Angel of Ash (30 page)

“That was the year Hunter was abducted.”

“Yes. The wedding was postponed; Deborah had a miscarriage, Asher’s black moods and depression returned as we searched for Hunter. When Asher returned home after long years of futile searching, Deborah had visited the Continent, been wooed by many men, had turned away from being the wife of a second son, she had fallen out of love with Asher. Her sights were set upon one greater than him. She fashioned her sights upon Caleb, even while still married to Asher. Asher had no knowledge of her betrayal. They continue lying together as man and wife, their official wedding was being planned once again, she’d told Asher that she was pregnant. The family had found out about their earlier wedding but still insisted they act proper about it. The day their second wedding was to take place, Asher found her and Caleb together. Up until this point Deborah had been Asher’s first and only lover. No other woman existed for him. He loved her more than he loved himself. She had been his wife, from the moment he laid eyes on her. Women had thrown their selves at him since he turned thirteen years of age, and no one existed for him, ever. The betrayal, his brother, and the woman he loved, his wife…Asher, Asher never recovered from that betrayal. ”

“No, Anthony, no,” Angel denied, shaking her head in horror. “Why would Caleb do such a thing to his brother? Why would she?”

“Deborah had used both Caleb and Asher. It was Caleb who told me that he’d fallen in love with her and they were to tell Asher the news. Caleb wanted to marry her. In front of Asher and he, nude, she laughed at them both. Stated she’d never settle for Asher as a second son as long as Caleb was alive. But if Caleb died she’d welcome Asher back into her arms. She was so cold, so bitter, it was business to her. Even though her father was related to titled gentry in London, he was a poor farmer, I assumed, her first priority was to never be poor, to be able to live in the lap of luxury which her father could not afford.”

“There was a great altercation, Asher left for London that night, and it was a long time before he was able to speak to Caleb again. When he arrived in London, he was in a deep depression; there was talk of having him committed. His parents saved him from that horror. His pain was torture to watch. He was a shell of a man. His hatred and horror and blame was something I had never seen. During that time Deborah fled in disgrace and disappeared in London. Seven months later she contacted Asher, stating that she was giving birth. Asher found her in a dilapidated home, she was half dead, wasting away from cancer, the baby, she’d just given birth to a baby boy. When he entered the room, she, she was strangling the baby. Asher was too late in saving the newborn. She pulled out a pistol, shot at Asher; it struck him in the chest. He watched, as he lay wounded, as she stuck the pistol in her mouth…and killed herself.”

“Asher, even as darkly cold and emotionless a man he had grown to be…it was nothing compared to the days, weeks and months immediately following that horrid event. There was nothing of Asher left. He cared for no one, he wanted no one, hate and anger and guilt festered within him. To this day still do. He cannot get over his past, my lady, no matter how much you love him. The Asher I had once known died that depressingly horrible afternoon. The only thing that made him somewhat human was the return of Hunter to the home. Even then, my lady, even then, her reunion added more guilt and rage and self-blame to his already darkened conscious. It’s been years and still there is nothing within him. That’s when he became…the bastard that he is today. He takes pleasure in sleeping with women and hurting them, he punishes his current lover for Deborah’s betrayal. There is no love, no hope, nothing within him. He hates and he hates and there is no love or forgiveness within him. Asher blames himself for so much. His accident at the age of six. For allowing that poor villager to die and her child. Deborah, he most of all blames himself for Deborah. He blames himself for the death of his newborn son by her hands. Asher is chased by demons and I know not why, his mother has prayed most over his soul as she had no other. There is a deep darkness and emptiness that has been born unto him since I have known him, since before the first incident with the chasm. I remember when we were around five years of age, even then Asher was always cold and withdrawn, he’d stare at his brothers as if…as if he did not fit in, did not belong to the family. Hunter has that same…oddity about her also. Asher has never been happy, never enjoyed life. He treats it as a business, his life. A weaker man would have committed suicide, but not Asher. He is waiting for death, wants it, and therefore endangers his life, but to kill himself, he will not do, simply because of the dishonor it would bring to his family. If he was but weaker, he would have done it a long time ago. ”

“My God, Anthony, my God.”

“It is not your fault, his lack of love for you, no matter how perfect you are, how beautiful you are or how much you love him. Asher is dead on the inside. He is the living dead. A ghost of a man.”

“
Do I resemble her, Anthony, do I look like her?”

Anthony nodded his head slowly. “Yes, my lady, very much so. She had black hair, the same shade, hue and length as yours, silver eyes, your stature and weight, although her skin was pale. Even your voice, my lady, even your voice, you sound so achingly like her. The brothers and I were so stunned, shocked when we first viewed you, first heard your voice. Like you, my lady, her smile would light up an entire room. Men flocked to her. Like you my lady, she was truly beautiful. My lady, it is as if Deborah was reborn in you, you seem so achingly familiar. I know nothing of death and heaven and reincarnation or souls and damnation and forgiveness. But it seems in you Deborah was reborn to live her life again. To perhaps make amends for the great wrong she had done. You are her and yet you are not. A frightful thing has occurred, my lady. Your fate and the fate of Asher are horridly intertwined and will always be til the day you die. It is outside of your wishes to love him; you must love him because it is your destiny. And Asher must forgive you for things you had no part in. What a twisted horrid tale that has been written, isn’t it? Your fate and his are no longer yours…were never.”

“I see now,” she began softly, a sad smile upon her lips. “I see now, this is why he wanted me. Because in me he sees her. He sees so much of her he can never really see me. Through me he punishes her. I don’t even exist to him. I am merely a vehicle of his pain, of his guilt, of his hurt. Just an ugly reminder of a past he dares not forget. How can I look so like a dead woman? It frightens me, Anthony! I do know that upon first look at Asher, upon my first touch of him…I felt, I felt as if the last piece of my soul had fallen into place. And even as he hates me now, I still pray before the Lord, that one day, one day he will favor me, one day he will love me. Even today, that missing piece of my soul is his to my death.”

“My lady, I am so sorry for your pain, so sorry. You’re are but an innocent caught in his web. I am so sorry. He knows not what he does. He knows not who he is anymore. Asher was born with an old soul, but once upon a time ago, when he…when he and Deborah were together, before Hunter was kidnapped, there was some semblance of peace and happiness about him. He smiled, my lady, not calculating and cold. But genuinely warm. There was once upon a time a good man within him. Now, he is still my best friend, my closest brother. But if he was not, I would not wish him upon my worst enemy. He will destroy you if you stand in his way.. I wish there was…I wish you were not involved within this mess.”

“Too late for wishes, Anthony. I thank you, all the same for answering questions which have no happiness to the subject. I must take my leave, dear cousin,” she said, standing up wearily, the weight of the world upon her shoulders, her thoughts heavy and burdened.

As she made her way to the front door, Anthony stopped her pausing her movements with a touch of her arm. “He runs an orphanage, my lady, one that no one, not even the members of his family knows about. It is an orphanage for unwanted children. He built the home himself…he started days after he buried Deborah and his son. There is still good within him my lady, deep within. Many a night I know you question as to where he is…he is there at his orphanage, it is run by more than ten efficient staffs people, nurses, doctor, teachers, caretakers. Asher protects those children with his life. He has invested thousands of pounds to keep those children safe and happy and healthy. Remember that my lady, remember there is still good deep within him. You must be willing to find it and have all the patience…of an angel.”

“Two last question, cousin and then I shall take my leave. Where is Deborah’s’ grave and the orphanage?”

She stood outside the orphanage that night, Asher still not home, wanting to see, search for the man whom she knew existed deep within a hardened soul. It was a beautiful and large home on the outskirts of London, a merry lane, a large manor home with ivy running up the front, its brick face resembled happiness, a garden lovingly tended to on the side, the grass neatly manicured. It held all the warmth that the townhome she lived in with her husband did not. A front plate read, “The William House”, cheery fires and candlelight lit up the home. Angel saw small heads playing; she heard laughter as she hid in the darkness of a large oak tree placed near the side of the house. She’d told the carriage to wait for her at the village, she had to make this trek alone, had to see the truth in Anthony’s words. The sounds of the children nearly broke her heart but it was the view of Asher as he raised one small black haired boy above his head in play and merriment that caused her to fall to her knees.

“Asher,” she said softly. “Why can you not forgive her? Why can you not forget her and remember me?” She whispered. She slowly walked away, running towards the carriage where she demanded quick leave, where the horses galloped far away from Asher’s home of love and hope until broken she entered the townhome which contained nothing except bitterness and pain. Yet she understood now, Asher had given this woman his life for nearly twenty years, she had been his very existence and when she’d destroyed his trust, his love, his hope and even his very child, there was simply nothing else within him to give.

Chapter 9

She bathed with a broken heart; thought of those children which he cared so for, her heart empathized with the orphans, and she wanted to help them, wanted to help Asher. Wanted so much for him to realize that she wasn’t Deborah, that mysterious woman who had killed his soul.

Near eleven that night she heard the soft click of his door opening and then closing, in the past two hours she’d dressed in a short shift, brushed her hair, written letters to family and thought of Deborah, a woman which haunted her marriage to Asher from the grave. Instead of giving and thinking about Anthony’s story she knocked upon the door between hers and Asher’s room and waited with an open and anticipatory heart to enter.

“Come,” he said sharply as she herself breathed in heavily, wiping wet palms upon her shift.

Opening the door softly, Angel walked through the short hallway, stepping into Asher’s room, lit by a large candelabra and a roaring fire as she curled her toes into the carpet, waiting for him to notice her as he undressed before his armoire.

“Yes, my lady?” He began, his back turned towards her.

“I-I wanted to wish you a good eve, my lord. And ask that I may lay with you,” she spoke hesitantly, nervously a quiver in her boon.

He paused as he removed his shirt, nodded slightly. “You may, my lady,” he finally said quietly, thinking that she had gotten over her anger with him. More unsure of himself then he was of her. He heard the soft sounds of her feet moving, the softer sounds of the bed giving to her slight weight. Remembering her words earlier, of a truce, he wearily rubbed the back of his neck. He was so tired, tired of this hate, tired of this anger, yet, it had been so long since he had known any other way.

Lifting his foot, he pulled off his pant legs, stretching after he completely disrobed and for the first time turning and stopping dead in his tracks. “What did you do to your hair?” He asked his eyes wide, shock.

“I-I cut it…and dyed it,” Angel said, pulling at one errant light brown curl that framed her face. “It was too much…I grew weary of the heavy weight,” she spoke fast, self-consciously pulling at the short curls that framed her face, that barely skimmed her shoulders. “Do you…do you like it? I didn’t realize how different I would look. I passed a mirror and wandered briefly who was I before I remembered…it was me,” she self depreciatively said, a small, shy smile upon her lip.

Asher was dumbstruck; he stared at her, her hair, trying to collect his thoughts. She looked scared, scared of his reaction. “It is…different.” He finally managed to say.

Nodding, she slipped underneath the covers, pulling them to her chin. “Yes, my lord, very different. I do not look the same,” she said softly, giving him a small, sad smile.

“No, you don’t, my lady.”

“I feel different, my lord.”

He did not speak, wasn’t able to, instead blowing out the candles upon the heavy bar, tending to the fire before getting into bed, his eyes unwillingly going to her short cropped hair, the curls delicately dancing upon her nape, slivers lying upon her shoulders, uncovering her ears. The golden coloring was nearly the same as his niece, Lauran. Even her eyebrows seemed lighter in color. “How did you manage to dye it so lightly?” He asked, unable to stop his curiosity.