The Grand Adventure - Chapter 1

I had always imagined that my life would take a different route than my mother and her mother before her…that I would go on some grand adventure and wind up in the arms of my exotic lover. Instead, I was a prisoner to my father and a society that cared more about safety than it did the possibility of such an adventure. 1

I often imagined a world without boundaries…without the fear of finding oneself amidst the rise of chaos just because what one tried to do did not go against society’s grain. Of course, my exotic lover would play a role in my life by being there for me and loving me no matter what happened or may happen. He would laugh in the face of danger; take refuge in my arms when he felt distraught; and he would love me with a passion that no author could ever describe. Instead, I was stuck with British bores, British conduct, and British women who thought more about their husbands than themselves. 2

One day, while sitting out on the gazebo, watching the world around me, I realized that I wasn’t alone. Walking up to the shade of the gazebo with his hands in his pockets, looking around as if he owned the place, was none other than Henry Rouchefelt himself. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and knew exactly who he was without having to turn all of my attention to him. Usually, he would ignore me; brush me off at parties as if I were some insolent, naïve girl. Of course, I never cared if he did. 3

As I glanced at him, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief knowing that there was an upcoming party tomorrow night to celebrate my sister’s lucky catch of Count Pierre de Beoncortez and that I wouldn’t be there and that Henry would be. My entire family admired and respected him, so there would be no reason for him not to be at the party. I had other plans—though my father had more than made them seem miniscule. I was going to the grand opening of a theater that a friend of mine had designed. Of course, my father hated all of my friends, so I didn’t expect him to embrace my plans for tomorrow evening. I was utterly happy that Henry wouldn’t be there to watch me tomorrow night, which was what he spent his spare time doing, or so it appeared.4

“Are you going to the party tomorrow night, Henry?” I asked, wishing he would stop looking at me.5

“No,” he said and sat down on the bench across from me, “I don’t care about your sister.”6

I, of course, was offended by this, but I didn’t show it. The Carver women were known to hold their feet firmly to the ground and never fly off into a fit of rage. I merely looked around me, once again taking in the brilliance of a summer afternoon where everything seemed hushed by the warmth of the sun hanging high overhead. After a long, wet spring, the sun was more than welcome to the robins in the thicket; the deer who had long hidden in their dens; the frogs in the lily ponds near the castle; and to the people who lived within the boundaries of British conformity. I looked at the castle, my own place of conformity, to avoid making eye contact with Henry, who wouldn’t stop looking at me.7

“Do you wonder why I’m not going to the party, Catherine?”8

I looked at him. “Depends. Are you going to tell me?”9

Although Henry was one of the most eligible bachelors of England, he was a pain to deal with. He asked more questions that he didn’t truly want answers to than anyone I knew. Of course, as I saw him adjust his position on the bench, I knew that he was going to say something. I looked at him, ready for whatever it was that he had to say. Henry was perhaps one of the most handsome men that I’d ever seen: he had brown hair that, unless the sun was shining on it, looked like a raven’s wing; his eyes were deep brown and always full of emotion; and he possessed the agility and strength of a lion. Of course, he was well aware of his attractiveness, which made him more of a pain.10

“I’m coming with you.”11

“Why?” 12

“I don’t trust our mutual friend,Mr. Richard Abernathy, so I am to escort you to the theater and keep an eye on you. I hope you don’t mind?”13

I knew that he was waiting for me to respond, but I didn’t want to give him the advantage of seeing me angry. I had never been angry in front of him before, and I wasn’t going to start now. I just looked at him, smiling, while my mind was running through many phases of anger. What made him think that I needed him to escort me anywhere? Had my father put him up to this?14

“If he was indeed our mutual friend, Henry, you would trust him.”15

“It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” he said with a slight smile that looked almost thoughtful, as if he’d been thinking about what he said as much as I had.16

“I need no accompaniment anywhere. I am well suited to the ways of the evening, if that is your concern.”17

He looked away from me and to the bough of a tree that looked as if it wanted to grow if only to reach in and grab us. The gazebo was nicely situated near the river and only a few windows of the castle could see down towards it. As a child I often sat here to escape from my father. Sometimes, I could see mother looking down at me, unable to escape though I knew she wanted to. Georgiana, my younger sister, accompanied me sometimes…before she officially grew up and embraced the fact our lives couldn’t be as exciting as we’d hoped. I started to wonder why I was sitting down here now, away from the world. Did I not know that my life was going to be chaos as long as I lived under my father’s roof? Did I not know that my father hated me with all his heart and soul? I knew, but I didn’t want to know. I chose not to.18

“What are you thinking about?”19

I looked at Henry, still thinking. Suddenly, I remembered the words of my raving aunt as she twisted my arm and threw me in a closet, “No woman should have a whimsical air!” As I thought of the door banging behind me and the cry of Georgiana, I snapped out of my thoughts. I didn’t want to think about the past any longer…especially if I had to remember Aunt Ruby.20

“Oh, nothing,” I said, perhaps too quickly. I regained my composure, put my hands in my lap, sat up straight, and looked him in the eye. “Nothing. I am thinking about nothing.”21

For a second, he looked concerned. He stood and his blanket of emotion fell from him and cascaded through the gazebo and into the earth, almost as if it never existed to begin with. “Are you going back soon?”22

“Where?” I asked, looking up at him, coming off as innocent as a doe who is looking eyeball to eyeball with her executioner.23

“To the castle.”24

“I will return to the castle,” I said, wanting to say more, but deciding that doing so would make him stay longer. As long as I was in his presence, looking into his eyes, I knew that the witch’s curse had complete power over me and that I could look at him forever without the slightest wish for him to depart. Usually, he was the first to leave when we were together because he had other engagements to attend to…other people to see. I knew that my father was one of them. I turned away at this thought, realizing that Henry would find some way to come with me tomorrow evening.25

“I have never seen such beauty.”26

I looked at him, thought that he was addressing me, but realized that he was looking at the river that flowed behind the gazebo. I turned to see Georgiana and Count Pierre sitting side-by-side in a rowboat while one of his servants rowed. They were all happy, which was an uncommon thing on the Carver property, so I couldn’t help being happy as well.27

Georgiana always had been precious to everyone, even me, who some thought nothing happy could touch while others thought nothing of in the first place. In truth, she had more of an effect on me than she did anyone else. When she was happy, I was happy; when she was sad, I was sad; and when she was angry with me, I couldn’t find it in myself to be angry in return. As she sat beneath the shade of her white parasol, dressed in a white dress made of the finest silk known to man, she looked like a goddess. When she laughed, the gloved hand that held the parasol would move her hair out of the shade beneath, which looked the color of gold as the sunlight caught it.28

“Georgiana, the sun; Catherine, the moon,” Henry said almost inaudibly.29

I looked at him, but he was still looking towards Georgiana. I turned back, more than knowing that he was right: I was the moon. “Everything the moon stands for,” my father once said, “is what you represent. I am not the moon, so I do not associate with the moon. I am the sun, so only shall I speak with it…never to the moon.” I remembered what he said clearly, almost as if it had been yesterday and not three years ago. Three years ago, I cried for the last time because I missed my father’s love and affection; three years ago, I wondered who he loved more: the man I stopped seeing or me; three years ago, my parents had stopped loving me…and I didn’t care as long as I had Georgiana.30

“Hello, everyone!” Pierre waved. Georgiana saw us and started waving as well, smiling. It was funny, really, to think that they were making such an open gesture towards the moon. I wanted to yell at them, “Stop waving at the moon. I cannot wave back.” Instead, I waved at them.31

“Joining us for tea shortly?” Pierre asked, standing to his full height. He wasn’t very tall, nor was he as well built as Henry, but he was full of personality. He was, as Georgiana told me the night after meeting him, charming. He looked like a school boy, with well-cropped hair and innocent, baby blue eyes that could get him out of almost everything. Pierre and Georgiana were made for each other.32

“I’m afraid not. I have more pressing matters to attend to,” Henry said, getting on the bench beside me on his knees.33

“Oh, come now, old fellow, nothing’s more pressing than tea,” Pierre said, putting his hands on his hips and widening his stance. Although Pierre was French, he had a talent for learning. In two month’s time, since he’d met Georgiana, he’d learned how to speak English and how to please Georgiana, which some men could take lifetimes to find out and still die wondering.34

“Some of us weren’t born wealthy, you know?”35

“Come, man, I’m asking you to tea. I’m not asking you to spend your measly fortune on it.” Pierre smiled. I couldn’t recall anything he’d ever said that could be taken seriously…except when he announced that he was in love with Georgiana.36

“What’s going on here?”37

The voice of the new arrival sent chills up my spine. I associated this voice with many tears, many closets, and many beatings…all of which my father had thought reasonable. I turned around and saw that Aunt Ruby was standing not too far from me with her beady eyes on her pudgy face staring out at the river. The words she said to me those many years ago were ringing in my head as I imagined her face in mine, her onion breath pouring into my nostrils, and her grubby hands grabbing me and pulling me to the nearest closet. Seeing her now, I expected her to be older, but she looked exactly the same. I wanted to hide.38

“All goings-on are quite decent, I assure you. We’re just having a friendly conversation with the count.” Henry smiled so as to capture Ruby with his charisma. For a second, I thought that she wasn’t going to be a prisoner to his charm, but she smiled and, in so doing, her fat cheeks lifted up. I had never seen her smile, except when she was counting money, so I was shocked.39

As she was turning to look at me, Henry graciously sidestepped and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. I watched as they walked off, with Henry starting a conversation that more than enthralled her: talk of money. As they were making way down the steps, Henry turned to me. I thought that he was going to smile or wink or something, to show that he was my protector. He didn’t. In five seconds’ time, he turned back around and started speaking with Ruby more. 40

In those five seconds, I knew that he wasn’t going to escort me to the theater because my father wanted him to. My father wanted to protect his name, surely, and Ruby was part of that name. He wouldn’t have told Henry to protect me from her. No, Henry had another reason to come with me tomorrow night: he wanted to protect me.41

With Henry wanting to protect me, I realized that this could only mean one thing: this was my mother’s idea.