need, garrett

[aurélie d'allemagne]

Slipping her fingers around the stem of a cherry blossom, she pulled tight. Knobby branches knocked together in the warm, spring air. She twirled the pink flower between two slender fingers, watching as the colors danced and blended. She brought the delicate little blossom up to her nose. A soft perfume wafted through the air, enough to place a small smile across her saddened face. She spun it idly as she walked beneath the sheltering arms of the pink blossomed trees. They were a new addition to the Buckingham gardens, a gift from a Japanese emperor or so she had overheard while waiting with the other ladies of society. She hated these social gatherings at the palace – all families of notable name were expected to see the royal family once a season. And since she was among them – a Spencer, she had to follow their rules.

Spencer. The name tasted sour, like a fruit gone rotten. It was harsh, corners ragged and sharp on her lips. She hated that name. And all that trailed behind in its shadow. She had refused to go by it, insisting on her mother’s name – d’Allemagne. Though at social functions like this, she was a Spencer – even if everyone knew she wasn’t. The stares, the frantic whispers, and turned backs – they all knew who she was. Even if Aurélie wasn’t entirely sure if she knew herself.

It had been announced earlier that Queen Victoria had not left Scotland, and would not be making an appearance. The women and girls had immediately scoffed and began hurriedly chattering away like stupid, little birds about the fact. The men had raised their noses in disdain and puffed a little harder on their expensive cigars. Aurélie couldn’t understand how they couldn’t. The past December, Queen Victoria had lost her husband, Prince Albert, to typhoid fever. She hadn’t left Balmoral Castle since then, and had entered a state of mourning that she declared she would never leave. Aurélie didn’t need to be a Spencer to understand grief, and the understanding that the queen would probably not leave Balmoral for quite some time, and certainly not for a babbling group of painted peacocks. Aurélie had lost her own mother the past September and still sorrow clung to her skin. It was a sadness that would never leave, and unlike the queen – Aurélie had been forbidden to wear mourning clothes for her mother, for fear of questions and ultimately, scandal and disgrace. She carried her sadness with her though, close to her heart, a place that had been kept guarded early on in her life.

She had left the gathering of lords and ladies several minutes ago, desiring nothing more than to be away from their silk outfits and lecherous voices. She had wandered aimlessly amidst the gardens, finding solace in the hush of the grasses, the sweetness of flowers, the hum of insects. Her new social station at least allowed her access to several pristine and beautiful parks she would have only been able to look longingly at through barred gates. She reached the bank of a pond, its placid waters coated with the bright green of moss that clung to its surface. She inhaled deeply and found her breath caught short by the bindings of her corset. She held her sides and leaned against the rough bark of a tree as she sought to find the pace of her restricted breathing again. It didn’t matter though, for as soon as she had turned her gaze, she had lost her breath again. For there, some yards away, strode a young man - his suit a crisp ebony, his stance impeccably confident, his features sharp and handsome. So familiarly handsome that she couldn’t remember to move - a terror clutching onto the marrow of her bones. Although she never had known his name, she knew him far too well -

The boy who had taken so much from her.

[garrett kensington]

“Garrett, darling, do your mother a favor by removing that sullen expression from your face. We’re attending a party not a trial. Why, think of all the young ladies who shall be in attendance! That is cause enough for a smile, no?”

[/i]

No, Garrett thought to himself, it was not. His mother sat across from him in their carriage, gilded and prattling incessantly about the impending social obligation they were to attend. She reminded him of the canary Mrs. Legathy kept in the parlor. There, trapped within an ornate cage the bird chirped sweet songs not realizing that freedom existed beyond the bars that cradled it. The canary existed in a prison where its only obligation was to bring joy to those who happened to pass by. He had always thought it was a stupid bird; annoying and loud. As he attempted to drown his mother’s words with his own thoughts, Garrett found that there was another song more irritable than that of the canary: the idle chatter of a society woman.

He had once asked his father how he could stand to converse with the fairer sex. As far as he could tell they had nothing of interest to say, speaking of the weather and lace gloves and how ‘lovely’ a party was or how ‘shocking’ some piece of irrelevant gossip was. He had spent many a ball fighting to keep from rolling his eyes as he waltzed with one of the daughters of some prominent business man. With each careful step, each press of a gloved hand within his own, Garrett longed for someone who would be more than another porcelain face. He knew it was a ridiculous desire to long for a woman who could stimulate his mind as well as his heart. After all, the mind of a woman was lesser than a man’s. She could not comprehend the complexities of life. Her duty was to momentarily distract her husband from the stresses of the world, creating a safe haven to retreat within at the conclusion of a trying day. His eyes drifted with disdain over his mother who was still babbling. Beside her, his father stared out the window at the still-damp cobblestoned streets they passed through. As he watched his parents, Garrett realized the answer to the question he had once posed his father: you merely drowned out the sound of their voice.

With a despondent sigh, Garrett slid down the stiff leather seat, eliciting a lecture from his mother about his improper posture and what others would think. Who, he wondered as he righted himself, was going to see him within the shadows of their carriage? He bit his lip as he stared out the window, unconsciously mirroring his father’s actions. He didn’t see why they still needed to attend the party. Rumor had it that even the Queen herself had decided not to attend. It was said that she was still in mourning at Balmoral, but he had his own theories: she was tired of enduring these events as well.

All too soon they arrived at the lavish gates of Buckingham Palace. His tie grew tighter as the carriage rattled to a stop, his hand reached for the collar of his starched white shirt as he attempted to loosen its merciless grip. “Darling,” his mother cooed, placing her hand on top of his. “I’ve taught you better than that.” With a curt nod he lowered his hand and straightened his shirtwaist before stepping from the carriage.

The sun was a whisper against the sky, shining gray against the gossamer clouds. Garrett turned his face toward it as his family was escorted to the garden drinking in its warmth. There, beneath a soft canopy of cherry blossoms and fragrant blooms he slipped from the confining grasp of his mother and to the sidelines where his friends already awaited. Their faces were mirrors of his own, bored and searching. With a knowing nod, Michael Clark slipped him a polished silver flask. An amused smile teased the corners of his lips as Garrett turned and quickly brought it to his lips. The metal was a cool kiss against his soft flesh, the liquid a welcome fire against his throat. He closed his eyes, savoring the vitality that coursed through him with that needy gulp. He longed to feel alive without having to drink – he longed for things to return to the way they were before Edmund.

Turning, he discreetly slipped the flask back into Michael’s awaiting hand. “You have no idea how desperately I needed that,” Garrett said.

“Oh, but I do. I had to endure an even longer carriage ride. I suppose we should be grateful we were invited. Spring is not the only one providing a display this afternoon.”

Garrett followed his gaze toward a group of young ladies who were pretending – and as obvious as a gunshot – not to notice the men. He bit back a laugh as they blushed, turning their backs and giggling. “Ah,” he sighed. “But it is always the same performance and never with new players.”

Michael whistled low beneath his breath. “If that were true, how do you account for her?” Garrett followed his friends knowing stare once more. A girl, as pale as the blossom that fluttered softly from her slender fingers stood by the pond staring at him with large doe-eyes. Soft silk swathed her lithe frame, accentuating her feminine softness. For a moment she held Garrett’s curious gaze before turning her back and facing the water once more.

“I can’t,” Garrett murmured. “But I do intend to discover her name, if you’d be so kind as to excuse me.” He walked away to Michael’s soft laugh.

His stride was purposeful and confident as he made his way to her side. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silk handkerchief, carefully tucking it into his fist. He paused once he reached her before stooping to the ground and deftly moving the handkerchief between his fingers. “Excuse me, miss, but I believe you dropped this.”[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[aurélie d'allemagne]

Heat was rising from her sternum, along the slope of her neck and filling her soft face. It coursed through her veins like acid, burning her tender flesh as it went. She couldn’t breathe - the knot in her throat like a vice against her limp lungs. She forced herself to keep her gaze on the placid waters of the pond, though she could see him out of the corner of her eye – steadily approaching. He had seen her, he had known. Placing one hand gently on the curve of her corset, she felt the tremors in her stomach twist to nausea. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing the sickness to submerge. Anxiety had caught her in its binding grasp and was unwilling to let her go.

She would not turn and leave. Her mother had raised her to be something these ladies of society were not – brave, independent. A woman of lower London had not the luxury to be innocent – they knew the dark ways of the world and were expected to live in them. And so she stood, waiting with pained breath for her nightmares to return to her.

And then he was beside her. His lean body filled in the once empty air – she could feel its weight pressing heavily along her spine, making the downy hair on the nape of her neck stand. She had stopped breathing altogether, her focus entirely on attempting not to be ill. “Excuse me, miss, but I believe you dropped this.” She turned and briefly looked at the handkerchief she knew wasn’t hers. Then her gaze traveled unwillingly up to his eyes.

Blue eyes, like sky above her, staring back.

His warm palm traveled lightly over the flat of her bare stomach. The sharp line of his jaw illuminated in the hushed glow of the candlelit room. His long fingers sank into the warmth of her skin, aligning them to the ridges of her ribs. Slowly, he slid his hand around to her back and lifted her up against him. The weight of his body against hers ached an unknown longing in the pit of her frame. He swiftly brought his face close to hers, their lips brushing but then stopped. He released her, an empty space filling between their bodies. She watched as something bled into the blue of his eyes, altering their gaze. Tentatively, she brought her hand up and brushed back an unruly tangle of his hair off his brow. Closing that space, she pulled herself up into him and felt his mouth crush against hers.

But she couldn’t forget what she had seen in his eyes. Something that had been broken.

She dropped her gaze back to the green waters. She had never wanted that memory on her mind, despite its constant beckon. Feeling his expectant presence, she tucked her chin down to whisper, “No I do not believe that is mine. Thank you however for your concern.” She fumbled with the lace of her cuffs, waiting for the moment when he would make reference to the night they had shared together. Timidly she glanced over to him out of her peripheral. He was still as handsome as she remembered - his poise undeniably confident and blithe. But something was missing she had expected. Comprehension came over her in a swelling tide.

He did not know who she was.

Unexpectedly, a curious form of anger and relief took hold of her. An afflictive moment of her life had been a mere passing whim for him. But if he was unable to remember her, then she found her escape. ”If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my party.” She nodded curtly to him and turned to leave, with no intention of returning to the people to whom she was a stranger.

[garrett kensington]

Recognition sparked in her eyes; an ember of brilliance twisting against the night sky before fading as quickly as it had arrived. There was something about the girl that held him transfixed. She was a part of a long forgotten dream and Garrett wished he could recall. As he watched, incredulity etched itself across her delicate features, aging her. There was a weighted knowledge locked within the shadowy depths of her silver eyes. His assessment about her had been correct. This girl, whoever she was, was not like the others attending the party and he was determined to discover what it was that set her apart.

Experience had taught him that the dainty debutantes that frequented these events were all the same - he wished she would be the one to surprise him.

Her gaze fell back to the green waters, breaking the spell she had cast. “No I do not believe that is mine. Thank you however for your concern.” The soft rasp of her voice enveloped him, whispering against his memories anew. It was as though he should remember her, as though she had once been part of his story. His brow furrowed with confusion. There was no way he would have forgotten a creature as stunning as her.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Michael was watching with an amused expression. There was no way he could return to the sidelines without at least having appeared to successfully flirted with this girl. At very least he needed to learn her name. It would be better if she played her part in all this – accepted the handkerchief with a blush and soft smile. He would say something charming and she would giggle. It was a script Garrett knew by heart; one he had never needed to deviate from before. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my party.”

Chuckling softly, Garrett stepped in front of her to block her path. With a slight bow he peered up at her with an amused grin. “Your majesty. Please forgive my rudeness, I did not recognize you.” Rising, he extended his hand toward her. “At the very least, allow me to accompany you back to your party.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice in mock conspiracy. “Besides, I have reason to believe that the most perilous of creatures are here – the idle-tongue. Why, I fear to tell you that should you gaze in their direction incorrectly that their words will lash you to pieces. It is my duty to protect your honor.”

He had seen something in her eyes, all she need to do was surrender.

[aurélie d'allemagne]

She stared at him – not amused. She puckered her brow and slightly titled her head as her mouth set in a rigid line. “Your majesty,” he had called her. She didn’t know flesh could burn so quickly. But even her bones were aching from the blaze that consumed her. ”Please forgive my rudeness, I did not recognize you. At the very least, allow me to accompany you back to your party. Besides, I have reason to believe that the most perilous of creatures are here – the idle-tongue. Why, I fear to tell you that should you gaze in their direction incorrectly that their words will lash you to pieces.”

In the flash of a naïve moment, she thought he had remembered. But air escaped over her lips and she remembered she had left that girl behind, as he had. She couldn’t believe how quickly he had shifted her emotions. Gone was the nervous, scared girl. Her outrage gave her the courage. First he had mocked her, and then proceeded to flirt, pressing all his charms on her until it was suffocating.

”It is my duty to protect your honor.” She crossed her arms firmly across her chest. ”Is that so?” She gritted her teeth as unbidden memories flooded her conscience. How had she been so scared? When now all she wanted to do was hurt him. He stood for all of what this cruel world was to her. ”You must not have heard. I have nothing else to lose.” It was a bitter irony that made her lips twinge in a small smile – that he, who was offering to protect her honor, had in fact been the one to steal it from her in the first place.

But she couldn’t say that – he had never stolen it. She had willingly given it away, it just never was returned. She had learned to forget that night, the burn of humiliation and the tenderness of her heart. But she could feel the throb of abandonment once again. She raised her chin, as she stood determined above the swell. ”Why do you not ask one of the other girls here. I am sure they could entertain you for awhile.”

She looked again at his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, lips, nose and eyes. What she thought she had loved once. She still loved that gaze though, not the arrogant bloom of blue looking across from her now, but a memory of cerulean. One only illuminated in grasps of moments as the candlelight flickered. They had lain there for a few breathless moments, Aurélie staring at him as his gaze drifted off somewhere beyond the confines of the room. She hadn’t realized until now, until she felt it seeping in pools within her own cavernous chest.

A negligence of the heart.

ooc: nearly A YEAR LATER! dear lord.

[garrett kensington]

Slender arms folded across her chest, her pert chin raised in disdain. Anger and indignation dripped from the honeyed cadences of her voice. The girl before him was angry. And Garrett didn’t have a clue what he had done. “You must not have heard. I have nothing else to lose.” She stared at him; her wide doe-eyes piercing him. Garrett could feel the depth of her stare as it opened a space within his heart, cold air seeping into the gap she created. It was as though she knew him better than he knew himself and he found himself both intrigued and repulsed at the thought. “Why do you not ask one of the other girls here. I am sure they could entertain you for a while.”

He was always being dismissed, always the second choice. This world was created for his brother, Edmund. No one dared to question Edmund’s motives when he walked into a room. They catered to him instead. Garrett had grown accustomed to living amongst the shadows of his brother’s accomplishments. Even now, with Edmund’s death, he still lived amongst them. Ghosts never truly died. While he was accustomed to the disapproval of his parents there was something about this girl that magnified all of his failings. He had convinced himself that he didn’t mind, didn’t care: how quickly one person could cause that all to shift. He felt vulnerable and alone. The girl standing before him awakened something in him, and there was no way that Garrett was simply going to allow her to walk away.

“I’ve offended you,” he mused, his face the picture of repentant innocence. If he had learned only one thing from his mother it was that an apology – even when it was false – was a soothing balm when it came to female sensibilities. “I am terribly sorry. I meant no harm. Might we start again and forgive my actions?” He bowed slightly, a smirk curving itself into the corners if his lips. “My name is Garrett Kensington, and I fear that none of the other ladies here could compare to you. You have captured my attention entirely, please tell me your name before you cast me from your presence. I could not bear your departure otherwise.”

Even as he spoke the words he knew she would leave. Somehow she knew that he was nothing more than a fraud;. His sole worth rested upon his family name and not his own merit. She knew and he couldn’t make himself turn from her.

For the first time he wasn’t being placed in the shadows of his brother, and Garrett found that he had missed being seen.

[aurélie d'allemagne]

His words slithered over her like wet paint. A shiver spun down her spine as she tried to refrain from pinching her face in disgust. ”My name is Garrett Kensington. I fear that none of the other ladies here could compare to you,” She had never been approached like this from another aristocratic boy. Is this what the other upper class girls wanted to hear? Yet, she knew, if she were still living in lower London this would have been her every wish and dream. Instead, she felt sick.

Garrett Kensington. She had never known his name, before. When she thought back, she didn’t know how things had gone so far without knowing something so simple. But at the time she was too enamored for the idea to plague her. He hadn’t seemed willing to share and in her naivety she hadn’t pressed in case he turned her away.

”You have captured my attention entirely, please tell me your name before you cast me from your presence. I could not bear your departure otherwise.” She stared intently, her gaze hardening as she assessed him. His real first words to her came back, lifting from the dust that had coated her.


”How much?” She had stared, disoriented. ”How much for one of your flowers?” His waistcoat alone could have paid for five of her dresses. She stared at her wilted primroses. ”I-I don’t think you want these,” She shifted them around in her basket, somehow trying to urge them to life by her touch. ”They won’t be lookin’ nice on your fine suit, sir” she said quietly. He smiled, sending a thrill through her. ”You’re not much of a flower-seller. But you’ve won me over, here.” He pushed a few coins into her hand, holding his hand against hers for a moment. He picked up a yellow one and tucked it in his pocket. He smiled again and she felt her own lips warm, smiling back.

”You are beautiful,” he remarked, in what she saw as a soft, straightforward nature. He extended his hand, brushing the arcs of her fingers again. She had blushed and taken his proffered hand far too quickly.


She knew now that it had been nothing but an act, as the same words dripped from his mouth now. She wondered if he had ever shown anyone another side. But she was beginning to realize perhaps he had never spoken truer words to her than how much.

White-hot anger filled her veins, for all her stupidity and all that he had taken from her. She inhaled, reigning in a biting calm composure. “Is that so? Well, you have yet to capture mine. I’m sure one of the other girls could capture you, I do not think it would be hard to do. I must say good-bye. You are not forgiven, and I don’t think I ever could.” With that she gathered her skirts and stormed off back to the horde of tittering birds, livid that he had ruined so much more than her day.

[garrett kensington]

Garrett was not accustomed to being told no. As a boy he had been granted whatever toy he desired; meals were rearranged to cater to his tastes; servants fired to please him. As a young man his tastes had progressed from toy guns and card tricks to the fairer sex, and he’d yet to meet a girl who did not eventually cave to his charms. Especially after his brother had passed – being set to inherit the entire Kensington estate lent to his appeal, and Garret wasn’t above exploiting this, so it came as a bit of a shock that this stranger had such intense and livid opinions of him already. He watched, amused, as she reared at him as only a woman could. The points she made connected to abstract thoughts she hadn’t shared and were lost on him. He listened with half an ear lest something she said require a response from him, but his attention was fixated on the flush of her cheeks and the fire in her eyes. It took all his strength to keep from chuckling at her sheer adorableness.

“I must say good-bye. You are not forgiven, and I don’t think I ever could,” she spat before turning to leave.

Garrett coughed back a laugh as he watched her. “I should hate to incur the wrath of one of London’s fairest roses,” he chided. “Especially given the deadly prick of her thorns. To what do I require your forgiveness? Making your acquaintance? Attempting to spare you from the catatonia of this party by engaging in conversation? By all means, leave. Run back to your chaperone and report that your virtue is intact. If it is a chase you are after, I am afraid I left my hounds at home.”

The games had gotten old, and he knew all the rules. She would feign insult and he would pursue her and offer false apologies. Together they would dance a waltz and discuss the weather and their families before returning to the sidelines and exchanging flirtatious glances for the rest of the evening. He was tired of following the same predictable patterns, knowing the outcomes prior to arriving at them. Garrett longed for something that left him on edge and eagerly awaiting whatever was to come next. He watched as she hesitated for a moment, a smile blossoming across his lips. If she stayed it would be her own choice, but he wasn’t in the mood to have words with her.

He glanced toward his friends who were already occupied in flirting with other young ladies, Garret’s own exploits already forgotten. It made it better, he thought. He could make up his own account of what had happened with this girl and skew it to his favour. But he was beginning to realize that he didn’t care. Not of their opinions or the disappointments his mother accused him of. He didn’t even care if this girl stormed off and never paid him a second thought. This world, and everyone in it, was false and lacking. It was not the first time since Edmund had died that Garrett had found himself discontented with his life. It had been easier before the responsibility and expectations; back when he was nothing more than a spare.

This was not the life he was supposed to have led, and he no longer felt like chasing people down to be part of his charade.