I was Elizabeth

Authors Notes:

First of all I want to add a disclaimer…not that I feel I need one…but ya never know. So first of I own all of the characters if you want to borrow or post somewhere else, please ask me first!!!

Secondly I want to thank my reviewers…your support means so much to me. To Jen, you are the greatest gal. I will try to catch up with you later on. To Paris and Valvamcat thank you for your reviews! I hope to hear from more of my readers, and some more from Paris and Valvamcat…not to mention Jen. Please check out here stories under the author name JenKM1216.

Lastly I want to add that both chapter two and three are not completed in the ways of the beta. I will, of course, revise the chapters when one is found. I just wanted to get these out and get some feedback. Sooooo….REVIEW…LoL!

So with out further hesitation here is the next chapter!!! Yeah!!!

Chapter 2:

Sweet Elizabeth, The Poor


I awoke to the sound of frenzied knocking and frantic screaming. I tore from my bed, my gown from the previous night still on. The horrid events of last evening were but a mist in the back of my mind as I rushed to greet the noise outside my door. The tearful face of my housemaid, Maria, greeted me.

“Mistress Smith! Mistress Smith!” She wailed, “The Master…the Master, I…I tried to wake him Milady! I swear I did!”

“Still yourself child,” I commanded in a firm but caring voice, “I do not understand your hurried ramblings. Draw a deep breath and begin again.”

Doing just that she close her eyes and started saying the words that would forever change my life. Whether or not it would be for the better would remain to be seen.

“The Master, Miss, was asleep in his study; or so I thought. He looked so cold…and…uncomfortable.” Here she paused to take another breath and stifle a sorrowed moan. “I decided to wake him, to urge him to bed Milady. Yet, no matter what I did he would not stir.”

“What are you saying Maria?” I questioned though my heart already knew the answer.

“The Master…he’s…he’s…he is dead!” She finished with a great wail settling her small frame, dramatically, on the floor. Her skirt pooled around her and her head bowed, all one could see was her frazzled black hair standing out against the fading gray uniform she wore.

“NO!” I proclaimed as I hurriedly stepped over her quivering form. “You are mistaken Maria, he is probably just drunk.”

Maria made no reply, or if she did not hear it in haste to my husbands study. The whole time my mind reeling with questions I did not want to answer.

‘Did I want him to be dead? Did I feel he deserved this fate, if indeed that was what his fate was? How would I feel? Would I be happy? Could I feel sorrow for the loss of a man he felt nothing for me? Did he love me? Did I really love him?’

I could do nothing to satiate my minds queries, so I pushed them to the back of my mind as I reached the slight closed door of my husbands study. My heart was full of opposing emotions, just as my mind. I felt hurt, betrayal, fear, anger, hope, (though for what I cannot say), desperation; all these sensations washed over me and warred for dominance inside a quickly beating vessel. It was with a trembling hand, my heart at war, and my mind a judge, that I pushed open the door.

There, before me, was the still form of my husband, shrouded in a blanket. At his feet stood his most trusted valet Edward. Gregory had brought him over from England, and though his station in life was a poor one, Edward was always proud. Yet, this was not the form that rested between myself and my once husband. Edward had his head bent in defeat, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

I walked into the room, softly pushing past Edward. I could feel my blood draining with each forced footstep. It seemed to take hours to reach my husband’s peaceful perch upon the couch. Eventually, however, I made it and I stood there motionless at first, unsure of what to do. Though part of me knew what I needed to do.

I needed to see his face. I needed to know it was true. I had to feel the stillness of his heart, and kiss my owner’s, my tormentor’s, my master’s brow; if only for a sign of final forgiveness and farewell. For though I questioned my love for him, more know than ever before, part of me had to accept his participation in my life these past four years.

It was that part of me that, like a machine (without emotion), reached down for the part of the blanket that rested across his face. But, as I reached down, coming close to the red wool, the strong hand of the valet clasped my own in an attempt to stop me. I, however, merely shrugged off the intended protection, and carefully drew back the crude fibers to reveal the form beneath.

“My God, Gregory.” I whispered as my eyes took in the ashen face.

His eyes were closed, mostly likely a small token of loyalty preformed by Edward. His hair had that mussed appearance, as if he had tossed and turned for hours before death’s final release. His white shirt around his neck was stained with blood and vomit. A trail of the vile substance led down the left side of his face and pooled by his ear.
“He probably choked on his own…well…” Edward began slowly, I could tell he was attempting to gage my emotional state. “he always drank to much. I believe he was already sick…he had been complaining about his stomach.”

“Had he?” I responded numbly, though my heart felt anything but, “ I hadn’t heard.”

“He did not want to worry you.”

“Yes, I suppose he did not.”

“I have called the doctor, there isn’t anything…he will…it is all taken care off.” Edward continued, but I barely took note of his voice.

I released the blanket from my hand, fresh tears pooling in my eyes. I forced myself to back away, as if distance would revive him. But, the further I drew away the more real the whole thing became. I , too, collapsed upon the floor, my mind and body to weak to handle the sorrowful situation.

The following days found me in a silent haze. I neither cried nor screamed, but mere sat, lost within myself. Yet, the world outside my door continued despite my attempts to make it cease. Edward, the always-faithful valet, took it upon himself to organize the funeral. Many times he would come to me explaining this or asking that. I, however, would just sign the papers and wave them away.

A week after Gregory’s death was when the funeral was held. It was by no means a posh event, as well it should not have been, though the finest of society attended. After that Edmund took Gregory’s body to sea where he laid him to rest among the waves, per Gregory’s request.

Three weeks after that the lawyer came for the reading of the will. It was then that he informed me that Gregory’s business had begun to flounder some months before his untimely death. It was a result of Gregory’s’ expensive demands and his employee’s poor practices. On top of that Gregory’s funeral had consumed most of what money we had left.

I, Elizabeth Tepes Vane, once soul heiress of a great family fortune, was now destitute and husbandless. It was a fate far worse than death in our society. Still, I did not give up. It was as if this sudden setback forced my mind back into the ever-spinning world in which I belonged. I did what I had to do in order to settle Gregory’s debts and regain some of my once vast assets.

This, of course, meant that I had to dismiss most of my staff, as I could no longer afford to pay their wages. I also sold Gregory’s merchant firm and ships for a greatly depreciated amount. Yet, this was not enough. For, while I had covered any outstanding debts, I also had no money for me to survive on. The situation was quickly become desperate, as was I, and though I hated the very thought of it I knew it to be one of my last hopes. So, it was with a wounded heart and broken pride that I decided up an auction.

I was staring out my window, watching as the things I had come to love were packaged and put on a cart to be taken to the city and sold. So lost was I in my grief of the loss of my possessions that I did not hear the door open or the approaching footsteps that came to a stop just behind me. Needless to say, I was utterly shock when I heard Dorian’s gentle voice emerge from the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he began, obviously having seen my body jump, “I knocked but you did not hear me. I thought it was safe to simply come in. Your maid said you were up here. I hope that I am no intruding.”

“No, Mr. Bathory…”

“Dorian,” he interrupted smoothly, “please, call me Dorian.”

“No..Dorian,” I said attempting to smile but failing miserably, “you are not unwelcome here. Though I do not know why you would call. No one else does anymore.”

“You mean to say the deplorable Madame Brouche and her sharks no longer shadow you doorways?” Dorian claimed in a tone of mock surprise. “How can you be saddened by this sweet Elizabeth?”

I do not know if was his tone or his words that made me laugh out loud. But, laugh I did, and it was the most relaxing sensation. I found myself able to step beyond the day for once, and focus my attention on something other than loss.

“What brings you here Dorian?” I asked now facing him fully. “

Today he wore a gray suit with a blue vest showing elegantly against his white shirt that shown just above it’s silver buttons. His hair was pulled back and fastened with a ribbon just below his head and just above his neck. His face remained the same though his eyes were alight with compassion and mischievousness. It was a unique combination that I both welcomed and questioned.

“I am here out of concern for you,” he said removing his gray gloves, “and for business as well.”

“Business, Mister Bathory?” I replied, my heart sinking all the while.

“Yes, unfortunately so Elizabeth, and please…call me Dorian.” He requested once again, and noticing the agreeing nod of my head he pushed on. “You see, I was not able to finalize the I had with your husband before…” he paused, his mouth twisted in obvious discomfort, “before his unfortunate…accident.”

“I do not know if I can be any help to you.”

“On the contrary, I would rather deal with you. I believe you will be quite helpful in this small matter. You see, Gregory had a portrait he found in Hungary. It is one of my ancestors. He generously offered me the chance to buy it back from him. It is the portrait displayed in the study, I believe, the one of the splendidly dressed woman?”

I knew of which portrait he spoke. It was a simple matter to simply give him the painting, but a sting in my heart remained. I had hoped that he had come for me, to offer some sort of comfort. I was ashamed of wanting such a thing, and mentally berated myself for believing he would offer such companionship to a mere stranger. All the same, however, I could not fight the biting tone of my reply.

“Well, Mister Bathory, if it is of your ancestor then it is yours by right. I don’t believe they have reached the study yet. You might still be able to collect it before you go.” With this I turned my back to signify the end of the conversation. I was sure he would understand my action and take it as his signal to leave. He did not, however, and he started speaking to my back.

“I am sorry, I have offended you. I am, of course, most sensitive to your loss. But, I am not sorry that he died.”

At this I whirled back around, fire in my eyes and anger in my center. I was ready to explode at the young, fine Dorian Bathory. Perhaps it was my own guilt that pushed me into such a sudden rage. Maybe he had vocalized the feelings that I had so long tried to suppress. Either way I was not given the chance to unload my heated words for Dorian merely smiled and continued on.

“He did not then, nor would he now, deserve life with you.” I close my mouth in awe of his statement. “He lied to you about your money, leaving you in this most precarious position. He cheated on you with no concern for your heart. I am, myself, elated that you are free from him. You deserve far better, and with him gone, I feel sure that you will find all that you need. He only tied you down and hid your true beauty and strength from the world. Open up now, little flower, taste the warmth of the life-fulfilling sun, and sway in the winds of freedom. In the end you will meet your mate.”

I knew not how to answer such a deep, and impassioned speech. I could only watch, staggered, as he placed a purse full of coins upon the bed. And, as he turned to leave, he threw his parting words over his shoulder with such ease and familiarity.

“I shall return in two weeks for the painting. I cannot wait to speak again.”


*AN*

I know what you are thinking, "what is the dirt about Gregory's death?", THAT my darlings will be revealed later! Sooo...no answers for YOU, LoL :0) I guess you will just have to keep reading to fing out. Gosh, I really hope that isn't a punishment XD