The girl who wanders aimlessly within the confines of the barricaded flower gardens of Havelock Manor could have been great, someday.
Could have been great if it were not for Caroline of Bradenburg and her son (as the girl would hate to admit it, her brother) George.
Could have been great if it were not for a deserted gardener’s shed, Caroline of Bradenburg’s devious, extremely flirtatious sister, and a few too many glasses fine French champagne
But sometimes, when riches prevail over emotions, and sexuality triumphs over morality, legends are spun.
And legends are every bit as infamous as the great.
***
The boy awakes, his skinny little chest soaked in sweat. He is sore, achingly sore, but doesn’t feel it yet as an effect of the laudanum given him so he would not cry out.
Wonderful liquid that oozed slowly down his throat and made him feel warm…groggy…
He can’t remember who is he, what he is doing, and more importantly, where he is…but he does faintly recall the horrible sensation of falling ands striking something hard…
A graying, fair—haired man in an overly-starched coat appears at the door, behind him trailing a young woman, her arms laden with all manner of books, quills, and evil looking gadgets.
He slowly saunters over to the boy’s bedside and bids the woman to dump the stuff on the bed. The man, whom the boy decides to be the doctor, gently rolls up the boy’s shirt and peels the bandages off his thighs, making him feel horribly exposed…especially in front of a girl. He turns bright pink, and the young woman (mercifully) pretends not to notice.
Gender:
Points: 6090
Reviews: 1258