Summers at Isllesmore-Chapter Three:The Beast of Prose

It had been only a month since his Lordship invited Mother and I residence at Isllesmore manor, and I must tell you that it has been most wonderful. I have never had in all my life clothes as my Master Lord Gerard had commissioned for me. Dresses stitched from velvet, cut in the empire fashion, and silk ribbons woven in my hair. I felt very much like the Queen herself, though I must say that I don’t think she would take such pleasure in them as I.1

I sat beside my window allowing the hot summer air to drift past my face. Though the fever had left me, Gerard still was hesitant about letting me leave the safety of the manor walls. I was simply glad that he had finally let me walk around the manor, instead of confining me to my room.2

I peered out my window to watch the Gardener tend to the roses, much as I did everyday. But below, amongst the winding vines sat my Lord. In his hands he held a small leather bound book, his fingers crawling along the pages as he read each line.3

I leaned against the window frame watching as he recited poems from times past. His lips curled with each word, making the compositions appear to dance from his mouth. I could just hear him over the sounds of the birds that rested within the trees.4

His voice rose up with the warm breeze as though they had always been a part of each other. I cried as his words became clear. A verse written by his hand, from a time when I was only the innocent youth. When tears ran from my eyes, and when I felt forsaken and lost. A lyric written from his heart to mine. The poem of the Dove and the Stag.5

I stood no longer able to bear the hard floor to the cool green of the grass. My Lord Gerard heard me from the garden and closed the book. He gazed up at me and at the sight of my tear stained cheeks he frowned. I smiled sweetly and walked from the window. The fever had left me emotionly weak. I decided that a good stroll about the manor would calm me down quite nicely.6

I looked through the books in the library. My fingers moving across the buckram spines and watching as the candlelight shimmered off of the gold leafing that adorned each thick volume. I thought that I would calm down if I just spent some time out of my room. I should of realized that the library would be the worst place to go. I could still hear his voice as he read those words.7

“Is all right with you Milady? I thought I saw you crying.” I pretended to read a passage from the book in my hand as I wiped my cheeks and eyes dry.8

“No, I believe that you are mistaken Milord. ‘Twas only the sun.” I closed the book and placed it back upon the shelf.9

“The sun? I have heard of the false lake, many a traveler has told me of the sun’s deceit across the roads. But I must say that until now I have never heard of the false tear. Tell what it is that bothers you, for I shall make it right.” I turned, but only slightly, to see his face which just as mine seemed dispirited.10

“It really is nothing. Just the foolhardy emotions of a young woman tired by sickness. I heard you in the garden. The poem you read was so beautiful that it washed me with a passion I had never felt before. One that held both sorrow and delight.” I made my way to one of the chairs. I sat down spreading out the fullness of my dress.11

“Sorrow?! I am truly saddened, for the poem was ment to enchant. I would of never read it aloud if I knew how much it would hurt you.” His face moved through emotion to emotion, revealing how much I had hurt him.12

“I did not wish to injure you Milord. For at the same time my tears fell I also was filled with the need to laugh and play in the grass. Is it not strange how emotions, same as people, have need of companions?” My Lord Gerard sat beside me and took my hand. I blushed, but this time I did not hide it.13

“Tell me then, just how strange?” I stood sliding my fingers from his hands.14

“I shall, but not here, take me to the garden. I long to see the flowers.”15