Enchanted Love

Enchanted Love

Prologue

Lord Jonathan Whitney rode along the strange wooded path fast and hard on a day in early spring. Though the area was new to him and normally he would be impressed by the richness of the plants, he rode on without pause. His five guards had fallen several paces behind him as the rode. If it had been a hunt or a pleasure ride, the Lord would have felt amused. Now, he felt nothing but impatience and annoyance for the men who had become lax since his father’s death nearly five years ago.

‘Perhaps I need to replace all my guards,’ the thought flitted about his mind. ‘This lot has become almost useless for anything but a gentlemen’s pursuit.’ He spared a glance back to notice the leather armored guards riding in complete silence along the path.

Lord Whitney was a handsome and sturdy man of twenty-eight. He had spent many years attending a University and traveling abroad. He was of a tall and broad build, the latter chiefly attributed to his practice of the warrior arts of swordsmanship and archery. His hair was an amber brown, thick and rich, that fell to his shoulders. He had a noble beard of same color, that was cut short on his square jaw. His eyes were a deep golden color, easily able to show both love and angry. His hands were strong inside his gloves and slightly calloused. He was considered to be an intelligent and kind man, though he was very serious in manner and speech.

‘I hope she is everything I believe her to be,’ he thought, then added, ‘I hope I am everything she wishes me to be.’

His mind turned back to the manner that had brought him this far south, a week’s journey on horseback from his own home of Chesterfield Hall. He was headed for the prosperous town of Meadowlark, and more importantly for the stately Dragonfire Manor, the noble house of the Blake family. More importantly the manor housed his journey’s reason.

Lord William Blake had been in his grave for two years now. His only wife had died nearly a decade before him, leaving him with one child, a girl named Celeste. Celeste had been but fourteen years when she became orphaned, too young to marry or receive the vast inheritance her father left. With no uncle to oversee her management or relative to take her in, she was left in Dragonfire Manor with no money to support her home or staff. The staff was loyal only as long as they were paid, and left soon after the funeral. She had to sell several family heirlooms to keep herself feed. Thieves came and stole many items from her house and some were bold enough to try and force the girl out of her own home. Seven months ago she had finally turned sixteen, while not old enough to receive her estate, it was old enough to wed. And that was when Lord Whitney had begun writing to her.

With no father or brothers, Lord Whitney was facing four years pass the normally age for men to wed in the country. Without a son or even a daughter, his lordship and home faced certain doom if he were to die now. He had never much thought of marriage, but he knew it was well pass time to marry. Through friends and family he had heard about Lady Celeste.

Their letters were simple at first, just an exchange of pleasantries between nobles. She wrote in a demur and shy style and he replied with a gentle yet witty tone. After a few months, their talk turned to more private manners about their daily lives and thoughts. Then finally last month he had sent a note of proposal to her. Her letter came a fortnight later and he had in that hour memorized ever word she wrote.

My dear Lord Whitney,

You are a man I hold in highest esteem. From the moment I received your first note, I have been expecting this question. My answer is an undeniable yes. Your reputation of being a good and learned man proceed you and have reached me here in my home. I could hope for no better a husband then you. From your letters and others talk, I sense you are a kind and benevolent man who is wise and just in all actions.

Though you are twelve years my senior, and I am a girl barely in womanhood, I ask that are marriage happen in haste. For over two years now, I have lived the life of a hermit and spinster, though my face and spirit are still rosy and innocent. Too many men have been trying to court me, the majority of them of unsavory character only after the money that shall line the purse of my husband. You are the only one of merit to seem to want me. You yourself have at title and wealth to rival my own and seek a wife instead of a dowry.

I am without horse, guard, money, or even a decent gown, or I would at this moment be riding toward your home, not even stopping for rest or food. My only belongings left are my house and those that I can never part with. Everything else has been sold for my meager living or stolen by those who once served my father. Once we are married though, my fortune shall compensate the dowry I cannot supply beforehand or the expenses I may have.

I shall be a good and happy bride, and promise you a life of companionship and love. I am well versed in all the womanly arts, as you know, and can read and write. I shall make a proper wife for you and a mother of many children. I will be a woman to bring honor to your household, though many have tried hard to bring nothing but disgrace to my name.

Lord Whitney, I pray you come to me soon before some other devil decides to try and wed me. I shall wait for you with eagerness and be willing to leave my house in the hour you arrive. Though I once loved Dragonfire Manor for its beauty and splendor, I now loathe it as my prison. Please come soon.

Forever Yours,

Celeste Blake.

After receiving her letter, Lord Whitney quickly dispatched several guards, maids, and a large purse to Dragonfire Manor to see to the needs of his bride-to-be. He then spoke with his mother of his plans. She smiled and gave consent, though it was expected as she was one of the many who had encouraged the match. “Old grooms need young brides,” she teased, though she herself was well pass fifty now.

Now he had come in person for her, hardly being able to think of anything but the girl he was too marry. But he knew very little about her. Marriage is necessary, love is not, the old saying went. Every child of rich parentage had been told that at some point in their life. It was to prevent women from waiting for a charming knight and men from wanting a woman whose beauty and virtue rivaled that of the Empress of Magic from the fairy stories of youth. He hoped, no matter how foolish it may be, that they could find love in their impending marriage.

It was uncustomary that they should meet after becoming engaged, but custom also dictated that the groom should be of twenty four years and the woman of eighteen, though legally they could marry at the age of Celeste. Custom and tradition held little place in their courtship.

“Sir,” called one of his guard from a short distance away. Lord Whitney stopped his horse and waited for his guard to approach “The horses need rest, we have been riding since dawn and it is two hours till noon.”

“We are but two hours journey to Meadowlark,” frowned Lord Whitney, knowing that the men wanted the rest more then the horses.

“My Lord,” said another. “We have been riding from dawn till dusk for the past few days and have not changed horses. Unless you wish to arrive at your bride’s home on foot, they must be given a hour’s repast.” Lord Whitney sighed, but nodded his approval. Normally he would have given in without more pleading as the men, though slightly lazy, were still good men. His anxiety to meet his bride overwhelmed all other senses.

“I caught sight half a mile back of a small cabin with a well,” said the youngest of the guards “Perhaps we can go there and ask of its owner for some water.” Again Lord Whitney sighed, but lead the way back up the path to the cabin, wishing he could go forward instead.

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The cabin was one story and made of dark grey stone. It had three windows, a chimney spewing smoke, a fenced garden, and a well. Their was a hitch for horses, giving the men a sense that several people asked the same thing of the host or hostess, and they were most likely to oblige. One of the guards got off his mount and went to the door to knock. It was answered by a lovely woman, whose beauty made her seem younger then she must have been. She had hair a charming and deep chestnut without a streak of gray, and eyes that could only be a called a true shade of gold. She carried herself with the air of a princess, yet dressed as a pauper in a hooded gown of black. She gave no indication of joy or sorrow at the arrivals, her face was as passive as stone and Lord Whitney had a feeling that it rarely looked any other way.

“Madame,” spoke the guard, bowing. “We humbly beseech that you allow us some water from your well. We are...”

“The party of Lord Jonathan Whitney,” she said in a slightly high voice, void of emotion. “I know who you are and why you come. You may water your horses and rest here, if your Lord would give me but a quick audience.” She looked at Lord Whitney, seated on his black stallion, who stood the stillest of all the beast. He frowned, but nodded and without help dismounted and made his way to the cabin. He nodded to his men and entered. The woman closed the door.

The cabin was simple inside too. It was but one room with a fireplace and small kitchen in one corner, a table with two benches, a bed and chest, and surprisingly a shelf of books.

He sat on one of the benches as the woman went about making him a cup of tea. The cups and kettle had already been set out for his arrival.

“I saw you but a few moments ago,” she said at his surprise of seeing tea for two. “I was in my garden and heard the weary trot of your horses. I am the only house still in this woods, I knew you would come back as so many have in the past. Too few people know the true depth of our woods.” He nodded and sipped his tea, noting it was made of herbs and berries, though tasted quite sweet and sharp without cream or sugar.

“Forgive my humble table,” she said without true remorse. “But I rarely go into town, so I have few luxuries to give.”

“A table that is laden with all of that one has is richer then any table laid by a king,” Lord Whitney quoted and smiled a guarded smile. He still knew not why the woman had wanted to see him.

“I am Belinda Fairwood,” She spoke, sipping her tea. “Sister of Lady Diana Blake, late mother of your bride, young Celeste.”

Lord Whitney was shocked. From his knowledge and Celeste letters, he thought she had no other family alive, let alone someone as close as an aunt who lived in the woods.

“Your surprise is to be expected.” She said calmly.

“I was under the impression that Lady Celeste was without any relations,” Lord Whitney spoke slowly.

“I am but her mother’s half sister, had out of wedlock by our father,” she answered. “I had no hope of a marriage so I dedicated myself to my sister’s well-being. I was her tutor in childhood and taught her every aspect of life a lady was suppose to know. She couldn’t bear being without me, so my stepmother and my father allowed me to come with her to Dragonfire Manor. When she died, her husband gave me a very generous purse and allowance to go and live my own life or to return to my faraway birth home. He never cared for me, but he did sincerely love my sister and niece. I though couldn’t bare to be parted from the last remnant of my sister, so I made this house out here. ”

“Why have you offered no aide to your beloved niece then?” asked Lord Whitney, “Surely you know of how she has been forced to live, you must...”

“Lord Whitney,” interrupted Belinda. “I have offered aide to my niece, but she has refused it. Not out of aristocratic pride, but out of malice for me. She once loved me as a mother and guardian, but I have grown wicked in her eyes since shortly before her father’s death. She would rather starve then ask a favor of me now.” Belinda sighed and finished her tea.

“Surely she must have a reason for such actions?” asked Lord Blake.

“She does,” said Belinda. “And many would say a very good reason. I beg you not ask it of her or tell her you have talked with me if you desire a happy marriage. She is a good and kind girl, and still holds love for me in her heart. She will invite me to your wedding I am sure and introduce me as a cousin or friend. She just cannot allow me in her life any longer. But if ever she needs assistance, know where I am and that I can help.” Belinda’s eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears, though she gave no other indication of distress. “For a girl named for the heavens, she unjustly scorns destiny.” Lord Whitney did not inquire what she meant, thanked her for the tea, left, and promptly put their conversations in the back of his mind. He had a feeling that Celeste had a better reason to shun her aunt then Belinda implied, and felt wary of the woman and her reason for wanting to meet him.

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A hour past noon, the party arrived in Meadowlark. The town was booming and bustling with activity. Several shops displayed welcome banners for Lord Whitney and wedding announcements. Though these people once scorned Celeste now that she was to be properly reinstated as Lady of the Manor and Town, they wanted back in her good graces. Others though, cared little for the fate of the young mistress. Lord Whitney didn’t feel forgiving to these people, but he sensed that Celeste might. He rode through town to the greetings of all he passed. The men bowed and the women curtsied. He gave a gentle wave, yet his face remained as stone. His thoughts were all on Dragonfire Manor.

Though much smaller then Chesterfield Hall, Dragonfire Manor’s beauty outshone his home, even in its dismal state. He was awed by the grace of the ancient manor, wondering what it would look like it in all its splendor. It was three stories high, with intricately craved columns. The rich and full gardens were overgrown with the most wondrous flowers he had ever glimpsed. All the windows had once held glass, and the remaining were still decorated with staining at the tops. Several balconies stood made of the same white stone of the manor. All in all, Dragonfire was like a dream.

He dismounted and a guard took his and the other horses to the stable. The other four guards walked and knocked on the door. A maid of his own household answered and curtsied.

“Greetings my lord,” she said, dusting off her white apron and smiling. “Your Lady awaits.” She led him deeper into the house and up a staircase. He noticed the details and workmanship of the house, but nearly every room was in a state of ruination, lacking furniture and vandalized. Finally, the maid paused in front of a large green and gold door and knocked. It was answered by another maid who ushered him inside. It was then that Lord Whitney was greeted by the most lovely creature he had ever seen and who he also thought to ever grace the mortal plain.

Having seen her aunt and heard his mother’s stories of the famed beauty of Lady Diana, he knew his bride had to be pretty. But she was a rival to the legendary Empress of Magic from his childhood books.

She was shorter then him, coming up to mid-chest with a lithe waist and a nice bosom. Her skin was as pale as milk, yet her lips and cheeks held a pink that he knew had to be natural. Her lashes were long and dark, framing large eyes a silvery grey. Her hair though was what enchanted him the most. It was a true ebony black, the color of the night sky. She wore it down and it fell to her mid-thigh in gentle waves. The beauty of her would have struck the best and brightest of scholars speechless. He manage to stumble a bow, and she in her new dove grey travel dress gave him a curtsey as graceful as an angel.

“How do you do my Lord,” she said in a voice as sweet as honey suckle with a slight musical tone. “I hope I am everything you expected.” She gave a small, but true, smile and approached him. “Your journey was long, you must be tired. Rest awhile. Tomorrow we shall be on our way to your home. And in two months time we shall be husband and wife.” He gave her a smile and kissed her gentle and soft hands, so very small in his own. He had a feeling that they would have companionship and love, and so did she.

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True to schedule, they left the next morning at dawn. She in a carriage he had bought and provided, and he on horseback. Her few things that could be moved were packed. She had been living in the study he had met her in for two years now, so it remained the only untouched room. Three guards and the two maids stayed behind to try and straighten the place up. Workers would be coming soon to do the rest. In two years time, Dragonfire Manor would again be the envy of palaces.

Celeste took the two new dresses she had, her toiletries, and a few other essential items, along with a few trinkets her parents had left her including her father’s pocket watch (meant to be part of her wedding gift to Lord Whitney), her mother’s jewels, and the collection of fairytale books that her mother had brought with her from her home country. Celeste had been embarrassed to show her groom them, feeling he would think her still too young to marry. She had try to explain how they were the only thing her mother had left from her birth home and how much comfort both she and her mother had taken in them, but Lord Whitney kissed her brow before she could stumble through a quarter of her reasons. They made her happy, that was the only reason he needed to add them to her luggage. And she was happy to have an understanding groom who needed no explanation for her whims.

The people of Meadowlark threw flower petals as they party passed through the town. Celeste in her carriage managed a small and strained smile. She knew her duties as a noble and what that meant to the people, but the pain of the past two years was still fresh. Lord Whitney rode at the head of the procession, occasionally glancing back to catch a look of his soon to be wife, who would pleasure each glance with a smile. Passing by the cabin, Lord Whitney noticed that Belinda was outside, standing near the path. The woman’s eyes were focus with an unwavering gaze on the carriage. Celeste responded with a glare of pure venom at her Aunt. She mouthed a few words that Lord Whitney couldn’t comprehend, but he pretended not to have seen the exchange at all.

The journey back was much slower, due to the nature of their party now. Each night was spent in an inn or the home of a noble. Each meal and spare moments were spent together between Lord Whitney and Celeste. Their conversations ranged from their wedding arrangements to philosophy. Never once was he tempted to mention his strange encounter with Belinda Fairwood, or she even hint at having an Aunt. Lord Whitney found Celeste to be engaging, charming, and quite intelligent. Celeste found him to be understanding, kind, and wise. The two fell in love by the time they reached Chesterfield Hall.

Lady Elaine Whitney, Lord Whitney’s mother, welcomed Celeste into Chesterfield with open arms. Their world soon turned into a whirlwind of activity, planning the wedding and getting Celeste set up in a new household. Dressmakers, shoemakers, cooks, and all the like flew in and out of Chesterfield the next two months. Invitations were sent out, presents and guest arrived. Many stayed at Chesterfield, including Belinda, who Celeste invited and treated cordially, but mostly ignored. Belinda seemed a bit hurt at her niece’s actions, but never once provoked Celeste.

Two days before the wedding, Lord Whitney passed by the room that Celeste had taken up residence in and heard muffled yells. He moved nearer to the slightly cracked door. Celeste was in a nightgown of white cotton and was brushing out her long dark locks in harsh anger, while hissing at someone behind her. Belinda came into view, and took the brush from her niece’s hand.

“Your angry will accomplish nothing now or in the future,” Belinda patiently said, gently brushing Celeste’s hair. “You must accept your fate. You either run from it or embrace it tightly. Fate isn’t meant to be encouraged or denied. It is just meant to be.”

“You are one to talk to me,” said Celeste. “You who ran away from a marriage and your homeland. Your fate was...”

“Uncertain,” replied Belinda. “My future was and still is cloudy, while yours is clear as crystal and you know that better then anyone else.”

“Why must you always do this,” said Celeste, turning from anger to sadness. “I am happy. I love Jonathan. I am to be his wife.”

“That is part of your destiny Celeste,” said Belinda. “But there is more to it then that. You have a happy destiny. Be joyful.”

“Easy for a childless spinster to tell me to be joyful,” said Celeste with venom. “You and your talk of pride and fate know nothing of either. Your life didn’t suit you and so you changed it, but allow no one else to change theirs. Your fate was sealed and you and I both know it. Changing yours destroyed other lives, including those you loved. Why do you get to make such a mistake but not me.”

“Because you are a better person then I,” said Belinda, finishing her job. “You choose to marry him knowing what would happen if you did. You could have refused, but you didn’t.” Lord Whitney knew no more, for he left at that moment, upset at himself for spying on Celeste, and curious as to the conversation the women were having.

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Their marriage became the talk of the country. No groom would ever be handsomer, no bride more beautiful, no couple more happy with each other. Celeste looked like an angel in her dress of white silk and gold, coming down the aisle of the church. Lord Whitney looked a charming prince in his matching tunic and breeches. Their vows were spoken and a kissed sealed their union. The crowd spent the rest of the day and well into the next morning toasting and cheering for the couple.

Celeste for the most part took it all with a gentle and demur disposition, gratefully thanking the twentieth person who gave them a rare and priceless flower vase that matched all the other ones. Lord Whitney rarely left her side, and Belinda stayed near the couple.

Celeste introduced the woman to all as her aunt and godmother, and acted as if her estrangement from the woman never happened. Lord Whitney knew better then to ask Celeste of the nature of her and her aunt’s fights, but after the other day grew more curious about his bride and what her strange destiny was that would cause many to call it joyful, but she called it a disaster.

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The newlyweds were gone for two months on their honeymoon. When they returned, they settled in nicely in the lives of a married couple. Jonathan managed the accounts, lands, and the proceedings of the two neighboring towns of Redden and Lakeside. Celeste ran the household and entertained the guest that they would often receive, along with Lady Elaine.

Within a few weeks, though, people started talking about Celeste. Well most young married women kept their hair pinned up in elaborate styles until thirty, Celeste wore hers down, loose are in a braid with ribbons. She only had dresses of gray, black, and white, and sometimes gold and silver trim added for special occasions. Her jewels reflected similar traits. It was common for wives to add a decorative touch to their husbands tunics and doublets, but Celeste embroidered fantastic scenes in all her husband’s clothing, which he proudly wore in turn. Yes, their was no doubt the woman had her oddities and was the subject of much gossip, but none of it turned wicked. She was highly regarded by all who met her and cherished and loved by her household and husband.

Two years passed in wedded bliss, before Celeste announced that she was with child. The next eight months was spent being pampered by her husband, mother-in-law, and household. Celeste quickly grew large, quicker and bigger then most women ever got during pregnancy. She took to her bed and was kept company by her husband and visiting aunt, who she forgot to hate.

The midwife and doctor came as soon as they were called, and Belinda and Elaine remained by Celeste side as the hours drone on in hard and intense labor. Lord Whitney waited and prayed for hours for a safe delivery. An hour past the start of Midsummer Day, Lady Elaine emerged from the room with tears of joy.

“You’re a father, a father!” she yelled. Belinda came behind, letting a huge smile replace her normal serenity.

“Come and see your children,” Belinda said, ushering him inside.

“Children?” Jonathan questioned, going inside to be greeted by his dampen wife and four small and identical bundles. His smile grew and he looked up believing he would see similar joy in Celeste’s face, but found a strange sorrow instead. Celeste looked on the verge of tears, but Jonathan attributed her oddity to the fact she had just given birth.

“You have four sons,” she said, holding one. “Four beautiful and wonderful sons.” A few tears fell and she sobbed.

Jonathan studied his sons. They were mostly identical, with their mothers stock of black hair, but straight like his. They had small bodies and rosy cheeks and lips. They were red, but Jonathan knew soon they would become pale like their mother. “They look like you,” he whispered awed.

“Except for their eyes,” she said, her voice becoming monotone, like her aunt’s. Jonathan looked. Each boy had a different eye color, none of which were his brown or Celeste’s grey. The one he held, the eldest, had eyes the color of his hair. The second had eyes of bright green. The third’s eyes were as purple as violets on a Spring morning. And the last, which Celeste held, had eyes as bright and blue as the morning sky.

“We will always be able to tell them a part,” joked Jonathan, which evoked a smile from Celeste.

Within days, any thought he had of Celeste being melancholy was absurd. She was happier then she had been at their wedding. Motherhood agreed with her, as fatherhood agreed with Jonathan. The next month, everyone who had been at their wedding came for the christening of the boys, in which they would be named and introduced to the society that they would be a part of.

They were named Leif, Lane, Lorne, and Lynn, and Belinda was asked to be their godmother. Throughout the ceremony, Celeste kept her glances between her sons and aunt, asking questions with her eyes only the two women understood.

Within months the sons grew into independently minded babes. Leif, the eldest had to constantly be watched. He crawled and walked first, and with his mobility tried to leave and find adventure. Lane watched and understood everything with his large green eyes and talked a full two weeks before any of his brothers. Lorne was by three months already trying to grab at pens and paper, smiling and demanding attention. Little Lynn was as sweet as honey, following after his brothers and always smiling at his parents.

The first five years of their lives were filled with love and wonderment. And that is were the true story of Celeste’s destiny and that of her four sons begins.

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Author's Note: I swear later on all the codes will come to be! So, what do you think?