The Grand Adventure Chapter 1

I had always imagined that my life would take a different route than my mother—that some grand adventure would find me, along with the thrill of an exotic lover’s passion. Instead, I was prisoner to my father the Baron, and a society that cared more about safety than the possibility of such an adventure.

I often imagined a boundless world—without fearing chaos just because what one desired went against society’s grain. Of course, my exotic lover would be there for me and love me regardless. He would laugh in the face of danger, take refuge in my arms when he felt distraught, and love me with unbelievable affection. Instead, I was stuck spending the turn of the twentieth century with British bores, British conduct, and British women who thought more about their husbands than themselves.

If I were to be queried about my life, I would state that there wasn’t much to reveal in its entirety. Being the second child of a Baron, most hours were spent inside the castle, learning more about wifely customs than something enlightening. When I was able to roam the estate, always bearing in mind my comportment, the world seemed more to me than my narrow-minded tutors deemed. The Carver property was the envy of England, spanning several acres in all directions, located alongside a river on the south edge with a beautiful array of woods on the north. When the country’s gentry desired a grand foxhunt, my father would release the terrain to them. I could often associate myself with the fox, which exhibited the whole of my existence.

One noon, I ventured towards the river located over fifty feet from the backdoor of the castle, attempting to gather my wits that lay scattered like pebbles along the ground. My morning had been spent indoors, my parents berating me on my choice of words to my tutor, a spinster who knew nothing of the world—only claimed to. My mother was convinced that I would never wed. Although my statement to her had been along the same lines, she stated that I had no say in my future, just as she had no say in hers. If I’d spoken this way to my father, he would have done more than speak of marriage; he would have located the quaintest bachelor and have me wedded and bedded post-haste just to prove he was supreme.

Reaching the riverside, I watched the noonday sun dance upon it, quickly remembering and detesting my mother’s words about freckles, so took refuge in the gazebo located mere feet away. Making my way up the steps, I had the uncanny feeling that I wasn’t alone. Walking towards me with his hands in his pockets, looking around as if he owned the place, was none other than Henry Rouchefelt. Usually, he would ignore me and brush me off at parties as if I were some insolent, naïve girl. Of course, I never cared if he did.

Glancing at him, I felt relieved knowing I wasn’t attending tomorrow night’s celebration to acknowledge my sister’s lucky catch of Count Pierre de Beoncortez. Henry was. My entire family admired and respected him, so there would be no reason for him not to be at the party. I had other plans—though my father had more than made them seem minuscule.

I was going to the grand opening of a theater that a friend of mine had designed. Of course, my father hated my acquaintances, so I didn’t expect him to embrace my plans for tomorrow evening. I was utterly happy that Henry wouldn’t be there to watch me, which was which was how he whiled away his spare moments.

“Are you going to the party tomorrow night, Henry?” I asked, sitting down on the bench looking towards the river.

He sat opposite me, stating, “No. I don’t care about your sister.”

I was offended but didn’t show it. Levelheadedness was a trait the Carver women were known and praised for. I merely looked around, once again taking in the brilliance of a summer noon where everything seemed hushed by the warmth of the sun hanging high overhead. After a long, wet spring, the sun was welcome to the robins in the trees, the deer who had hidden in the thicket, the frogs in the lily ponds near the castle, and the people who lived within the boundaries of British conformity. I looked at the castle, my own place of conformity, to avoid making eye contact with Henry, who wouldn’t stop looking at me.

“Do you wonder why I’m not going to the party, Catherine?” he asked.

I looked at him. “Depends. Are you going to tell me?”

Henry was one of the most handsome men that I’d ever seen. He had thick dark hair, bright brown eyes, and the agility and strength of a lion. He was aware of his attractiveness, which made him more of a menace. Although he was one of the most eligible bachelors in England, he asked more questions that he didn’t want answers to than anyone I knew. As he adjusted his position on the bench, I knew that he was going to speak.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust our mutual friend, Mr. Richard Abernathy, so I am to escort you to the theater and keep an eye on you. I hope you don’t mind.”

I knew that he was waiting for my response, but didn’t want to give him the advantage of seeing me angry. He’d never seen me enraged before, and he wasn’t going to. I smiled while my mind ran through many phases of anger. What made him think that he could escort me anywhere? Was this one of my father’s schemes?

“If he was indeed our mutual friend, Henry, you would trust him.”

“It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” he answered, smiling thoughtfully.

“I need no accompaniment anywhere. I am well suited to the ways of the evening, if that is your concern.”

He looked from me to the river. The gazebo was nicely situated so that only a few windows of the castle could see the foundation. I often sat here to escape from my father. Georgiana, my younger sister, accompanied before she officially embraced the fact our lives couldn’t be exciting. Why was I sitting down here, away from the world? Did I not know that my life was going to be chaotic as long as I lived under my father’s roof and that he hated me with all his heart and soul? I knew, but didn’t want to, chose not to.

“What are you thinking about?” Henry asked quietly.

Without glancing at him, I recalled the words of my raving aunt as she twisted my arm and threw me in a closet, “No woman should have a whimsical air!” Thinking of Georgiana’s cry and the door banging behind me, I snapped out of my thoughts and turned to him. Those days were over.

“Oh, nothing,” I said quickly, then regained my composure and smiled. “Nothing. I am thinking about nothing.”

For a second, he looked concerned. He stood and his blanket of emotion fell away and cascaded through the gazebo and into the earth, almost as if it never existed. “Are you going back soon?”

“Where?”

“To the castle!” He gestured towards home.

“Eventually.” I wanted to say more, but decided that doing so would make him stay longer. As long as he was present, the witch’s curse had complete power over me and I wouldn’t wish for his departure. Usually, he was the first to leave when we were together because he had other engagements—other people to see. My father, for one.

“I have never seen such beauty,” Henry said, delighted.

Thinking that he was addressing me, my eyes rose to meet his. He was gazing at the river. I turned to see Georgiana and Count Pierre sitting side-by-side in a rowboat while a servant rowed. They were happy, which was an uncommon thing on the Carver property.

Georgiana always had been precious to everyone, even me, who some thought nothing happy could touch. In truth, she had more of an effect on me than she did anyone else. I was happy, sad, and angry whenever she was. As she sat with the sun pouring onto her golden hair, dressed in a white dress made of the finest silk, she looked like a goddess.

“Georgiana, the sun; Catherine, the moon,” Henry said almost inaudibly.

He was correct in his definition of us: she was the sun, and I was the moon. “Everything the moon stands for,” my father once said, “is what you represent. I am not the moon, so I do not associate with the moon. I am the sun, so only shall I speak with it—never to the moon.” His words were still clear in my mind, almost as if he’d uttered them yesterday and not three years ago. Three years ago, sadness engulfed me for the last time because my father’s love and affection would never again be mine, only his hatred and commands. Three years ago, my parents had stopped loving me—and I didn’t care as long as I had Georgiana.

“Hello, everyone!” Pierre waved. Georgiana saw us and started waving as well, smiling. It was funny to think that they were making such an open gesture towards the moon. I wanted to yell, “Stop waving at the moon. I cannot wave back.” Instead, my hand shot into the air and waved.

“Joining us for tea shortly?” Pierre asked, standing at his full height. He wasn’t very tall, nor was he as well built as Henry, but he was full of personality. He was, as Georgiana told me after meeting him, charming. He looked like a schoolboy, with well-cropped hair and innocent, baby blue eyes that could get him out of almost everything. Pierre and Georgiana were made for each other.

“I’m afraid not. I have more pressing matters to attend to,” Henry said, getting on the bench beside me on his knees.

“Oh, come now, old fellow, nothing’s more pressing than tea.”

Pierre put his hands on his hips and widened his stance, the boat shaking beneath him. He was French and possessed a flair for learning. In the two months since he’d met Georgiana, he’d learned the British customs as if they were his own, which pleased my younger sister. After all, father didn’t approve of the French lifestyle, which meant she couldn’t wed Pierre unless he changed. In secret, though, I knew he reverted back to his way of life and Georgiana loved him regardless.

“Some of us weren’t born wealthy, you know?”

“Come, man, I’m asking you to tea. I’m not asking you to spend your measly fortune on it.” Pierre smiled. He wasn’t serious—except when he announced that he was in love with Georgiana—so Henry didn’t take his teasing to heart.

“What’s going on here?” came a voice that sent chills up my spine.

I associated this voice with many tears, closets, and beatings—all of which my father had thought reasonable. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Aunt Ruby standing mere feet away, her beady eyes like black marbles on her pudgy face. The words she said to me those years ago rang in my head as I imagined her face in mine, her onion breath pouring into my nostrils, and her grubby hands pushing me into the nearest closet. Seeing her now, I expected her to be older, but she looked the same. I wanted to hide.

“All goings-on are quite decent, I assure you,” Henry said. “We’re just having a friendly conversation with the Count.” He smiled, attempting to capture Ruby with his charisma. For a second, she acted like she wasn’t going to be imprisoned by his charm, but smiled and, in so doing, her fat cheeks lifted. I had never seen her smile, except when she was counting money.

As she was turning to look at me, Henry graciously sidestepped and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. They walked off with Henry starting a conversation that more than enthralled her: talk of money. As they were making their way down the steps, Henry turned to me. I thought he was going to smile or wink to show that he was my protector. He didn’t. Within five seconds, he turned and began speaking with Ruby.

In those five seconds, I knew that he wasn’t going to escort me to the theater because my father wished it. The Baron wanted to uphold his good name, surely, and Ruby was part of that name. He wouldn’t have told Henry to shield me from her. No, Henry had another reason to come with me tomorrow night. He wanted to look after me.

With Henry wanting to protect me, I realized that this could only mean one thing: this was my mother’s idea. Was she asking Henry to protect me, or was she concerned about the reputation of the family?