How am I supposed to be happy when all I ever wanted, it comes with a price?

She was writhing inside but she hid it perfectly. Or rather, she smothered it with happiness and confined it to the deepest depths of her heart. No one would know, no one at all. Francois had already guessed, but he was wrong. No way at all. She was alone. But tonight she had flirted and flounced and danced and laughed and smiled and talked. She was living by her rules, the way she wanted to play.

But then - she'd seen him with her. Edmund and Esabell. And that look in his eyes, that one of adoration and arousal, she knew it so well because it was how he'd looked at her. How could he have forgotten so quickly? She was the one who had made love to him in the meadow, not Esabell. The flutterings of jealousy in her stomach magnified a little, before she wiped them away with a smile. She'd hooked the to-be Duke, and before the Duchess. She'd beaten her.

She was chatting to yet another, a rather nice-looking man, when she saw Edmund. Of course she continued talking to the man because otherwise she'd look so desperate, and that was one thing she wouldn't have. Not desperate like Esabell, falling over to get his attention. Cecily considered that a flimsy trick and found Esabell pathetic.

Her dress was still one of the most gorgeous in the hall. By her standards, at least. Many people here had gone for the 'simple yet elegant' look, trying to be individual - much like her Duchess. But all they did was look the same, where Cecily's dress screamed for attention and adoration. And so far, she'd got both.

A small smirk played across her lips as she patted her dress down, fingers dancing over the flounces and curls and ribbons and violent sparkles of colour. It was a bold move but it suited her because she had so much confidence to pull it off - not to mention the fact that it accentuated her curves, a trait that Francois had already noted. His name in her mind was met by a little twinge of anger, before it smoothed itself out. He was just a stupid man, after all - he knew nothing. Nothing at all.

But she curtsied to the man she was talking to and gave him a dazzling smile, the kind that she had practiced. She was going to look gorgeous, no matter how she was feeling. With a little breath in and a squaring of her shoulders she made herself smile again and found she liked it. Then she strode forward to stand in front of Edmund, commanding his attention. No Esabell around to steal him now.

But Cecily was haughty, too haughty to ask up front or ask him or talk to him in any respectable way at all. She didn't want to talk about it - he was just another courtier in a sea of men who wanted her, and she wouldn't grace him with her cares. "My Lord," she said, and curtsied. "How lovely to see you. I trust the Duchess is doing well? It is a lovely ball, m'Lord." There was intensity in her speech, forcing him to tiptoe around her broken feelings however much she tried to be careless.

She shook her curls slightly and patted down her skirt absent-mindedly, her chocolate eyes flickering on his own. However much she wanted to slap him and scream at him she wouldn't. There are some things that are best done as responsibly as possible. She was still young yet, almost 13 years younger than the Duchess - of course she wouldn't look or act the same. But she had life where Esabell died, happiness where Esabell was sad, vibrance where Esabell was dull.

Days grow longer and nights grow shorter, I can show you I'll be the one.

As Edmund and Esabell’s dance ended and they each said their farewells for the time being, Edmund watched his bride walk away before he was left to stand alongside the edge of other dancing partners. His satisfaction shown within his gaze and he demanded attention all his own without the need for flair or boldness. It wasn’t until he had turned to acknowledge a passing courtier with a congenial nod that he saw her. There she stood, looking radiant and lovely. He saw the smile she awarded the man near her, noted her curtsy with a strange look of bewildered amusement. Lady Cecily who mocked such proper protocol was now dropping curtsies as if second nature.
When they had last seen each other, she had reeked of hostility. A strange, intoxicating blend of anger and passion. Edmund’s face showed none of this, the only sign a flickering of shadow across his emerald depths as he failed to remove his sight from her frame. She had hurt him, choosing to cheer on the worthless Lord Francois. She had cheered that mutt of a man to victory and when she saw his cowardly move, she had only a barrage of verbal snarls and a vindictive method of bandaging Edmund’s wound. She had hurt him... and God knew she had pleasured him. The tantalizing gown accentuated her feminism, encouraged the looks from admiring gazes. Edmund admired her too but he was discreet enough so that this shown only as shrouded color in those eyes of his.
He steeled himself against the public display he feared she’d conduct and could only stare in barely concealed astonishment when she instead spoke of rightful titles however lethal her underlying tone was. He knew now he had hurt her too. Why else did she hate him so? Edmund hadn’t promised her anything, hadn’t coerced her into anything. It hadn’t been him alone who desired their flowered escape. She had needed him perhaps as much as he needed her. He was sure she had felt the same fluttering he had within his chest when she had whispered so intimately to him.
Edmund regarded her with remembered bliss, remembered agony, and present confusion. He wasn’t angry, not anymore. He felt torn between two worlds of vastly different realities, one of which his entire being consisted of and one which that other side of him urged him to explore. Esabell had shown him there was promise between them and not just for a respectful co-ruling. Her innocence endeared him to her and her subtle hints of womanly passion awakened him as well. She was composed, compassionate, proper. Never would she flash a charming smile to a handsome courtier in the same manner as Cecily. Cecily, who haunted his dreams sometimes when she whispered sweet nothings all over again. She laughed at duty and ridiculed respect. She was young, wild, untamed... and Edmund had claimed a part of that uninhibited freedom for himself.
Now he stood with almost stern facade. He didn’t smile nor did he frown. When she curtsied to him, he bowed. When she inquired of Esabell, he said nothing. When she finished speaking, he merely offered his arm and said quietly, “We need to talk, Cecily.”

She was jealous. So jealous it hurt to breathe in front of him. So jealous she thought of ways to dishonour her own Duchess. So jealous she nearly cried when she heard his name being said with Esabell's. So jealous that she didn't stop to think about how jealous she was, just pushed on with new courtiers and new faces and new dances. Because how else would she get by?

He may not have been alone in coaxing her to him, but she'd found herself unexpectedly jolted. It wasn't just the passion - there was that tenderness she'd never found anywhere else, that she thought she was special in. He'd kissed her temple, held her hand, given her a statue she kept beside her bed. So many little glances and touches made her feel as if he might have cared for her... as more than just a common whore.

Of course he wasn't angry. He had everything. A beautiful fiance, a Duchy to run, money and friends to boot. What did she have? A pretty dress and some broken hopes. But she'd get by because that was what she did. She'd survived this far - it was easy to convince herself that he was just another man, just an unknown face.

She never would admit it to herself, never. But maybe she was clinging to the last traces because she wanted to be loved. She wanted someone to hold onto her and be tender with her and kiss her not just on her lips, on her forehead and nose too. She wanted some sense of security because of the loose rein which was all she'd ever known.

She wanted to take not his arm but his hand, and to pull him outside and kiss him and hug him and just talk to him, for hours on end. She wanted to tell him her secrets and to let him know how she felt - but now that was impossible. Esabell had become a barrier between them. She couldn't trust that such secrets would remain secret anymore.

She felt the sting and she wanted to listen to what he had to say. She wanted to so badly. It would be easy on them both, simple, understanding. She'd become the dutiful ex-lover who left him and his business alone and spoke to him of affairs of state. She felt tenderness for him growing and softening her. How easy it would be. She bit her lip.

But she shook such notions away and put her hands on her hips, ignoring his arm. Laughing falsely, she said, "my dear Lord, I do not know what you mean by such a thing! You are superior, after all." She closed her heart against the burn her own actions were causing her and smiled jauntily at him. She wouldn't forgive. How could she? The bitterness she had been feeling was coming back.

But how could she feel so bitter while feeling so peaceful in his presence? She needed a bit of herself to hold onto, a bit of anger so that he couldn't take her for another ride. "I hardly understand what you mean by talking. I never had the impression you needed me at all." Her eyes glared furiously into his for a moment before she shed that too. She'd be happy. He couldn't bring her down, wouldn't. She'd put on a brave smile to the world and show him what he was missing.

Why live life from dream to dream and dread the day when dreaming ends?

Edmund had shared a part of him with Cecily that he often left tucked away. She had seen him bare his soul and joined him willingly. He hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t forget for he remembered the shared passion that had lain between them nearly every night when sleep wouldn’t immediately come. Her doe eyes beckoned to him and he pictured the spread of her beneath him as she whispered she wanted him. Wanted him, not needed him... Edmund hadn’t forgotten. There was a vast difference between the two words and the part that ached for Cecily’s touch beat as surely as the part that yearned for that delicate balance of honor and responsibility.
He hadn’t intended to cause such up heave with her emotions either. Nor his own, truth be told. He didn’t want to close his eyes and see hers, didn’t want to view her face as he did now and restrain his hands from taking hers. He didn’t want to remember Cecily, and yet the part that beat for her wouldn’t let go.
So it appeared he had everything. He had cemented his ascension to dukedom tonight, danced with his beautiful bride, would rule over a Duchy with determination and fairness, be secure in wealth and title. He also had the suspicion of almost every person in the hall, a realization he trusted none but the Alix family, would essentially give up his life for a land full of people he had no relationship with, and be ground with rules and traditions he had yet to learn. Of course there were advantages... he felt certain there were potential promises but these didn’t come without a price. His freedom was now leashed, his spirit now caged. He would very soon belong to Pemberton, voluntarily sealed until his own death. Did she not also see the marked uncertainty that glimmered deep within that gaze upon her? Could she not feel the nagging doubts he silently faced? Edmund did well to put on an appearance of confidence and assertiveness. He did well to hide the lingering sense of loss with joy of gained social power and respectable wife. Why didn’t she want him now with all his flaws laid out in the open?
Edmund looked weary, his edge of control slipping a notch as Cecily feigned ignorance. So be it, he thought inwardly, her wings cannot be clipped and I’ve no right to try. He wanted to shake her and kiss her, holler at her for her stupidity and then make mad passionate love. No... he had to keep her at arm’s length, push away such desires and focus on Esabell. She was his future whether it was because she had only needed him or not. What was Cecily? But Edmund knew. Edmund alone knew what Cecily was. Cecily was everything he yearned to be, way down below. She was fire and ice. She was hot to the touch but cold to the hand. She was his heart song. She was his.
And so it was the future duke deflated in his carriage, a fleeting pass of sorrow dancing across his face before it was replaced with indifference. He was a fool for what he’d done. A fool for bringing such discontent to them both. He closed his unseen wound and brought the image of Esabell to mind, forced himself to fade the cocoa colored eyes to those of azure skies. Had Esabell been standing there, he’d have sought her hand for comfort and pleaded for forgiveness. Edmund had lived with grief too long and the familiar burn was no stranger. He registered only resignation, his soft sigh a release of pent up frustration.
“I see, m’Lady. Pardon me for my mistake.” The words were said with a voice edged with steel. The barrier was solidified, his face returning to its former appearance of undeterred stone. Edmund looked every bit a Duke right now, power exuding it’s double blade whilst authority rolled amongst waves of pride.
He nodded, as curtly as he would towards a male courtier and turned sharply on his heel. He would escape from her haunting presence, seek the solace of his intended. He needed stability to compliment his new role. He needed Esabell’s quiet strength. He needed her hand to guide him through his doubts even as he wanted Cecily to light the way for him. Edmund was tired.

And it's obvious that you're dying, dying
Just living proof that the camera's lying

She wasn't the type to be pushed away. She'd pushed too hard, too far, and now he was leaving. Walking away from her. It looked so simple. She wished everything was simple, but the flutterings of panic were mixing with the anger and jealousy and disappointment now. But then there was passion too, bubbling below the surface, and she still loved him though she could never have him. He wanted passion with someone else now.

And she couldn't bear it, that he could think of Esabell when she was right before him. That he didn't want to think of her. That he shut his eyes to her and tried to pretend. It made her small and insignificant because no matter how pretty her dresses or how viciously she flirted with others he was still so blind to her. Maybe it was better this way, but she wasn't done yet.

So she floated on, trying to maintain that sense of composed grace while she was screaming on the inside. He was moving on but she couldn't. How could she when it was such a rare feeling? And so she chased him, hardly caring that they were surrounded by people. "How dare you play my game, Edmund?" she hissed, pulling his arm so he faced her, eyes slits of rage and everything moving so slowly.

Cecily glanced away from him for a second and gasped a little at her own emotions, trying to keep them in check. How else could she know the truth? She might be fire and ice, but Edmund was earth. Dependable, strong, loving. Supposed to be there forever. That's what she had thought, maybe. That that day had been the start of many blissful scenes in which she had love and tenderness.

But there's earthquakes in my world.

She scanned his face with increasing misery, but hid it. He wouldn't see her weak. She had to be strong, be what he expected - she couldn't be dependent on him or he'd flee even faster. "Come talk to me," she whispered, then grabbed his hand and tugged him from the Ballroom, trying to ignore the shiver she got at his slightest touch. She ignored him until they were out of the place and outside. In the distance she heard swords, but she ignored it.

And she was losing. Esabell had the upper hand now - what didn't the woman have? The Duchess had everything Cecily had ever wanted. Power, friendships, loyalty, money, the best of everything - especially Edmund. That was the thing that most made her cry. That Esabell had Edmund now. It was game over for her. Her high score didn't even make the list now.

But she was still full of that calmness Edmund gave her, that serenity. She felt warm in his company, even in a situation like this. She doubted it would ever change. She looked at him for a second, at his regal features which seemed destined to become higher than this world. All at once she couldn't stand it, but went over to lean on the balustrade, looking out over the gardens.

"What is happening to us, Edmund?" she sighed, eyes still scanning the scenery unseeingly. "How could things just fall apart so suddenly?" She wasn't a stranger to pain and heartbreak, but that had been because she'd never had love. Now she thought she'd tasted a little of what it must be like and lost it forever. Already her life had been full of scorn and loneliness and over all, fear. So much fear.

She tried not to let the memories come, and so she only remembered glimpses - the nausea, loneliness, terror, pain. The knowledge that not one person in the world was there for her and the fact that she had to struggle through everything alone. And Edmund now, too. She wanted him so badly, the way his cheeks had permanent shadows and his eyes smiled when they saw her. The way he hid his passion so guardedly, but when it was found there was no man who could compare to him.

He'd abandoned her now, too. Just like everyone else. Her life seemed to stretch out into an endless path of conflicting emotions and trauma. But at one spot along that road she'd remember the security and safety she'd felt, where the road was painted gold for a few paces before returning to grey.

She looked down suddenly, her multi-coloured dress looking haunting in the little moonlight there was, her lids hiding the pain in her eyes.

And I won't let you fall away.
From me.
You will never fade away from me.

He felt her touch at the same time she hissed her anger towards him. She was fuming, her hand clasped onto his arm while Edmund’s stare went right through her. What did she expect?! She had refused to speak with him, he had tried... and now she ran after him and dared to create this little melodrama. His glare was piercing and for a moment he thought of turning his back on her and walking away. Just walking away...
When Cecily whispered her command and pulled him to the exit, Edmund allowed it. He walked behind her just as he had the day they spent in the field of flowers. He said nothing and did his best to act as if they were merely along for a stroll but his eyes gave him away. They brewed with storm clouds, swiftly changing from clear to dark and brooding. His jaws were clenched, bulging at the sides of his mouth if one were to glance there. His stride was stiff, as if he forced himself to walk calmly when all he wanted to do was stop right there and settle this feud between them.
His own anger had been quickly growing as they marched unceremoniously to the balcony doors.
He was prepared to scold her for such insanity, to harshly reprimand the rash boldness she had just displayed. He was going to chew her out... until he heard her words. They slowly sunk down into his mind, chasing away the hurt and the hostile. She had used the word ‘us’...
Edmund walked to the rail, watching over what was visible of Pemberton. This is what he was getting. This is what he had wanted all his life. How young he had been when he dreamt of belonging, prayed for commitment, yearned for duty that included honor. Now he had gotten his answer, years later. Now he was given opportunity he couldn’t deny. This was what made his life worth living. This was the sense of responsibility he held tight within him. This was what he would tenderly nurture and nestle, grow and strengthen. This was what he would live, breathe, and die for. Pemberton. Yes there were bonuses, yes there were risks... and yes there were heartaches. It could be so easy right now, he silently told himself. Just face Cecily and tell her there is no us. She is nothing but a one-night stand to him. He had only meant to ensure her return to her homeland had gone uneventful... it would be so easy. She would never forgive him. She would never love him then.
Love? Edmund knew not what love was. Love was chaos. Love was disorder. Love was what happened to other people. He knew what fondness was, felt genuine affection for certain people but love in the context Cecily hinted of was beyond his ability to reason. If there was respect and trust between two people, that was all that mattered. Love had no place in the mix.
Edmund breathed in and out, letting his sight fixate over the garden top, across the green, back towards the stables. He digested her last words. ”How could things just fall apart so suddenly?” Were they ever stable? Had there been anything else? Yes, he remembered what she felt like, the way she had held him and kissed him and encouraged him. Yes he remembered there was something else but what or how he knew not. It hadn’t been stable but wild and uninhibited. He didn’t know what love was. He knew only as he peered to Cecily and saw the sorrow she tried to hide, his own chest thumped with reciprocated pain. He knew even when she was berating him and driving him mad, he wanted to kiss her as he throttled her. He knew she was inside him, in that part that held on stead-fast. He knew he called for her without conscience thought, sought the warmth she offered. He knew she had wanted him just as he had wanted her. There was no need between them. She didn’t need him and he didn’t need her. They were radically different types of people with radically different perspectives, behaviors, opinions.
They were both lost souls who had found freedom in each other. And they wanted it.
He couldn’t lie to her. Edmund turned to his heart song and lifted her chin with his fingers. Edmund spoke without words, his eyes searching hers as they had another night. He had no answers to her questions. He had no answers to his own. He sighed, one hand trailing down over her cheek and brushing away any tears that may fall. “Come here,” he whispered gently, drawing her into his side as they both stood facing the countryside of Pemberton. Edmund would hold her, his breath catching in his throat any time he opened his mouth to speak. So instead he said nothing and merely enjoyed the feel of her against his own body. Valiant as he was, there was a chink in Edmund’s armor. A chink by the name of Cecily.

Give us life again,
Cause we just wanna be whole.

Love. She felt what she thought was love, an inkling of what it could possibly be. She'd never felt it before, the unwavering affection for someone no matter how horrible they could be or how hard they pushed. She might have, with her parents - but they had beat her, and starved her, trying to change her. She couldn't forgive them.

He was beside her and she glanced over at him. He looked tired. More than anything she wanted to pull him through the flowers and wipe away the sadness and fatigue that plagued him. She was sure he would only grow more tired as the years progressed, years full of duty and responsibility and Esabell. Esabell couldn't make him young the way she could.

If he died for Pemberton he died for Cecily. Cecily was Pemberton, too. She boasted the greatest parts of it - the flamboyance, the beauty, the pride, the loyalty, the courage. Some of the honour was gone, but he made that up. Together they were Pemberton. He would live for her. She'd see him ruling and deciding and making decisions every day. And he'd see her growing up and changing and staying the same.

Until the death.

But she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't let herself. She had to be strong, be proud, move on. Because tonight he was going to propose and it wasn't to her. To his hand brushed a dry cheek and she gazed out with eyes soft with satisfaction at him just being there. Absence makes the heart grow stronger. The uncertainty and unhappiness and longing for him had made him all the more strong to her.

Then she was close to him and his arm was around her and the garden seemed a lot less beautiful than it had because it didn't have him. She did, if only for now. And the serenity kept her from crying and it kept her from screaming. It made her think but it made her act impulsively. It made her voice clear and calm and it made her look up to him as if he was the answer to everything.

"You are to marry Esabell. And... and love her. Hold her. Have children with her and rule alongside her. Die with her. Live with her. And that is what hurts the most - it is not that you chose her, it is... that she isn't me. That now I will never have that because she will. And it is creating such a jealousy, Edmund."

She breathed in and expelled it shortly, turning back to look at the garden and her own feet. She didn't want to tell him this, not at all - she wouldn't be dependent on him or make him guilty. She wouldn't be Esabell, who fell over and clung to him so he'd see her. She wouldn't be that dependent on him. She was her own person, always had been. She didn't need him. She just wanted him so much it hurt.

And she still didn't share because he couldn't know. “Lady Cecily, the day you trust me enough to be free, I shall be here for it,” But he wasn't here for it.

your lies are bleeding through your teeth,
and your arms are still the only ones holding me,
your promises never really meant a thing,
but they flowed from your lips
so easily

“I am,” Edmund said in reply to her spoken words. He watched her face, her mouth as it formed each syllable. He watched her chocolate colored eyes as they glanced to him, noticed the way her chin set when her strength swirled around her shoulders. Perhaps she was stronger than he. He who felt weary and vulnerable, he who felt eager and greedy, lost but found.
“I chose Pemberton,” he corrected. That is where Cecily was wrong. He hadn’t chosen Esabell over her. He had chosen Pemberton over her. Esabell was part of the package but she wasn’t the entirety. Esabell was a pleasant bonus. Pleasant because she was what duchess’s were made of, what a Duke needed to become solid in his reign. Pleasant because she was intelligent and beautiful and pure and Edmund’s equal in both mind and pattern. Pleasant because she was handing over everything Edmund ever wanted, everything except one thing. She didn’t want Edmund in return. She only needed him. She’d chosen him out of desperation. She hadn’t wanted him but the uniform he brought.
“‘Envy slays itself by its own arrows’” Edmund repeated the quote he had once overheard. He didn’t blame her for feeling jealous. He certainly hadn’t liked seeing her dancing with the other courtiers, flirting with them even all the while she flashed her charming smile. He didn’t want to imagine her with another man. Didn’t want to let her go. It was a dangerous game they played. When she withdrew, he reached for her. When he withdrew, she pulled him back in. Like the carrot dangled before the mule’s nose, Edmund and Cecily danced around one another even while they stood so near.
His hand stopped to rest atop hers, his eyes peering to her before he lifted them again. If there was ever a moment in time that stood still, it was now. Edmund stood silently for several long moments. He wanted to tell Cecily he would ensure she’d never be without but he knew she would never accept such generosity. He wanted to promise her he’d be there for her but he knew he wouldn’t. He wanted to offer her the freedom she did him but he was selfish.
“Cecily, what is it you want from me?” he asked quietly.

I put my faith in you, so much faith
And then you just threw it away

She shook her head and looked away. She was angry, angry that he had refused her and overruled her for a place he didn't know or love. That she was worth less to him than a Duchy his was an enemy of. She was Pemberton. Pemberton was her. He'd chosen a feeble imitation of what she was like over her. The one ruler she had any respect for was Elspeth - yet he'd left his own Duchess to chase another Duchess who let herself be commanded by her own court.

If Esabell was a bonus, what did that make Cecily? She wasn't a bonus because there was no wider aim accompanying her. She must be a whole other game completely. Well, he'd played both games and hers was funner, cheaper, shorter and harder. Yet he chose the other one, the one he didn't know how to play, even though it cost him his life's allowance.

His quote did nothing to assuage her temper. How could he stand there so solidly, quote things he thought he understood? He hadn't even said sorry. That thought repeated itself, over and over. He hadn't said sorry for putting her through any of this. She wasn't even worth an apology. She just had to be the sideline girl now, did she, and take everything thrown at her?

You're the village bicycle, darling, because everyone gets a ride.

And then came his words. “Cecily, what is it you want from me?” Was he stupid? Was he blind? Did he not see how much she wanted him, how long she had cried, how much she hid her pain behind smiles and bright colours? Those last words made her shake her head numbly in shock, the gas fire spitting and lighting up with a flare.

"What?" she said, almost whispering, but her voice full of intensity and menace. "What do I want from you? God, Edmund, are you blind? I want you, every bit of you, for me for ever and ever. I want you to want me and not Esabell. I want you. All of you, not what parts you can afford to share so as not to... to ruin your perfect reputation!"

She was getting angry now, spitting out the words as she pushed away from him and shattered their peaceful silence. His words made her want to cry, this whole thing made her want to sit down and weep for a thousand years until she no longer saw him. But she converted all of that sadness into anger, because she would never be weak before him.

"Have you any idea what you have done to me? You sleep with me, seeming so happy and so tender that I make the mistake of thinking you care, then run away behind my back and get engaged to my Duchess, a woman you barely know! She is my Duchess, Edmund. My Duchess. Esabell - I have known her for years, and now I find I hate her. Because of you."

She was facing him, rage making her seem smaller, somehow, as if she was back to the same old petty human arguments. Before - before it had been higher than her, bigger than her, stretching as high as heaven and beyond. But now she was just a human, just a person, and one who had just been denied a lifetime of happiness.

"Do you think I am some common whore you can just pay off and forget about? Am I just an object to you, to fulfill your sexual desires until you find someone else? Do you know how many men have taken advantage of me? Sleep with me then leave me in the morning with nothing, no happiness or love or safety. I thought I might have found it with you, but you are worse than all the others because you keep making me feel like we have a chance."

She was rapidly losing control of what she was saying - such a speech had been dying to escape her for weeks, so now it tumbled from her in fragmented stages of thought and tumbled with different crescendos. She screamed her words out as she revealed to him the kind of secret no one in the world knew, no one except her and the lady who had supplied her with the drugs. All her heartache and nightmares and rage came out and she did feel better for it - telling someone, even in these circumstances.

"I lost a child! I - I killed it, I did! And you could never, never know what it feels like, killing something innocent. Something that could have become a someone." She kept turning away from him and then back to him, hardly caring if he was staying or going, hardly caring if he cared or not. She was searching desperately for comfort though she kept pushing it away, and he still wasn't there for her.

Everything seemed to explode from her at once, a lifetime of nights directed at this one man. She didn't want to be dependent, she wouldn't - it would be so nice to collapse into his arms and cry and tell him everything, but she couldn't or she'd never forget those arms and she'd cry about them forever. She had to be strong.

So, heart beating furiously with rage, she strode over and slapped him. Once because she wanted to make him hurt and again because she didn't know what to do with her hands. Cecily looked into Edmund's face and had to fight the urge to kiss him viciously, so deeply everything after that would seem mild by comparison. But all she did was give a hopeless sigh as all her anger escaped and stalked away to look at the sky and think about what she'd done.

You made yourself a bed
At the bottom of the blackest hole
And convinced yourself that
It's not the reason you don't see the sun anymore

How sad it was really, how different their minds thought. Edmund didn’t understand what she wanted. One moment she seemed to melt against him and the next she despised him. Someone once told him there was a thin line between love and hate and Edmund knew it described the lady before him. She had no idea of what she spoke of. She wanted him to want her. He did want her but he wanted a greater good as well, even if it meant signing away his life in blood, even if it meant letting go of the tentative grasp he had on Cecily. How could he be sorry for that? His mind was on a fast track of politics and social power. He was diving into the complicated world of progress and intricate design. He lived for duty. This was duty. What was Cecily? She was that sparkle of unattainable stars. He could live his entire life trying desperately to keep it shine or dedicate himself to ensuring it had a home left to rest in.
Edmund chose Pemberton for two very specific reasons. One, it gave his life purpose. Two, the Duchy needed his help. Edmund failed to grasp the here and now realities of their world. He was beyond thinking of himself, herself, Esabell. Edmund planned for Pemberton’s return. He sat and thought how each decision he’d make would affect the entire population. He sat and debated on possible treaties, alliances, imports, exports, economy, military, farming. He had hardly room left for hunger to surface let alone these accusatory scenarios Cecily attacked him with.
She beat him with her verbal lashings and Edmund wanted to tune her out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear what she was saying exactly but that she always seemed so angry at him. It was as if he were a young lad again and no matter what he did, there was punishment. She made him feel small in the midst of his plans. He was sorry he hurt her but he wasn’t sorry for anything else. She would never be a worthless slut to him. She would never be easily forgotten. She would never be an idle piece of flesh to use and discard. Of this Edmund was certain for it wasn’t her feminine curves he dreamt of but those doe eyes. Why did she not tell him she believed in him? Why did she not tell him she’d want him no matter who he was?
Edmund heard her state she hated Esabell, heard the ridicule as she thought he wished only for a perfect reputation. He wanted to choke her for her stupidity, shake her until her teeth rattled in her pretty little head. She didn’t hate Esabell. She hated what Esabell offered him. She hated that he prized it more than his own wants in life. More than her.
She thought he desired a good reputation out of all of this? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. He felt the cold stares of calculating courtiers all evening. He knew there was but one person in the entire hall that he could trust. He stuck to the endless charade of bows and titles because it was what made life orderly. He couldn’t survive without it. He tried. He had tolerated enough demons, enough beatings, enough fear. No more! Never more! Lord Edmund would show every single person in attendance tonight that he had the balls to bring Pemberton back. If it was the last damn thing he did, he would show them he deserved the respect he was so passionate about. He would never, never be that little lost boy who allowed his father to punch him until he passed out while his mother sat nearby knitting. NEVER.
Cecily’s ranting was growing faster, more furious now, and Edmund could only listen as she blew up. The men she slept with, the baby she lost... he didn’t understand it all but he listened. He listened dammit! Why in God’s name did she wait until now to trust him enough to finally confide those secret horrors he had only guessed at? They were worse than he had speculated, the agony on her face heart-wrenching to see. She was raped and then killed her unborn baby. A baby.. Edmund’s daughter flashed into his mind. Those little hands, the chubby legs. She killed one. She killed one while he lost his forever. How unfair life could be. The death of his child was worse than all of the other grief and regret he had ever known. His baby, her baby, dead, dead, dead. Edmund started to shout at her to shut up but she slapped him first, and again. He didn’t want to hear it, not now. Why the hell now? She was too late, he was too late. Life was too late. Edmund belonged to another, not her, not Esabell. He belonged to Pemberton, chain and ball and he locked it willingly.
He saw her storm off. He shook with emotion, rage and loss and frustration. His fists clenched at his sides and heat spread shadows across his features. He would have been livid if he hadn’t been so sad. He followed her, a habit he had to break. He stood behind her, his hand stretched out to touch her but then dropped down before doing so. She was not his after all. She was those stars that would forever gleam just that much too far out of reach.
“I love you, Cecily,” he said in the barest of voices. His deep rumble rolled from his throat. He squeezed shut his eyes, focused on the pain in his chest and shoulder, heart and lung. He exhaled, bracing himself for what he knew needed said, what he knew needed done.
“There are no chances left for us.”There, he had done it. He had set her free.
Edmund turned sharply on his heel and strode briskly away before she could stop him or sway him. He headed for the safety of the ballroom lights and the noise of the guests. He headed for Esabell. It was time to propose.

There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
He's ordinary

She still wasn't looking at him, but her heart felt like it would burst. Then she was falling. All of her. There were no chances left for them. She felt full in entirety but empty of heart. Her face showed nothing but shock and confusion, eyes scanning the ground as if it knew the answer to everything, as if it would fix everything. She was trying desperately to shepherd everything into sense.

He loved her - well, that was what he'd said. Cecily wasn't sure if it was true but she wanted to believe it was. But if it was true, why had he abandoned her? She'd seen plays, of course; the hero and heroine gave up everything for their love. Why wasn't this the same? All at once she felt as though she'd throw up - but why? She hadn't eaten for hours. She pushed the feeling back down and twirled around, prepared to ask him what he meant or to beg forgiveness or tell him she loved him too - but he wasn't there.

Gasping slightly she just looked at the place where he'd been. She needed to cry and cry and let it all go - but she wouldn't. Cecily would not fall to pieces. She was stronger than that. So she patted down her skirt and her hair and checked her eyes for tears and straightened her posture and smiled. Then she took a deep breath and walked back into the Ballroom.

I’ve gone too far to come back from here
But you don’t have a clue
You don’t know what you do to me