Lady Blackmoor

[ladykateblackmoor]

“I wish I were out of doors!  I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them!” - Cathy Earnshaw, Wuthering Heights

[cassandraparsons]

ladykateblackmoor:

The sun was high in the sky and there was a warm breeze blowing across the south lawn as Katherine walked, book in hand, enjoying the silence of the day. This was far different than her former home. The moors were not made for gentle walks or leisurely strolls, there were dips and rocks, the ground daring you to misstep and see how you would fare. Part of her thought she may have preferred the moors, but truly she had just preferred the comfort of the position she had found herself in. At the tender age of twenty-two she had married Lord Samuel Blackmoor of Danby Hall, a prominent figure twenty years her senior. He hadn’t been handsome, but his frame had been that of a former soldier and his face free of scars or marks. Able-bodied and wealthy, Katherine hadn’t had to exert much energy to convince him that she should be his bride.

They were married quickly and she was soon whisked away to be Lady Blackmoor. The moors became her home and the power she had made her feel more secure and happy then she could recall ever being before. There was a freedom for her on the moors, and her husband hadn’t been bothered by her more relaxed state. He’d been so blinded by his love for her, he wasn’t interested in seeing much beyond that. Years passed and Katherine prayed for a son to solidify her place, but both children she gave birth to had been girls, and both had been buried on the moors a few days after their birth.

A year ago, Samuel had suffered from apoplexy after a day spent riding. The fit had left him unable to speak or walk. The most he could do was drag himself by his one good arm, which he often tried defiantly to do, despite his wife and nurse urging him to stay in bed. After nearly six months of suffering, Lord Blackmoor died, without an heir. Katherine’s black veil had obscured her face as they’d laid his body in the ground, hiding the hot, angry tears that had slid down her porcelain cheeks. She didn’t so much cry for the kind man who she’d lost, but for the life she had loved. It had been a taste of something she had craved for as long as she could remember. Within six months, as soon as the deepest period of her mourning ended, a distant cousin with claim to the home had come riding in with his own wife and children.

Katherine looked behind her at her childhood home. She’d gotten some invitations from friends to come and visit, but she knew that her young face and black widow’s dress was requested as more of an oddity than anything else. So she would stay here, and wait until she could remarry and restart her quest for any kind of freedom she could attain. There was the sound of hooves on the grass and the soft whinny of a horse approaching. Katherine looked up from her book and offered a smooth, placid smile that betrayed nothing and offered everything. “Good morning.”

It could only be described as bittersweet to have a dear sister return home after the demise of her husband. Cassandra was given short time to acqauint herself with the notion of being called Miss Parsons before the title felt less like something well earned and more of a curse. Even if Lord Blackmoor’s unfortunate fate never painted her hands scarlet. Now hours had been spent training her facial features not to distort into sympathy for her when her sister returned to their childhood home, unable to reclaim her post as Miss Parsons. The dark cloud of a widow hangs like a veil on her head now.

Loyalty is found so easily in mares who find kindred spirits in humans. The plump cheeks of a child with cherub curls of fire had been given the honor of naming the four-legged addition to the family whent hey acquired the horse. Or perhaps she loudly demanded the name from Greek myths. Thus, Artemis recieved her name and bonded herself to the small girl with red hair until she grew. Hours passed with the two racing over the hills of the quiet countryside of their home county. Time had not been on her side when picking wildflowers distracted her from the arrival of her sister. Would she stay this time? How do widows pass their time? Cassandra never knew anyone well who carried the title.

Nearing the cottage her family grew old in, Miss Parsons eased the mare from a steady trot to a sluggish walk so that she might slide off the saddle without wrinkling her skirts. Delicately, the soles of her boots crushed the grass damp with dew and a collection of flowers held in a brown-gloved grasp. A smile might be indelicate or inappropriate; propriety demanding they share solemn glances and gentle touches like that might heal any wound of a loved one passing over to a realm the living cannot reach. But still Cassandra offers up a wide grin to her sibling, joy a thing alive in her chest as she leads the horse to her sister.

“Kate!” she exclaims sweetly, fingers abandoning the reigns attached to Artemis with trust that the animal won’t rear the other direction and take off for valleys unknown. Her arms wind around the shoulders of her sister as she embraces the woman as though she has been missing for years instead of simply a married woman. Something all young ladies of the town wish to become, if only for the sake of security. She suspects that is why Katherine married Lord Blackmoor. But he had been a fine choice, suitable in demeanor and income for her elder sister.

[ladykateblackmoor]

A small, warm laugh bubbles up in Kate’s throat as her little sister hugs her. The steely brunette doesn’t hesitate to hold onto the cheerful woman, holding her tightly for a moment, reacquainting herself with the feel and smell of the woman. If her whole life had been derailed, one of the small upsides was time spent with the woman in front of her. “Hello, Cassie. I missed you.” she said, with rare sincerity in her voice, losing some of the stiff politeness she had perfected over twenty-six years.

If there was one person who could crack her shiny, polished exterior it was her baby sister. The pride and protective instinct had appeared as soon as she’d seen the tiny baby with a thatch of red hair, and it had never quite abated. moving away to the moors had strained their bond more than Katherine had realized it would, and she took all the blame for that. It hadn’t been out of a lack of affection, but rather the fiercer need to save the beautiful young girl from herself. The moors were wild and wonderful, at least to Kate. There were fewer people and so it seemed, less constraint. she was able to wear her hair down or hike up her skirts to wade through a stream without strangers’ eyes judging her actions or tarnishing her reputation. Marriage had been her path to freedom, and she’d relished it.

Cassie would have loved it out there. The two of them could have taken horses riding over the hills, picnicked in the valleys and climbed amongst the craggy rocks as if they had been children. The freedom that Kate had enjoyed, would have been a danger for Cassie. She was beautiful, young and unmarried. The men who lived around the manor had been average, good men with strong arms from hard labor and big laughs. They didn’t much mind their women with a streak of independence, at least they didn’t mind as much as some of the finer gentlemen Kate had known in her life. Any of them would have fallen for Cassie the moment they had set eyes on her, but Kate was more afraid that Cassie would have fallen for one of them. Her heart was too big and she loved too fiercely. For the sake of safety, Kate had never invited her family to Danby Hall and now that she was back she worried the slight might strain her relationships. A warm welcome from Cassie was a relief to a burden she had tried hard not to entertain.

“You look well. Very grown up, now.” Kate said, plucking a stray piece of grass out of the younger woman’s hair, no doubt kicked up during her ride. “Well, almost.” she concluded with a wry smile.

[ladykateblackmoor]

The sun was high in the sky and there was a warm breeze blowing across the south lawn as Katherine walked, book in hand, enjoying the silence of the day. This was far different than her former home. The moors were not made for gentle walks or leisurely strolls, there were dips and rocks, the ground daring you to misstep and see how you would fare. Part of her thought she may have preferred the moors, but truly she had just preferred the comfort of the position she had found herself in. At the tender age of twenty-two she had married Lord Samuel Blackmoor of Danby Hall, a prominent figure twenty years her senior. He hadn’t been handsome, but his frame had been that of a former soldier and his face free of scars or marks. Able-bodied and wealthy, Katherine hadn’t had to exert much energy to convince him that she should be his bride.

They were married quickly and she was soon whisked away to be Lady Blackmoor. The moors became her home and the power she had made her feel more secure and happy then she could recall ever being before. There was a freedom for her on the moors, and her husband hadn’t been bothered by her more relaxed state. He’d been so blinded by his love for her, he wasn’t interested in seeing much beyond that. Years passed and Katherine prayed for a son to solidify her place, but both children she gave birth to had been girls, and both had been buried on the moors a few days after their birth.

A year ago, Samuel had suffered from apoplexy after a day spent riding. The fit had left him unable to speak or walk. The most he could do was drag himself by his one good arm, which he often tried defiantly to do, despite his wife and nurse urging him to stay in bed. After nearly six months of suffering, Lord Blackmoor died, without an heir. Katherine’s black veil had obscured her face as they’d laid his body in the ground, hiding the hot, angry tears that had slid down her porcelain cheeks. She didn’t so much cry for the kind man who she’d lost, but for the life she had loved. It had been a taste of something she had craved for as long as she could remember. Within six months, as soon as the deepest period of her mourning ended, a distant cousin with claim to the home had come riding in with his own wife and children.

Katherine looked behind her at her childhood home. She’d gotten some invitations from friends to come and visit, but she knew that her young face and black widow’s dress was requested as more of an oddity than anything else. So she would stay here, and wait until she could remarry and restart her quest for any kind of freedom she could attain. There was the sound of hooves on the grass and the soft whinny of a horse approaching. Katherine looked up from her book and offered a smooth, placid smile that betrayed nothing and offered everything. “Good morning.”