Marguerite stood in front of the windows in the library of Henry's house, gazing at the deepening shades of twilight. She hated the impenetrable darkness of night that descended inevitably after the light of day had faded. Leaning her forehead against the cool window panel, she reflected upon the irony of her life mirroring the routine of day and night.
Except the darkness in my life will be nigh impossible to dispel.
The last month had flown by with arrangements for her "retirement" to the country. A permanent retirement that appeased the sensibilities of the ton which were affronted by the protection Henry had extended to her after the disaster that had befallen her.
Cicely was slowly recovering physically though the night terrors still haunted her. Marguerite had been at a loss when it came to procuring the abortifacient for Mary and Cicely as a precaution against the potential, unwanted consequences of the attack. Henry had come to the rescue once again with a bottle obtained from a madame who ran one of the biggest brothels in London. A woman who, it was rumoured, was a squire's daughter who had herself fallen victim to the Brotherhood some years ago. In exchange for her help, Henry had agreed to sponsor her daughter, effectively rescuing her from circumstances which would otherwise condemn the child to a similar fate as her mother's.
The foul-smelling liquid worked rapidly, both Cicely and Mary were wrecked with spasms of pain. It seemed like a torrent of blood poured from them, so horrifying was the sight that the maids and even the midwife Henry had arranged to attend to the two women were white-faced when they emerged from the rooms with bloodstained cloths and water pails. Henry had been fearful of Margaret suffering further trauma and had insisted she sit with him in the library as the abortifacient was administered.
Marguerite's nerves were so overwrought she jumped at every sound. Noting her knuckles turning white as her hands clasped tight in anxiety, Henry pressed a glass of whisky into her hands and insisted she drank it. The alcohol worked its magic, but the tension did not fully ebb till a maid reported that the ordeal was over and both women were asleep. Only then did Marguerite let the warm languor of the alcohol lull her into a fuzzy state of near sleep.
Chuckling as he swung her up into his arms, Henry whispered into the whorl of her ear, "Love, hold on just a little while, let me get you to bed, you will feel more comfortable there."
The feel of Henry's warm breath on her ear summoned a fiery tingle that ran from the pit of Marguerite's stomach to her cheeks. Snuggling closer to the warmth of his embrace, she turned her head and pressed her soft lips to his. Not wishing to frighten her, Henry kept the kiss soft and sweet, holding the surge of desire in check.
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