Caribbean Reign Ch. 27-28

"Space to breathe, indeed," I mutter. The viscount of San Miguel - confined to the study at the behest of two women. Father is probably rolling in his grave. Then again, it was always hard to determine what was in the old man's head. There are plenty of things that I may not be ready to know.

***

Over the next few days, I find myself increasingly bothered by Catherine's lack of presence. Although she takes her meals in the dining room, she barely touches her food. At first, I thought the other servants were provoking her. However, Alma promises me that the girls are treating their new mistress with the utmost respect.

Isabel assures me that these things simply take time. My patience grows thin.

None of this is to say Catherine isn't making her demands known. I readily assented to her request, conveyed through Isabel, to bring one of her field friends into the house. I offered her the opportunity to make staffing changes, to purge any persons she finds unpalatable or who treated her badly during our less favorable arrangement. Such is the right of the lady of the house, a post that Isabel never had an interest in fulfilling.

For all this, I received not even a word of thanks. She merely ushered her friend inside and sequestered them both in her quarters.

At this point, I would accept any interaction from her.

I had hoped to glance in on her sleeping face in the mornings. The pink bedroom remains ready to accommodate her, even if she chooses to forgo the use of the doors between us. Not that I would be opposed to such a usage.

Instead, she's taken up residence in the blue bedroom, next to Isabel. Her hand-tailored dresses were sent for the day after she returned. The two of them have become real co-conspirators. It's even worse than before.

Whenever she looks at me, I only catch her flaming nostrils.

There are some moments of peace. I once heard her giggling with Isabel about paint colors and animal trinkets. Regardless of her anger towards me, the nursery will have to be renovated for the estate's newest inhabitant.

When Catherine believes no one is looking, she sings to the baby. Her nasally French becomes beautiful and melodic, pouring love into her belly. Standing near the windows' light, Catherine glows like an angel, illuminated by the heavens. There is tenderness in her touch, her gaze. What would it take for her to look at me like that?

***

Tonight is yet another solemn dinner. The staff stands awkwardly along the wall as the forks scrape the surface of the dinnerware.

"How was your ride today, ladies?" I ask.

I would prefer that the pregnant woman would stay away from thrashing animals, but I'm glad that she's finally getting some sunlight.

"Fine," she replies.

No amount of prompting can elicit more than a one-word response from her.

Catherine has clustered with my sister at the far end of the table. She allowed the servants to scoop a small portion of meat onto her plate, but I haven't seen her touch it. It is as if she refuses to eat in my presence.

I continue my fruitless attempt, "It's excellent weather as well."

"Yes, lovely," says Isabel, depriving me of my one opportunity to hear Catherine's voice.

Chewing fills the vacant minutes. Each meal is doomed to be both miserable and boring. At this point, Marisol would be better company - though I've sworn off the lot of them.

My sister sits quietly, not wanting to further contribute to the tension. Catherine swirls food from one side of her plate to the other, presumably without any intention to consume any of it. Besides my concern for her growing belly, the scape of the metal tines serrates my eardrums.

I slam down my glass. Wine sloshes over the rim. "Catherine, you must eat. Think of the child."

She abruptly gets up from the table and exits. The squeal of her chair legs is yet another offense against my good hearing.

I follow her into the hall to address the matter. "Please, be reasonable -- "

"Oh, how dare you!" she shouts. "You're the reason I'm in this blasted mess."

She touches her belly, "I wish I could tear this thing out of me and dash it to the ground. Then, I would not be here in such a putrid situation."

I grit my teeth. The circumstances that disgust her so are the envy of nearly every soul in San Miguel. "While I am sympathetic to your situation, I will not tolerate such ingratitude in my house."

She rages. "There it is. You feed me and clothe me, so I suppose you still you own me. I'm just waiting until you decide to send me back into the fields."

"Catherine," I say sternly.

"Yes, master?" She drops to the ground. "Would you like me to scrub the floors? How about unbuckling your trousers?"

Actually, I would like that very much, but right now I'd be a bit concerned with the intentions of her teeth. I want her to submit to me with pleasure, with desire. This bitter hatred wounds me more than she could possibly know.

I clasp her hand in mine. "This is your home now. You are mistress in your own right. And one day, I want you to be my wife."

Her arm goes stiff. After a moment, she laughs coldly. "I could never be your wife. As long as you hold the whip, I will always be your slave."

When she looks up, I see tears running down her face.

"May I be dismissed, master?"

"Yes, of course," I say, defeated.

Catherine departs for her quarters, the bulk of her plate still untouched. I cannot erase the past, but what of the future? I only ask the woman to sustain her person, and this is the fury I incite. Will she train our child to hate me as well?

Isabel exits the dining room with a disappointed look. "What happened to giving her space to breathe?"

"She's the mother of my child, Isa. I can't let her destroy herself."

"You're still treating her like your inferior. She needs to see that you take her seriously."

"And how am I supposed to do that? I've already crashed her wedding and dueled her fiancé, both of which resulted in an attempt on my life."

Isabel presses her lips together. "Both of those times, you were going over Catherine's head. Show her that you command no authority over her. Give her the whip."

"Excuse me?"

"Not forever." Isabel's eyes are alight. The offhand remark has already started weaving itself into her grand schemes. "Just for a time. While she learns to trust you again."

"The viscount of San Miguel submits to no one."

"The viscount of San Miguel is not going to find anyone to marry his ego," she retorts, crossing her arms. "What happened to the man who would do anything for Catherine? Is this a dragon too great to slay?"

"At a cost of my utter humiliation," I mutter.

"As if you've always treated her so kindly."

I groan. That is an intolerable false equivocation. I didn't know who Catherine was at the time. Even if this does the trick, submitting to my future wife will ruin my reputation and make me a laughingstock in my own house.

I cannot.

Then again, my repeated attempts to please her have failed spectacularly. Continuing down such a path makes us both miserable. If she would only smile again, it would be a small price to pay.

"Do you truly believe it would work?"

Isabel raises her palms "Well, it's not as if I've run it by Catherine. You'll just have to trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet?"

As much as I'd like to correct her, I need her to be right. Cleaning up this mess is my responsibility. Becoming a fool might be the only way to make her forget the humiliation she's suffered at my hands.

"Fine, we'll try it your way."

Isabel smiles.

***

I knock on Catherine's partially opened door. It swings open.

"May I come in?"

Redness surrounds the corners of her eyes. Her limbs splay all over the bed, unfortunately, not revealing any skin. It's obvious that she was not expecting visitors at this hour.

She shuffles to a more respectable sitting position. "Since when do you ask for permission?"

I take her multi-word response as an invitation to enter. "I asked you to marry me."

"And I said no." She turns her head toward the window. "Look where that got us."

I press on. "Yes, well, whether or not you forgive me, I want you to feel at home here."

She remains silent.

I continue, "Until we can get you your own set of servants, perhaps you might avail yourself of my service."

Catherine freezes. "Are you offering to submit to me?"

"I am."

"For nothing in return?"

"Is there something you'd be willing to offer?"

The entire idea sounds ridiculous.

She pauses, "That would make you my slave."

She's going to make me say it.

I sigh, "For a temporary time, yes."

What an awful plan my sister has cooked up for me. If Catherine is revolted by the thought of a valiant knight come to her rescue, she'll be disgusted by the idea of a simpering beggar, pleading for her attentions. Now, she'll think me both monster and fool.

Catherine drags her feet across the carpet as if deeply conflicted about my proposition. The new gown drips off her shoulders. She looks magnificent.

"To be clear, this charade doesn't make up for what you did."

"No, of course not. I just want to prove that I see you every bit my equal." I grin, "Even if you do look lovely on your knees."

Her eyebrows shoot up.

I clear my throat, "But that will not be a part of this unless you desire it. Tomorrow, I shall be yours to command."

I wait nervously. Is this something she is seriously considering? God, the things a man will do for love.

She crosses her ankles and tugs at a piece of lint on her dress.

"Very well, I accept. I shall see you tomorrow, Rafael."

I sigh with relief, "Tomorrow, then."

I make for the door before I can embarrass myself further.

She calls after me, "That's maîtresse to you."

I nearly trip over the doorframe. The idea of her having authority over me is appalling.