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Blue Eyes & Broken Hearts
Topic Started: Nov 27 2010, 09:38 PM (189 Views)
Margaret de Burgh
Unregistered

How it had all come to this, Margaret de Burgh simply did not know. The reality of the entire situation left her complete and utterly unsure of what the future would hold for her. There was some peace in knowing that was in the past, stayed in the past – but what was in the past now most assuredly sat beside her as they made their way to the manor house just outside the city. So it had come to this. Her little girl nearly on her death bed, the love of her life dangled in front of her like low hanging fruit. Nothing could ever be simple for the Baroness. Nothing could ever be simple for Margaret Thompson. No, she thought to herself, that was a lie. It had been easy to fall in love with Arthur Chamerlyn. It had been easy to let herself go in him, to believe in happiness and a bright future. What had not been easy, however, was being so cruelly torn from him.

Every so often, she would let herself glance over to him and take the quick second to take in his features. She noted how he had changed after so many years, but also how he remained the same. Margaret wanted so much to reach over and take his hand in hers, but there was a wall between them she could not break down. Perhaps it was because she knew it was wrong. It was unbecoming of a baroness and would shame her husband. Despite his cruelty, she had never shamed the man who had been the father to his daughter. Now did not seem an appropriate time to start, even though the circumstances seemed extreme and no one would ever see.

Instead, she remained silent during their trip. He had just learned of grave and sad news, it seemed unfair to rip him from his thoughts, which must have been depressing indeed. Instead, she looked out the carriage and counted the trees as they went by. A medial task that kept her from dwelling on what was about to happen. What would he do when he saw Elizabeth so weak and ill? Surely he could not prepare himself for that. It was so very unfortunately that he was going to see her in this state, but she could not risk him never seeing her. That seemed, in a way, far more painful. But she really couldn’t say either way anymore. At his point, she was past using logic and was using her instincts. Luckily for her, they involved quite a bit of reasoning.

They began to pull into the pathway that led to the manor in which they were staying. In all actuality, she was relieved to be close to her daughter again. It had seemed like such a very long time and in Elizabeth’s state, Margaret was concerned that she’d leave the room for a moment and never see her again. Her race began to race, though outwardly she stayed strong and calm. “We are here.” They pulled up to the manor and two servants took to attending to them. And she led him inside, dismissing the two before retreating further into the house.

The house was nothing overly special, but it was obvious the owner’s held some sort of rank. It was nothing compared to her manor back home though. But to Elizabeth, it hardly mattered. It was conveniently close to London and comfortable. That was all that truly mattered to her. She took off the cloak she wore over her gown and laid it over a chair then look back at him. “Arthur…. I…” She paused and looked down, then tried again. “Please know that I would never want this for you. For us. For her.” At that, her eyes started to tear up and this time, she didn’t hold them back. “She is the most precious thing you could ever imagine. Her laugh is contagious. Her eyes are as bright as yours… She loves tales of old England and named her horse Merlin. I guess what I’m trying to say is… she is more than the girl lying there. Just promise me you’ll remember that.” Her sad eyes then looked away and she walked towards the door that led to Elizabeth’s room and then opened it. The door swung open and Margaret looked over to her sweet daughter. “I am back, my darling girl.” She cooed to her, though she most likely could not hear. ”And someone wanted to see you and wish you well.” Margaret smiled as best she could and then took a seat in a chair situated right next to the bed. It was where she spent most of her time.

The girl laid there limply, her breathing heavy and labored. There were signs on her arms that they had performed blood letting on her and beads of sweat formed on her brow. Margaret took a wet cloth from a bowl and pressed it against her forehead, then gently tucked the girl’s thick brown hair behind her ears. Margaret's bright blue eyes looked over to Arthur, beckoning him to come closer. Tears ran down her face and now, in the privacy of the home, she would not rub them away.
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Arthur Chamerlyn
Unregistered

If Arthur had ever thought he was at a loss for words, then he had been sorely mistaken. Now, today, the Marquess had never experienced something so utterly silencing. It practically drew the breath right out his chest, and to say the least, Arthur wasn't sure when he was going to get it back. He'd watched Margaret leave the Chapel with a heavy heart and a dizzy head, the first love of his life and mother of his only child taking him by more than just surprise. When they met later and joined in the carriage she'd called for, Arthur's muscles still hadn't relaxed. His back was kept straight and tall against the cushion of the carriage, and his eyes trained firm out the window flap.

Though he'd practically counted the trees as they went by, Arthur hadn't noticed when they neared the manor. His head whipped around to face Margaret as she quietly announced their arrival, hardly missing the sort of hesitance in her voice. He followed silently out of the carriage, feeling ultimately misplaced amongst his surroundings. It was like seeing the life he'd be living if things had been different. It was surreal and put him in a sort of mindless faze as they entered the house. Choosing to keep his coat draped about his shoulders, Arthur took a quick, perhaps fearful glance around. Never had he felt the way he did now... completely indescribable.

"Just promise me you'll remember that." Arthur looked at Margaret, his skin pale but expression otherwise composed. The edges of his lips turned upwards into a low, pitiful smile, one that took every fiber of his being to produce. The tears at the brim of her eyes threatened this stoicism, though, and had to breathe a silent sigh of relief as she turned away and hid those sorrowful eyes of hers. The sorrowful eyes of a beautifully devoted mother that he could think of no one better for Elizabeth. He followed slowly, cautiously, as if he were scared of what he was about to see. As he passed through the doorway, the oceanic storm of his gaze drifted to the foot of the bed, where he saw the tiny rise of what were her two little legs beneath the blankets, outstretched and dense. Then her rapidly rising and falling torso, as if every breath was clung to. Arthur's heart was breaking by the second, and by the time he finally saw her face, he had all but completely shattered.

Never had Arthur seen something so innocent. And so beautiful. Behind the horrifying illness, he could see the bright, precious girl Margaret had so emphasized. He had imagined her for years before, but none of those silent depictions came close to doing Elizabeth any justice. He approached slowly, his legs suddenly two steel weights as the distance between father and daughter, for the first time, closed. Arthur expelled a long breath as he lowered himself to his knees at her bedside, Margaret on the other. He rested each of his arms on the space beside the girl, seeing the ultimate balance of the two parents in her little, sweat-beaded face. "Elizabeth..." he whispered a little agonizingly, his brows knitting together as the sheer helplessness began to settle unwelcomingly about him. His eyes, too, began to sting with such unfamiliar tears, a throbbing lump rising in his throat and a subtle tremble overtaking his lips. This was his daughter, someone who he thought he'd never meet. That he might end up passing her in a hallway and not having a single inkling as to who's blood ran through her veins. But he would know now. Even though she was only a child and riddled with a defacing illness, Arthur could never mistake who was his daughter.

"You were right," he spoke lowly, "she is.. quite the Lady." There was a sad smile that somehow managed to find his mouth. His eyes flickered over the bed and to Margaret, her cheeks stained red with desperate tears. "We mustn't stop the bleedings.." the Marquess knew full well how uncomfortable such a procedure was, but there was something in Elizabeth's body that had to get out. For the sanity of numerous of people. "You cannot drain her, though.. she's so small.." his eyes drifted to the girl's arms, the tell-tale marks of just how many times her skin had been sliced into. He winced inwardly, sighing to himself. "I will send for my personal physician in Powis... he might have something to offer." At this point, there was no mistaking the mirroring desperation in Arthur's face as he looked over at the mother of his child.

"I.. I know these are not my decisions to make, but I need to help, Margaret."
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Margaret de Burgh
Unregistered

Margaret could only hope that Arthur could keep it together in front of their child. The last thing Elizabeth needed was to see her father completely fall apart in front of her. It was also the last thing Margaret needed, really. This had been a battle she had fought essentially alone. For whatever reason, the Baron had put the little girl completely in her hands and if she died, she knew that she would bare sole responsibility for it. She nearly winced at the thought. Margaret couldn't allow herself to think such thoughts. A life without Elizabeth was no life at all.

To make matters worse, she had been unable to produce an heir for the man. She could not fault herself, since she had once conceived, but she could not reveal such a thing to him. She too would bare responsibility for that as well. Sooner or later, the Baron would care that he did not have an heir. Sooner or later, she would begin to pay the price for it. It did not matter how many times he forced himself on her, however. Margaret was convinced that they could not conceive. But she couldn't think of such things now. She could not think of the son that would never be when she had to focus on the little girl she had been blessed with.

Elizabeth laid there limply, struggling for every movement. Every breath. She was so weak she could barely open her eyes and so they stayed relaxed and shut. Margaret reached out and held the girl's hand in hers, her thumb rubbing tenderly across the child's ashen skin. The small palm of her hand was sticky with sweat and cold to the touch. A physical reminder of how ill the little girl was. When Margaret did speak to her, she groaned in non-response. It was typical now. When she had stopped speaking was when the Baroness had insisted on coming to London. But despite how sick Elizabeth was, Margaret still thought she was the most beautiful thing she'd laid her eyes on. She was perfect to her mother and that would never change, no matter how sick she got. But she would get better. She would. There was no other option.

Margaret was teetering on a precarious moment. She had never felt such a tremendous amount in such a short period of time. Elizabeth's illness alone had left her in a fragile state. And now, as she glanced across the bed, she saw Arthur. Oh god, she thought to herself. He did not notice her watch him, but she did. The pain on his face reminded her of her own. What had she done? How could this have been a good idea? Then he said his daughter's name and an instant, her heart broke into a million pieces. Margaret had tried to keep it together. She had used all her energy to pray, to hope and to keep her from losing it. Her eyes burned as yet another set of tears pushed their way to her eyes. Could she survive this? Her head bent down to the bed and she kissed Elizabeth's small hand. She rested her forehead against the little hand and prayed, the tears streaking down her face as she could no longer hold them back. Margaret was at a breaking point and she was, for all intents and purposes beginning to crack. It was all too, too much.

Then his voice broke the silence again. This time he was speaking to her. She straightened herself up and pulled a handkerchief off the bureau next to the bed and dried the tears from her face. "You were right. She is quite the lady." Elizabeth smiled through her pain. To hear those words from Arthur -- well, it was all she had ever asked for. She never thought, however, that it was possible to ever hear them. But there they were... hanging in the air between them. "I do believe she gets that from her mother." She managed to crack a smile, shocked at her own attempt at humor in such a moment. His next words sent her soaring back into reality. He was telling her not to stop the blood letting and that he would send for his own physician. Margaret nodded. "So long as the physicians advise it. And please do not feel obligated to send for your own, Arthur. I do not wish to put you in an incomparable position. It is the last thing I want for you."

For the first time in all of this, she felt as if she wasn't alone. Arthur was here with her and he was being a father to Elizabeth-- well, as much as he could possibly be. If only... Margaret had to stop herself there. This was all it was going to be, was it not? She then felt herself standing, though what had caused her to rise she did not know. Margaret slowly made her way to Arthur's side of the bed and then sat on it next to him as he knelt. What happened next was as if something had inhabited her body and it was acting on its own. She reached for his hand and then took it to her lips, kissing him at his knuckles. "You must know, Arthur, that you will always be her father in my eyes. You taught me to love first and she has taught me how beautiful it was. I would not change you or her for anything in the world."

Margaret's eyes looked into his, the truth and sincerity in her gaze could not have been lost on him. She would, of course, had changed the situation they had been forced into. She would change meeting again, like this. But the simple truth was that she could not change anything at all. Margaret, however, would not wish to change what they had shared those seven some years ago. And she would have been lying to herself if she thought she did not feel even the smallest amount of that as she sat there, so very close to him again.
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Arthur Chamerlyn
Unregistered

Poor, poor Elizabeth. Was this how he was going to remember his only daughter? Had The Fates been so "kind" as to bring them together before they took her away? Arthur couldn't think like that... he had to have hope, even through what looked to be sheer hopelessness across Elizabeth's pale, sunken face. He so badly wanted to grasp her hand, to squeeze her little body like all the times he imagined himself doing in the past. But she was so frail, so weak, Arthur was afraid he'd break her. Or even make her more sick.

He watched Margaret across the bed, her forehead pressed solemnly to her -their- daughter's hand. He sighed deeply, hoping to hide the fear he held for the poor Elizabeth. His eyes followed Margaret as she suddenly moved to his side, taking his hand in hers and pressing her lips to his knuckles. The warmth and softness of her mouth was so achingly familiar, even to the skin stretched across his hand. Arthur sighed again, his eyes soft and consistent on what was the mother of his child. He slowly lifted his free hand and touched his open palm to her cheek, his fingertips clearing her face of any stray tendrils as a small smile spread to his lips. "Your humility astounds me... always has." He replied breathlessly, suddenly closing his eyes and drawing in to press a warm, long kiss to her forehead.

"I will send for my physician. He needs to find worth of his pension, anyhow." Arthur chuckled lightly, trying as hard as he could to keep from having a nervous breakdown. He smiled at her, probably in attempts to comfort them both. "I would not change you or her for anything in the world." His gaze was, for the most part, alight and gentle on the Baroness's smooth -though distressed- features. He had often wondered what he was missing in the life of his child and first love, wondered how badly he was missed.. if he was at all. Now was one of those times, watching the face of the woman he'd once devoted his entire being to. "And as her father," he began, the tone in his voice implying only what these two knew. "I beg her mother to never lose faith. If she is anything like me..." he trailed off, diverting his eyes back to Elizabeth. "Then she has to recover."

Expelling a quick breath, Arthur stood from his knees and held out his hand to Margaret for assistance once she stood from her own. "And with her mother's goodwill.." he smiled again, albeit haphazardly. "Then we'll see her through this." The Marquess could do nothing more than pull the woman into his broad chest, wrapping his arms around her. Never in a hundred years did Arthur ever think he'd find himself standing here. Under this very roof. He breathed deeply at her proximity, briefly relishing in the smell of her perfume and the soap on her skin. After all these years, Margaret Thompson was still so beautiful.

Just then the bedroom door swung open, appearing a a man in white and black robes with a leather bag over his shoulder. The doctor. Arthur heaved a sigh of relief as he took a careful step away from Margaret, nodding to the man and bowing customarily at the waist. Wanting nothing more than the care for his daughter, Arthur moved quickly to make way for him, taking only a single glance over his shoulder as he departed through the very doorway the doctor had arrived through. Once relieved of the sights in the other room, the Marquess put a hand to his forehead. "Where did you say your husband was?" He asked aloud, assuming Margaret had followed him, as he settled himself in a chair at a wooden table. "I assume I will need to be meeting him soon.. for the both of you will start seeing much more of me."
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Margaret de Burgh
Unregistered

The feeling that swept over her from being so close to Arthur again after so long seemed to bury itself in delay, but it finally hit her with a finality she had never felt before. And it was, perhaps, not just their closeness but instead the reality of it all that made Margaret feel as if she was floating. She could not tell, however, if the feeling was good or if it was bad. Instead, it seemed more of a suspended state of memories from long past, clouded with a hesitation about what exactly was going on. She wanted, more than anything, to give into it all. To ignore the realities of the world they lived in and to think that she and her first love could have another try at happiness. This, she knew well, could not be. Could it? Margaret could not even begin to allow herself such thoughts. It seemed as if time was moving so very slowly, but only hours had passed since him happening upon her in the chapel. Mere hours and yet it seemed like days.


Margaret could only look upon him in a wonderment that border lined on reverence. The way he cupped her face with his hand, the way the kiss to her forehead was laid with such tenderness and awe…. it was a tenderness she had not felt in years. There were no such feelings within the Baron, she was sure of it. And so she took comfort in Arthur’s affection – even when she should not. Margaret could only nod when he said that he would send for his physician. It would, perhaps, seem odd that the Marquess of Powis was going out of his way to help William and Margaret de Burgh, but those consequences she could not even begin to bring herself to be concerned with. If it meant a better chance of Elizabeth becoming well, then she could not bring herself to say no. To see Elizabeth smiling again was well worth any questions that might arise from it. And if Arthur insisted on it, then she would not and could not say no.

“And as her father..”[/b] Just the word alone filled Margaret with a sense of completion. Her father. She never second guessed that Arthur was a good man, but now he proved it to her with his utter devotion to their Elizabeth. No matter what happened from this moment on, they now shared Elizabeth in spirit in a way they never had before. He had seen her with his own eyes and now he claimed her as his own and was doing his best to help the situation. It almost left her speechless. "I beg her mother to never lose faith. If she is anything like me...” As he looked at his daughter, so did Margaret. "Then she has to recover." Margaret took his hand ever so politely and gracefully and rose from her place on the bed.

“There is but one person on this Earth that I could never lose faith in, Arthur… and that is her. I give you my utmost promise and assurance in that regard.” There was a small smile to accompany her words as she found herself gazing back to Arthur. "And with her mother's goodwill. Then we'll see her through this." And then she was folded into Arthur’s embrace. Her heart pounded at their closeness. Her breath shallowed. But when she finally could believe that he was really there and she was indeed in her arms, Margaret finally relaxed into him nestling her head into the crook of his neck. She took in every part of the affection. The closeness. The warmth. The comfort and the truth of it all. In this moment, she had her Arthur back. In this moment, she did not care whether or not it lasted seconds or years. It was the present she found herself perpetually focus on and she would not let her mind stray farther. “Yes, we shall see her through this.” The words were murmured back to him, nearly muffled into his clothes from their proximity and closeness. He was still everything she had remembered him to be.

Just then, as if the fates decided that they had enjoyed it too much, the door swung open and the doctor interrupted their solitude. Quickly, she pulled herself from him and she clasped her hands at her waist. Inwardly, she was shook with fear. Had he seen them? Would he suspect something? But she pushed it away for the moment and nodded to the doctor as Arthur left and then eyed him to hopefully prevent him from leaving altogether. Her attention turned back to the physician just for a moment. “Her condition is not improving. In fact, I do believe it is only worsening. I implore you to remedy this as soon as possible, as I do not think she could last very much longer in her current state.”

It was odd. When dealing with Elizabeth’s sickness to others, she found herself speaking without emotion. Almost academically even. She would not let others know the depth of her distress. She would not let herself slip that far down. Margaret then approached the man and said softly, “I am most thankful for your skill and concern.” With that, she left the room to find Arthur. He had not gone too far and she found him sitting at a table in an accompanying room. But just the short moment that the physician happened upon them had shaken her from her comfort with him. With Elizabeth in such a state could she risk the Baron’s anger? Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she found herself needing to distance herself from him out of pure and utter fear. It was not what she wanted, however. What she wanted was to be alone with him. Talk with him. Touch him. That, however, seemed improbable for her this evening. So she stood there, in her simple elegance and looked over to him nearly pained by what she was going to have to say.

“My husband is expected to return tomorrow just before the evening. I.. I should so love to see you again. Before then.” Implying that she wanted to see him one more time, alone. “ Though I fear that it has grown late into the evening and your presence here is no longer appropriate. But.. “ She swallowed and continued. “Perhaps you could find it convenient early tomorrow to visit? I would…” She sighed knowing that she was giving away more in her tone than she would have liked. Her voice softened and it nearly spoke of a desire, not merely just want.“I should very much like to see you again, Arthur.”
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