naomi to come. When Naomi had gotten word of Connie’s miscarriage from a messenger she had the carraige prepared immediately. All the way there couldn’t think of anything else, but what Connie had done for her. She prepared a letter for Pamala to be sent with the messenger, she also deserved to know. Pamala’s countenance remained impassive as she read the message. “Serves the bitch right.” But nevertheless Pamala rode out and left to see her former friend. Flynn looked up to see the two grown women walking through the door. His breath caught in his throat. Pamala’s beauty had only grown and she was as regal as a queen. Her glorious black hair caught up in a coronet at the back of her head, little wisps coming around to tease her sensuous face. Her lips were generous and her nose although unremarkable was perfect. Her eyes were the same deep lovely blue as always. Even through the simple pale yellow gown it showed her curves in all the right places with the loose sleeves and hem. The laces of the front were pulled tightly but as far as he knew the lady tricks of using girdles wasn’t evident. Her pristine white gloves and slippers suited her to the “T”. Naomi looked elegant but faded in comparison to her partner. Her pale strawberry blonde hair had changed to pale blonde over the years. And her amber eyes were sharp and intelligent. Her frame was petite and still terribly thin. Her face was drawn and all color drained from it. The pure white gown she wore, along with white evening gloves and white slippers seemed out of place. She looked almost like a walking ghost. Flynn kissed each girl’s wrist dutifully and gave them the latest update on Connie’s condition. “She’s doing better. The bleeding has stopped but she is weak. You should see her now…she may not…she may not…” Pamala cut in, finishing where Flynn could not, “She’s going to be alright. Connie is strong. She wouldn’t give in to something like this. Come Naomi.” She swept from the room leaving behind the vague scent of flowers. Constance laid listlessly on the bed. She didn’t turn her head when she heard the door open. “Why didn’t I die?” she asked the person that had entered her room. Pamala answered coolly, “You weren’t meant to, you have to many things to do, to love, to hate, to be.” She held Connie’s hand. “You know something, I would not have come unless to make sure that you would live and I could keep on hating you. I have envied you and your life, you deserve to rot in hell. You have everything, including a man that has come back to you, except for the fact it took twelve years and your up there, twenty-eight is a very great age. Although he is thirty so its not that far apart but still very aged. Senility will soon be sneaking upon you.” Constance glared ungraciously at Pamala. “Pamala, you are beautiful, and I am aged and ugly, yet you are twenty-nine---” “And respected.” “And respected, how can you bring your wicked temper here?” “Then I will leave you.” Pamala left she descended the stairs perhaps hoping to bring cheer to Flynn’s disturbed countenance. Naomi merely moved to the bed and kneeled next to it, a silent tear trickling down her hollowed cheeks. Constance reached out and stroked the bangs from Naomi’s eyes. “Come, love, don’t cry. Not for me it will be all right.” The Naomi was coming out again, and it was scaring her badly, what she would give for Naomi to act with such vibrancy and life as she did at teatime. Naomi made a small noise in her throat, “I know.” Pamala sat on the settee next to Flynn and gently caressed his fingers, a minor comfort in the face of Constance’s tragedy. “’Tis for the best, you know. It was better this way. Now you can move in on her without the interference of the child.” Flynn looked at Pamala appalled. Her face remained emotionless but the eyes spoke to him. They held immense truth. No matter how callous those words sounded to his ears, they were right, and he could not deny them, not to her face. “Pamala how could I have hated you?” “Because I was bitch then and I’m not now, and I deserved to be hated. Now I believe I deserve your friendship, because I am most lovely and nice,” she smiled a small smile, careful not to wrinkle her brow. She’s not mean, just frank, blunt, and…haughty, he thought silently to himself, said aloud, “You have it.” She rose, “My work here is done. It seems that that girl upstairs needs you more than me. And you need her more than you need me. What is the world coming too? Not needing Pamala indeed. I’m sure Naomi will cheer me.” Flynn watched curiously as Pamala bustled out. He prayed that her husband was deaf and mute. It would prove beneficial to both parties. It made him wonder why Pamala disliked Connie so. He rose and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. He passed Naomi and Pamala on the way conversing, well more like Pamala talking, and Naomi bearing it in suffering silence. He stepped into the room and walked to the bed. Her frame was thin, and she had changed into a fresh nightgown. Flynn stroked her face lovingly before saying quietly, “How do you feel?” “As if I bled the only thing that matters away.” It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he had asked. “When will you be better?” “Never.” He watched helplessly as she laid there limply staring at the ceiling hating every moment she was there. She said quietly, “It was all Anthony had left me, his piece of him, I wanted it. I wanted him. But my own clumsiness brought around its own death. Mother should have strangled me at birth, ‘twould have done the world too much good. It was what all that he left me. He didn’t love me enough to stay with me!” She sobbed brokenly into the sheets. Flynn wanted to shake her and to hug her and tell her everything is all right. He did the latter. Constance quivered in his arms. She looked up at him shyly, ”’Twould be a sin to love you. Anthony would curse what’s left of me.” “Connie! You’re you. An individual. I—I—I—“ “Don’t say it. I don’t feel what you feel yet.” She shoved him away and fell back onto the twisted sheets. “Leave me I must think. I would like it if you would take refuge in an inn. My home is not welcome to you as long as I can’t keep an eye on your activities.” Flynn looked down at her. He was horrified. He couldn’t very well force himself into her home for good. He could do nothing but obey her wishes. He nodded and left the room. She was merely emotionally drained, and then anxious, then nervous, then hysterical, then emotionally drained again. Constance lay in bed and stared at the ceilings. She felt particularly empty after feeling so full. And the wave of sadness had not receded. She rolled over trying to get more comfortable but careful not to dislodge the cloths, she needed time to think. Pamala was right, she had a man that had come back to her and she planned to exploit it to the fullest. An affair was in order, of the highest scandalous degree. Connie began plotting it eagerly. Something good would come from it, even if it killed her. A Week Later Constance sat on the settee dressed in a lavender silk dress. The collar was low-cut and revealed most of her endowments. The dress itself was clinging in a seductive manner to her body. She chose to leave what she could bare and made sure, that her shapely ankles were peaking out from beneath the enticing dress. She had her hair up, and threaded through with a violet ribbon. A small smile played about her lips as she told the butler to let Flynn enter, who had come calling. Flynn stopped dead in his tracks when he laid eyes on Connie. She was unspeakably beautiful. Her hair had become longer from what he’d seen and the bountiful loose curls tumbled down her back, not bushy, just innocent yet so enticing. He strode over and kissed her wrist, she didn’t rise and curtsy just kept that small smile that meant nothing and everything. He took a seat directly across from her, and he breathed deeply as her delicate scent reached his nose. She looked much better, not as if she had lost something much too important to her life. She broke the silence with her calm words, “I’m glad to see you, Flynn.” Mustn’t come on to strongly, he might suspect something, she though inwardly. “Fine, Connie, the weather seems to agree with me.” “Everything does.” “Of course. It has been awhile. I have seen Naomi and Pamala frequently in town, and they have come calling here and at my room, to give me checks on your progress. I was very happy when I heard you started eating again.” Connie remained silent. Her eyes shuttered, it had been a war inside herself to eat anything, she hadn’t wanted to, but grief wasn’t supposed to hold her back. She was glad she had not confided in Naomi or Pamala they might have given away her whole ruse. She thrust forward chest as she stretched her back, hoping he would notice. Flynn’s form became rigid as he watched her rotate her back languid. “I’m terribly stiff, would you like to go for a walk? The weather is lovely as you have said.” Connie rose and waited for him to offer his arm. “Shall we go, love?” Flynn asked. Connie’s eyes flashed something fierce at his endearment, but she did not comment merely nodded demurely. Flynn’s mind was in turmoil, one minute she was brazen and flirtatious the next, an innocent maiden unaware of her effect on him. He unconsciously caressed her fingers as they strolled through the gardens. The scents and plant life were a mingling of the senses. They found a stone bench and rested there, because he could feel Connie’s very being on every nerve of his body. He was aware of everything, and when she began to pant from exertion he slowed his pace and found somewhere to rest. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, just there. Like something between old lovers, thought Connie, becoming comfortable. “I’m sorry, I still get a bit weary whenever I do things. It’s most bothersome, but what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” Flynn wondered, if she said that on purpose, and if it didn’t have a double meaning. She leaned into him as his hand stroked up and down her back making teasing circular motions with his hand. She looked up at him, and willed him to look at her until he did so. She parted her lips slightly in invitation and Flynn recognized her feelings. Flynn stopped rubbing her back abruptly and scooted away. He didn’t want to do anything with her that might jeopardize what he had worked so hard to build. His patience with her temper was going to pay off and he wasn’t going put in danger anything that was worthwhile, which was his relationship with her. Connie straightened. It hurt that he didn’t want her so to hide it she turned a bit and began commenting on inane things. “Aren’t the flowers absolutely lovely?” “Yes.” “I, er, I mean the gardeners have worked hard to bring them to this state of loveliness.” “Yes.” “I wish the manor had some vines on one side, it would be charming wouldn’t it?” “Yes.” “I’m wearing laced underwear, do you like them?” “Damn it Connie stop your games. You want something from me and I’m not giving it to you the way you are feeling now. It’s not out of love. It’s something different and impure, cold and calculating.” “I didn’t know you felt that way about me, and that’s the way I love. Foolish emotion really merely an unreal infatuation. Take what you get Flynn because that’s the way I am.” “No it’s not!” Flynn shouted back at her. Connie cowered under his severe gaze . She stood and glared at him, “Why must you always mess up a good thing? You never know, I might be loving you, or feeling a silly infatuation. May God help you Flynn, your going to hell for your inferior thinking! Think about someone else for a change and not how the world is supposed to be but what it is!” And with those damning words she picked up her skirts and ran back to the manor, all eyes from the servants to Flynn, were on her. Flynn had apologized inside his head countless times, and made up many excuses to his behavior and by the time they met at luncheon he had been forgiven in his eyes. Constance acted indifferent, but she looked gorgeous in the modest gray gown. Her hair tumbled in loose curls down her back held out of her face by a headband. She was composing a letter at her vanity when he walked in she spoke to a maid, “Maria, take this letter and give it any available footman. I want it given to Lady Noelle in person and no one else, understood? Give my best regards with this letter.” As the maid left she turned to him tossing her hair over her shoulder, “Luncheon, Flynn?” He merely nodded. He offered his arm and they made their way downstairs. “Flynn, you know what I think of every time we walk these stairs.” “Yes, but I would like you to tell me.” “My dead child and you. It’s not remembered fondly, so don’t think I’m becoming soft.” “Never.” “Anthony was better than all the others, including you.” “What brought that about?” he asked startled. She frowned up at him, “Just because I don’t care for the way you treat me life a daft cow to be led to the slaughter house. I’m not going to marry you Flynn, I just want to bed you.” Flynn stared at her, as she smiled wickedly up at him. He was tempted to say he wanted to bed her and marry her but instead he said the other that was on his mind, “I wish you wouldn’t do that. It leads to awkward moments.” “I was lying. I don’t want anything from you at the moment except to eat, and that is of the most purest nature.” They ate silently only pausing to comment on the quality of the food, which led to a bland conversation. Startling Flynn badly, when Jonathan the butler announced, “Damien Montague, Lord Byron.” Constance rose immediately straightening her clothing casting a sidelong glance at Flynn. She smiled wickedly
Copyright © 2002 Julissa Gayle Raven |