Chapter 3
Genevieve awoke on the morning of the anniversary to the pattering of rain outside her window. She feared for a moment about opening her eyes, knowing she would see the same scene before her as she saw every morning: a bed, besides her own presence empty, with a well-slept-upon pillow and ruffled sheets; a newspaper on the chaise longue beside the window, undoubtedly boasting her husband’s neglected glasses as well; and lastly, an assortment of shoes and suitcoats lingering here and there, cast unceremoniously aside by Lord Evans as he scrambled to dress.
An image such as it was reeling through her mind, Genevieve slowly opened one eye, only to jolt upwards and widely open the other.
There was still an empty space next to her, where her husband would rarely be found, but on the well-slept-upon pillow was a beautiful, full red rose.
Astonishment overtook her as she slowly, almost uncertainly took the flower from it’s position and held it to her nose, a small smile gracing her features. Taking in the rest of the bedroom she saw the same newspaper on the chaise, the same clothes strewn hastily across the room. But now she didn’t care; he had taken the moment, the single moment to place even a small token of affection in her world and she could not help but smile at that.
Without warning, the bedchamber door was thrust open, causing Genevieve to shriek unlike herself, grasping the bedsheets to her chest in shock. Her eyes widened further when she saw Peter Thomas himself bound into the room, his eyes brighter than she ever remembered seeing them.
“Good morning, my love,” he said softly, taking her hand and kissing it, his lips lingering momentarily as his eyes caught hers in a brief moment. She blushed at the sudden attention, and he smiled, clearly satisfied. “Come, get dressed. We shall be very late!”
“I...” she could not speak, for all thought had left her mind upon seeing the excitement and fire in his eyes. It was not moments before she was being ushered out of bed by her lady’s maid, and by the time she had fully recovered from the shock of even the unexpected gift left on the pillow she was standing in the foyer, clad in a beautiful red gown and matching gloves.
Subconsciously fiddling with the threads of her small, red-sequined bag she was greeted by her husband. He was dressed in an immaculate tuxedo, his hair slicked back perfectly: he was the personification of elegance, she thought. Following silently behind in coats and hats, umbrellas in hand were Maria and Basil. It caught Genevieve’s attention that Maria was also holding a picnic basket.
“Pray, tell me,” Genevieve queried, eyeing her husband uncertainly, “what is it that we shall be so very late for?” He only smiled slyly and offered her his arm. She acquiesced, placing her red-gloved hand on his well-muscled forearm as he made his way to the door.
The rain was pouring steadily, harshly. They glanced to each other eagerly, whilst behind them Maria and Basil exchanged reproachful glances. In a rush of shrieks and laughter, the couple ran to the car awaiting them in the drive, butler and maid following behind with umbrellas lifted hastily.
“Ah, refreshing!” Genevieve sighed happily. “Now, pray, tell me where we are going! I entreat you!” Peter Thomas was silent as the car took them down the road. She looked at him for a moment, uncertain of her words and how to speak her mind. When he turned a quizzical eye upon her, she whispered thus;
“Should you not be to work? It is most unagreeable for a man to be left of his work, save for illness, you know.”
Peter Thomas only smiled. “Then they may dub me the unagreeable term of ‘unagreeable’ and just so! Be done with it!” He kissed her cheek, inwardly feeling another pang of satisfaction at the scene of bewilderment that played across his wife’s face.
- - -
The car came to a slow halt and Genevieve looked out the window to see a small London beach, completely abandoned save for a few lingering seagulls squawking in the distance. In a sweeping moment, Peter Thomas had left the car, holding his hand to help her out as well. The rain had seemed to slow, but he held an umbrella over his head just the shame.
“Shall we?” he asked with a smile. She looked at him mock-askance.
“Shall we
what precisely?” she asked, drawing her hand to her heart sarcastically. “Do you, sir, really intend to subject a frail woman of nobility to the chill of a morning in this very rain?”
“Yes,” he said, “I do.” And without another word, he pulled her unceremoniously out of the car where she stumbled into his arms. Their eyes met in another brief moment during which a lifetime could have passed without either’s desire to live it. Peter Thomas broke the silence in a soft whisper.
“Now,” he said, tossing the umbrella away and letting the rain wash over them, “Shall we?” He took several steps away from her and held out his hand. She eyes him curiously, and he nodded encouragingly. She shook her head slightly, unbelieving this was all happening.
“You wish to dance with me? Here?” she laughed aloud, but Peter Thomas’s face remained firmly inviting and completely serious. He then took a step close to her and began to sing softly.
We’ve just been introduced,
I do not know you well,
But when the music started
Something drew me to your side...
Genevieve felt herself melt at the words; he had remembered her favourite song! Lord Peter Thomas Evans had quite forgotten himself, and now, finally, the true Peter Thomas she had loved so many years ago had come to life once more. She excepted his hand and, in quite a way that would be deemed uncouth by the very socialites they had vowed to momentarily forget, the couple began to move softly across the beach. They waltzed in silence, staring contentedly into each other’s eyes, reveling in such beautiful a moment as a man could give his wife. After a long moment, Peter Thomas spoke softly to her, his eyes dancing.
“I am sure you remember, some years ago, I in my hardheaded obstinacy was set to deny the living my father had made me?” She smiled softly at the recollection. “I dreamed of being a carpenter. My father thought me most insatiable. And do you remember what you told me?”
“Indeed” replied she; “I told you to find your bliss. Find your bliss and hold onto it with all of your power.”
“A right statement that was,” Peter Thomas smiled; “But you were far wiser than even you knew, my dear love. I have found my bliss in other areas of my life: I have found my bliss, and it lies within your very spirit. Your eyes, your lips, your soul, your being; they are my bliss. And I will hold on to you with all of my power. Happy anniversary, Lady Evans.”
Silence enveloped the dance as a couple most beautifully in love enjoyed the sweetest gift that life could ever offer them; the pleasure of each others’ company.
Finis
A/N: And there you have it. I tend to end my stories all on similar notes as far as sentence structure and the general deliverence of the storyline. The last paragraph (if it can be deemed that) somewhat reflects Alessandro's Soul, I know. I can't help it, I always enjoy the slight irony of including the title as the last words in one form or another. Anyway, that's my entry! I hope you guys like it.