Author.

There is a fine line between love and hate, especially for Envira Heartcleave. Her husband, Luke Anwir, was a powerful man, and Envira usually liked that; but not this winter night. “My Darling, why do you frown so? You’ll get wrinkles, and what will people say then?” Luke whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “I frown because I am worried, my heart. Mrs. Claventhraw is coming to the New Year Party, and I deeply despise her.” Envira knew this would quiet his pestering. Luke chuckled. “Ah, women. Such mysterious and petty creatures, no?” If Luke had looked in Envira’s eyes at that moment he would have seen her “chocolate sweet eyes” filled with the brown of gunpowder. But Luke did not look, so Envira merely laughed and said “Oh, but we are quite pretty, no, m’lord?” He kissed her cheek. “I quite agree, my pet. Do hurry down; the guests are beginning to arrive, and I know you wouldn’t want to miss a moment with Mrs. Claventhraw.” She placed her rouge on the vanity when he had shut the door. Her black hair was curled and pinned precisely to her head, almost identical to the day she met Luke. It had been a warm spring afternoon, the complete opposite of this winter day. Envira had been having tea with Mrs. Davenshire who lived just down the road from her own home of Heartcleave House. The sweet smell of lavender was in the air and the gossip had been as boring as the weather. Mrs. Davenshire and Mrs. Parley spoke on every subject but the one Envira was most interested in; men. That is, until Mrs. Davenshire mentioned her “-nephew is returning from Hartford today.” Envira’s interest piqued. “Oh, Mr. Luke Anwir, your sister’s son?” Mrs. Parley inquired. “He is such a handsome young boy, and he will make a fine husband.” “I quite agree, my dear Mrs. Parley. My husband has named him heir, you know.” “Oh?” Mrs. Parley sat a bit straighter. “Yes. As you well know I have had no luck conceiving a child, and it is too late to try. Mr. Davenshire has decided to name Luke heir to the estate and fortune.” Mrs. Davenshire met Mrs. Parley’s fierce gaze. “And how much is he inheriting, my dear Mrs. Davenshire?” Envira interjected. Both women turned to stare at Envira, shocked she would ask the one question everyone wanted the answer to in such a forward manner. But Mrs. Davenshire was never one to pass up an opportunity to rub her vast estate in Mrs. Parley’s nose, so she sipped her tea and said “Oh, the whole 200 acres of farmland plus the 20 acres for the home. And a small fortune of 70,000 pounds.” She paused to take another sip. “I suppose when you consider the farm produces 30,000 pounds a year it does become a more substantial inheritance.” It was as though Mrs. Davenshire had sucked the breath from Mrs. Parley. Although she knew the Davenshire’s were wealthy, Envira had no idea they were 100,000 pounds wealthy. Though she did not say it, Envira knew in that moment she would marry Mr. Luke Anwir. The ladies continued their idle gossip as Envira schemed. With a fortune that large all the women in the county would be after Mr. Anwir. Envira had the upper hand, as she knew Mr. Anwir’s arrival date. Word of his arrival was sure to spread quickly though, as maids never could keep their mouths shut. Envira would have to act quickly. Mr. Anwir would need to be firmly in her hands before any other girls could spot him, particularly Ms. Abigail Duschey. She must make an undeniable first impression, and her dress simply would not do. She snapped her fingers to summon a maid. “Yes ma’am?” “Retrieve paper and a quill, and be quick about it. I must send an urgent message.” The maid scuttled off to complete her task as Envira planned her missive. Within an hour the maid returned with the response Envira wanted: her own maid Lucille had arrived with a better dress. “You must excuse me, ladies. I have some urgent business to attend to.” Envira stood. The women merely nodded their heads and continued debating Mrs. Avenstone’s son’s engagement. In short order Envira was in a much nicer dress, and it was just in time. A carriage pulled up to the home bearing the Davenshire crest. Mr. Anwir had arrived. “Lucille, take my old dress in the trunk out the back way. Do not let Mr. Anwir or anyone see you, and if Mama asks, I spilled wine on that dress in the trunk. Now shoo!” Lucille quickly locked the trunk and began making her way out of Mrs. Davenshire’s guest room. Envira gathered herself and slipped down the hall towards the front staircase. Luke caught her on the stairs. “My dear lady, I don’t believe I know your name?” He kissed her hand. “I am Envira Heartcleave, and you are?” “Luke Anwir, beautiful madam. Might I inquire as to your presence in my aunt’s home?” “I’m afraid I felt weak at tea this afternoon, and your dear aunt allowed me to rest in one of her guest rooms for a moment.” The lie flowed easily from Envira’s mouth. She was used to lying by then. “And how are you feeling now, good lady?” “A bit light headed, M’lord. I fear I must leave your presence far too early”. She placed her hand on his shoulder, as though to steady herself, though Envira felt perfectly fine. The trick worked. Luke wrapped his arm around her waist. “Allow me to escort you home, Ms. Heartcleave. Have you already called your carriage?” “I’m afraid the thought had completely slipped my mind, Mr. Anwir”. “Then I shall insist on taking you home. Max, stall the carriage.” Luke helped Envira to the carriage, gently placing her inside. They had gotten lost on the way home; poor Envira simply couldn’t remember the way home in her “flustered” state. When they finally arrived at Heartcleave House, Luke had even tried to kiss her, but Envira was smarter than that. No man married the woman they kissed upon a first meeting. No, she would be patient. Word of Mr. Anwir’s arrival had spread like wildfire. Within a few days everyone knew that Envira had met Luke in his home and ridden home with him. All the girls knew that Mr. Anwir had courted at least three women in Hartford, and already Ms. Abigail Duschey was claiming he had proposed to her. Envira knew it was not true. Luke Anwir would propose only to her. Their romance blossomed like a perfect fairy tale over the summer. They were passionately in love. Luke loved her beauty and difficult ways and she loved his money. The first day of summer brought a ball at Abigail Duschey’s house. It was clear by then that Luke Anwir was not even courting Abigail, and so she had resumed giving attention to her previous suitors. Envira suspected Mr. Claventhraw would propose to Abigail that night, and she was correct, as always. “Have you ever thought about marriage, Ms. Heartcleave?” Luke breathed in her ear as the champagne flowed in celebration of the new couple. “Indeed I have, Mr. Anwir. Have you considered marriage?” She whispered back, barely turning her head towards him. “The thought has crossed my mind.” “Then tell me, Mr. Anwir, why as a respectable gentleman yourself with all your wealth you have not managed to find a wife?” Luke grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor, preventing any escape or coy games. “Do not ask me such questions, Ms. Heartcleave.” “Why, Mr. Anwir?” Envira blinked shyly, hiding her impatience for his answer. “Because you might not like the answer.” The music filled the ballroom with sharp strings but all Envira could see was Luke’s face. “Try me, m’lord.” He seemed to like her cheeky response, and he leaned close and whispered “I have yet to marry because I have yet to meet a woman worth marrying.” Envira closed the gap and whispered back “And what woman is worth marrying?” “You.” “And what is about me that makes me worth marrying, Mr. Anwir?” Her lips brushed his and she felt his hands shudder. “Envira Heartcleave, you are a bold woman. Would you object to my formal courting of you?” “I would not object, Luke.” As his lips crashed onto hers amidst the striking violins Envira knew she won. The bait was taken, and those 200 acres would soon be hers. As summer began to mature to fall Envira tightened her hold on Luke. He officially began to court her, and their escapades down by the lake became the latest gossip in the county. It was the last warm day of the summer, Envira recalled. They had been down by the lake, and their chaperone had somehow vanished. Luke had a way of getting people to do exactly what he wanted them to do. “My darling Envira,” Luke had said with his head in her lap, “Would you like to take a swim with me?” Envira playfully slapped his arm. “Of course not! We’ve already lost your poor aunt, what would people say?” Luke stood. “Then I shall simply have to swim alone, my darling Envy.” Envira laughed at the childish nickname, but her stomach fluttered all the same as she watched Luke dive headfirst into the lake fully clothed. Her mothers words drifted through the back of her mind. Marriage is an economic proposition, Envira. Do not let any man’s beauty cloud your goal of a prosperous marriage. Envira laid aside her mother’s sage words. Luke was stepping out from the lake; water dripped from his loose brown curls and his shirt was nearly translucent. He had looked radiant in the late afternoon sun. Envira watched him, glad he was hers, as he sulked over to her. Luke grabbed Envira around her waist and she squealed. “Stop! You’re getting me all wet!” “Yes, and what will the townspeople say now?” Luke whispered pinning Envira against a tree trunk. As they kissed for the second time that summer Envira’s 200 acres faded from her mind, replaced by the dangerously gorgeous man dripping water all over her new dress. Luke proposed 2 weeks after that day. Summer had just turned to fall, and Luke invited Envira to a quiet dinner on the Davenshire Estate Grounds. Envira wore her best dress, suspecting Luke was ready to propose; her father had mentioned a long discussion with Luke three days prior. Envira was happy imagining all the parties she would host on these very grounds when Luke had asked a very important question. “Envy, my darling Envira, would you like to rule these grounds?” Envira turned to face him. “The Davenshire Estate, you mean?” “Yes. Envira, will you be my wife?” Luke opened a silver box to reveal a gleaming and large diamond ring. “Oh, Luke! My heart, of course I will!” Envira’s heart bubbled over with joy as Luke slipped the glistening diamond onto her finger. As soon as she returned home Envira showed her new ring to everyone, including Lucille. “I heard that ring cost 2,000 pounds, miss,” Lucille assured Envira late that evening. “I heard it from Mara, Cook’s daughter. Mara heard it from Tom, the butcher’s son, who heard it from Lindsey, the goldsmith’s wife. You know, the sweet one with the round face who always gives your mother such pretty necklaces.” Envira trusted this information; after all, servants just couldn’t keep their mouths shut. But it was only when Lucille brought up the price of the ring that Envira remembered Luke Anwir, her fiance, was to inherit the wealthiest estate in the county. Envira knew she must keep a firm grasp of her new wealth and she made Luke wait a year for the wedding. Her game of hard to get would not end so easily for him, and Luke seemed willing to wait; He had business matters to settle in Hartford before the wedding. “I’ve always dreamed of a fall wedding, Luke. Do not deny my one wish.” She had said. “I shall never deny you anything, my Darling.” He had kissed her hand that night and been in Hartford the next morning. . It was an expensive wedding. Due to the chilly weather all the guests attended in browns and reds, leaving Envira the belle of the ball in her stunning white gown. There were nearly 200 guests, and Envira was far too busy showing her new husband off to the newly married Abigail Claventhraw to remember she was now mistress of 200 acres. Envira wanted a six month honeymoon to secure her hold on Luke, but Mr. Davenshire passed away a mere 4 months after their nuptials, and Luke had to return to manage the funeral and estate. Envira had no complaints about the reason for their early return. She was finally the mistress of her own home. Though she was not unkind, she was not warm to her staff. She knew only a few of their names. Envira considered her time better spent enjoying the comforts of her deliciously wealthy life and undeniably handsome husband. Perhaps it was the shortened honeymoon that led to the disastrous event of that winter. “Say that again, Lucille.” Lucille pinned another curl into place. “Mara from the kitchen said she saw Mr. Anwir leaving Mrs. Allen’s room yesterday night. She told me so when I went to pick up your breakfast.” A hot flame of rage spread through Envira’s chest. She always got what she wanted, except for her own husband it would seem. A fine holiday this was turning out to be. Throughout Christmas dinner Envira watched her husband flirt with Mrs. Allen while Mr. Allen, Luke’s supposed business associate from Hartford, stuffed his face with roast turkey. The playful banter and hard to get mannerisms that had landed Envira in the position of mistress of Davenshire Manor were now being expertly employed by Mrs. Allen while Mr. Allen avoided the situation by stuffing his face full of potatoes and sweets. The rage in Envira’s heart turned all the love she had for Luke into a burning hate. But Envira was patient and she would have her revenge, just as she had her wedding. So Christmas passed leaving Envira envious for the first time in her life. Luke did not seem to notice her cold moods or the dirty looks she gave him when they were alone. Just as she had her perfect wealth and image he had his picture perfect wife and estate. In that year of waiting her heart had forgotten the advice of her mother, and Envira had fallen in love. Luke was a bastard for stealing her heart while giving himself to another and he turned her heart as ice cold as it should have been from the start. Marriage is an economic proposition, and I will ensure my wealth, even if I can not ensure my husband’s love, Envira thought to herself that cold Christmas night. And now she stood in front of her vanity on New Years Eve, her face powdered and her lipstick laced with poison. Envira played her part of the happy mistress of the manor well. The music dipped and swelled, and Envira danced with everyone. She spoke with the girls who were now women, including the detested Abigail Claventhraw. It would be best to maintain appearances before the sin. “May I have the last dance before midnight, my darling wife?” Luke had slipped up behind her. Envira turned to face him. “Of course, my darling husband.” The music was loud, igniting the gunpowder in Envira’s heart. She lived an entire lifetime in every pitch and dive of the pounding music. The first crash of midnight rang out and Envira counted the seconds until she was free. GONG. Two. The walls glistened with red and green baubles. Three. Mrs. Claventhtraw was dancing in that gaudy yellow dress. Four. The scent of pine and perfume filled the room with a drunken haze. Five. The swell of the violins blocked all words from Envira’s mind. Six. Mama’s advice was all she trusted now. Seven. The gaudy colors of the many gowns blurred into brown. Eight. Mrs. Allen smirked at Envira from across the room. Nine. The chandelier above Envira reflected the fire in her soul. Ten. Luke pulled her closer. Eleven. Envira locked her eyes on Luke’s crystal blue ones. Twelve. Luke was inches from her face, his breath hot on her skin. “Happy New Year, my darling Envy,” Luke whispered as he pressed his lips on Envira’s, falling for her bait for the last time in his life. Luke Anwir was found dead in bed the next morning. Too much drink, the doctors said. An all too common occurrence around the holidays. The funeral was held in the bitter cold of January. Poor thing, the town mused. A widow at such a young age. It’s a good thing Mr. Anwir left her the estate, they said. There is a fine line between love and hate, Envira Heartcleave mused as she tossed a handful of dirt into the dark hole where her heart lay. And it seems Mr. Anwir loved a little too much.