A Crushed Petal

Tree branches tore at his jacket and roots hooked on his boots, scratching the fine leather. He tripped again and the mud splattered his clothes. The rain plastered his hair straight against his scalp and face. A small building loomed ahead of him, its bright white paint work standing out against the darkness. He headed for it relieved and stumbled gratefully through its open doorway and into the shelter. He stripped off his sodden jacket before it soaked through to his already damp shirt and collapsed onto the cushioned benches that circled its interior. His breathing was heavy and laboured but he sought to quieten it.

“He won’t get much further.” Voices reached him and thunder clapped over head.

“He won’t get any further until morning when it stops raining and he can see where he is going, that’s if he hasn’t died from the cold. Leave him and let’s go home to our warm dry beds. We can find him tomorrow” Came another more sensible voice.

“Fine,” came the agitated reply, “But I will get that money back. I’m certain he was cheating.”

“Yes, yes of course he was no one can win that many times. But now let’s go it’s a long way back now and I don’t won’t to be stuck under all these trees when the lightning starts.” The voices faded as they walked in the opposite direction. Cameron let out a sigh of relief, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. He could relax for now; they had stopped looking for him. He must remind himself to stick to playing poker only in England where he is better know for his skill at playing rather then in France where the men are touchy and believe they can’t be beaten and if they are beaten accuse him of cheating. He shivered from the cold and wrapped a folded blanket he found around him, watching through the pretty stain glassed windows of the summer house as lightning lit up the sky. He curled up on the wide bench and fell asleep to the pitter patter of rain on the wooden roof that sheltered him.

~

Portia crept down the back stairs to the kitchen and greeted the servants sat there eating their breakfast warmly.

“Good Morning. Is there anything I could have to eat please and a bottle of water?”

“Good morning Mademoiselle Walters.” They chorused in reply standing to bow and curtsy to her. She smiled her small quiet smile. She had asked them not to be so formal but they never listened and she had grown used to it. The cook handed her a small paper parcel and a glass bottle of water as he usually had ready for her. She thanked him with a smile and slipped out the back pulling her cloak tight around her against the cool damp morning. The sun was peeping through the clouds at her and the world seemed new and fresh after the night’s storm. Her skirt and cloak grew damp from the wet grass but she ignored it intent on her destination.
The weak sun shone down through the gap in the trees on her little summer house, as she approached through the woods. It looked so cheerful and welcoming, its clean white paint glistening with water and its stained windows glinting in the sun. She undid her cloak and stepped through the door way. Then she froze. There was a man asleep on the bench inside. Her curiosity over came her and she went in further. He was wrapped in her blanket his clothes damp and mud stained. They were good quality clothes though so he wasn’t a vagabond. But then what was he doing here? He looked pale and cold; he shouldn’t stay in wet clothes. Gingerly she shook his shoulder and he stirred slightly, pushing his black curls out of his eyes before opening one wearily.

Cameron looked up through his one open eye surprised. Why was there a pretty brunette looking down at him with her bright cornflower eyes? Eyes like cornflowers? That didn’t sound like him but it was true.

“You have eyes like cornflowers. Did you know that?” he told her hoarsely. The eyes in question widened in surprise.

“Um thank you sir, I think but why are you in my summer house?”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a cheeky grin, “Your summer house? I’m sorry I was hiding from some French friends, if you could called them that.” He told her in perfect French. She smiled realising something.

“You are not French are you?”

“No I’m English.” He replied surprised. “How did you know has my French gotten so bad?”

“No it is perfect,” she told him in English with a slight Somerset lilt. “But you referred to your friends as French rather than just friends. It is good to see another English person after all these years.”

“You’re English too? How jolly!” he replied with slight croak.

“Yes now be quiet you don’t sound at all well. You look very pale and you keep croaking. Look you’re shivering. Here have my cloak as well.”

“Thank you,” Cameron said with a cough. “Cameron.” He held out a hand for her. She shook it timidly.

“Portia, nice to meet you.”

“Now why are you here?”

“Why am I here? You dare to ask me this when you are in my summer house.”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she was surprised that someone so ill could be so precise. “Well I like it here?”

“You don’t sound very sure? But this better then your home I take it?”

“Yes, I would do anything to get away.” She said clapping her hand over her mouth when she realised what she had said. Cameron laughed but it turned into a hacking cough.

“Excuse me,” he apologised between coughs holding up a hand as he bent over racked.

“Anything?” he managed to ask breathlessly when the coughing had stopped.

“Yes, now have some of this water.” Portia handed him the bottle and he took it gratefully.

“Anything? Are you sure?” he looked thoughtful and serious. Portia was surprised by this he hadn’t looked serious since she had first seen him, even when he was asleep he had looked cheeky, amused and generally light hearted.

“Yes, I really am.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes can you please stop asking me pointless questions.” she ordered him, handing him a croissant from her parcel from the kitchen.

“They aren’t pointless,” he told her taking it. “Will you marry me?” her eyes widened again.

“Did you say marry?”

“Yes marry. You want to escape I can see it in those pretty eyes of yours. I don’t know why you can tell me if you want, but marrying me would mean you could come back to England with me.”

“But I don’t know you and you don’t know me.” She was touched but she didn’t love him, didn’t even know him. He fished a water stained card out of his pocket. The ink had run but she could still read it-

Marquess Cameron Felix
Residence of London and France

His address followed and she looked up at him surprised.

“You’re a Marquess?”

“Yes, now will you marry me?”

“No.”

“Why not I don’t understand?”

“Love, love is the key.”

“I can understand that but you have my word that I’ll love you like a true wife.”

“I… I…” she couldn’t think of a good reason to say no to this; although he was kind he was also a stranger. But then she remembered her step father’s frequent words.

‘You will never marry you are a little no body you will stay here and look after your mother and I till we die. Besides who would want to marry you a plain English girl?’ nothing had ever hurt her more. And now here was a handsome man who said her eyes were pretty offering to marry her and take her away from a place she hated.

“Yes.”

Cameron had thought she wasn’t going to finish her sentence and looked up surprised.

“Yes, you said yes. Really?” he grinned, his serious face disappearing and his usual cheeky grin returning. Cameron grabbed her hand and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Really?” he asked again.

“Yes.” She said quietly, her eyes wide. He had just kissed her. She had never been kissed before.

“We must go now then before you change your mind and anyone can stop us. I assume some one will try to stop you if you come with me?”

“Yes my step father.”

“Right then, tonight. We will leave tonight. I will meet you here and bring two horses. Pack a small bag and we will make our way back to England. We have to get married there because I’m English although I am part French. And if we are in England it will be harder for your step father to find you.”

“Alright then. Tonight at midnight?”

“Yes now I must go my love, I think some people who don’t like me have arrived.” Sure enough when they stopped talking they could hear two men talking near by. “Later.” He whispered in her ear kissing her thoroughly before disappearing out the door silently and into the woods. She stared after him. What had she agreed to? She wondered touching her bruised lips.