The Cliffs of Dover

Table of Contents
Summary............................................................................................................1
The Cliffs of Dover............................................................................................2

Summary
Entry for the Age of Edward 2010 contest. A story of love and loss in the midst
of war. Set in England and France during WWI. Please note: this is labeled
tragedy for good reason. You have been warned! AH EPOV Rated M for
graphic descriptions.

The Cliffs of Dover

AGE OF EDWARD CONTEST
RPGIRL27
THE CLIFFS OF DOVER
WWI EDWARD
Disclaimer: All Twilight elements are the property of Stephenie Meyer
and are not mine. This is not for profit.
A/N
Special thanks to Shelle87 & Emma for editing.
And thanks to Bobby Long for inspiring me with his song Two Years Old.
I'm sure he'd be so thrilled...*snort*
Looking at her now, I easily remembered how I felt when I had last seen her,
two years before. Her long, dark hair curled like Christmas ribbon along her
shoulders and down her back. The loose robe she wore swirled around her legs,
forming a circle as she danced and made merry in the parlor of my childhood
home. Gay laughter floated out onto the street where I stood watching, my
hands aching to hold her, my voice itching to join hers in song. I so wanted to
again have the opportunity to partake in her effervescent presence.

But it wasn't to be.

She clearly belonged to another, my life with her was now only a remnant of
her past, tucked away and forgotten.
A man was with her, tall, sturdy and deeply tanned. He wrapped his arm
around her and swung her, as I had often done. Jealousy and despair coursed

The Cliffs of Dover

through my body, my mind telling me to look no more, but my heart needing to
feel the pain.
It hadn't always been this way. Before the war, the scourge of pestilence, the
torturous separation, we had had times of blissful happiness, full of shared love
and affection. She had been the bright spot in my otherwise dreary and
proscribed existence, the pinpoint of light that I sought to lead me out of the
darkness.
I had been just a boy, fresh out of short pants when I first saw her. Isabella
Swan, the washwoman's daughter. She was poor, her father having long since
died and left her and the Widow Swan destitute. Her mother had taken up
washing the clothes and linens of the gentlefolk in my upper class
neighborhood of Belgravia, in Central London, to provide a measly living for
her and her daughter.

Isabella was always at her side, sometimes helping, sometimes playing. She
was just my age, and I would sneak down after my studies to be with her. She
hadn't had much schooling, but her mind was quick and her imagination highly
developed. She fascinated me.
Pretending she was the Queen of England, I would play her humble servant. If
she wanted to play Robin Hood, I was her Little John. To her King Arthur, I
was her faithful knight of the round table. I only wanted to please her, love her,
follow her to the ends of the earth if need be. She owned my heart and soul
completely and unequivocally from our first meeting. As far as I was
concerned, the sun rose and set according to her whims.

When we were twelve, she let me kiss her hand. When we were thirteen, she let
me kiss her cheek, and when we were fourteen, she allowed me to sneak a peck
on her lips. I wanted to marry her.
I made the mistake of announcing my intentions at breakfast one morning. The
clatter of dropping silverware and my parent's dismayed faces shocked me into
silence and after that, Isabella's joyful presence was banished from my home,
her mother replaced with another.

The Cliffs of Dover

When I had worked up the courage to ask about her whereabouts, I was
subjected to a long speech from my father, probably the longest he had ever
bestowed upon me, on the nature of class and how I was expected to behave
and conform. Ten generations of Masens had married well and served our
sovereign as trusted advisors, delegates and ministers, and I was to be no
different. Plans were already in place for my admittance to Eton, and then on to
Oxford before my eventual marriage to a daughter of the aristocracy.

A year passed in which I thought about Isabella every day, but never laid eyes
on her. She was the center of all my boyhood fantasies, the first and only face
that came to mind when I awoke, aroused and ready. Hers was the only touch I
sought when I had only my hand to please myself with.
A miraculous and chance passing on the street one day brought her physical
presence back into my life. I wanted to believe she was still the same
half-grown child I had seen her as last, but she was different now, more of a
woman, shapely and rounded in all the right places. Her clothes were simple
and poorly made, but clean and neat all the same. Her eyes had changed as
well, no longer bright and innocent, but resigned, almost leaden. They sparked
with recognition when she caught sight of me, a faint smile drawing up the
corners of her mouth. Just when I was about to lift my hat in greeting, she
scampered out of my way and hurriedly crossed the street.

I was confused and hurt by her avoidance, but I changed course and followed
her anyway. Staying out of sight but not too far behind, I watched her walk, her
pace quick and her head down. Women gave her wide berth and men appraised
her with their eyes as she passed them on the street. No one seemed to take any
notice of me, too old to be a boy, but too young yet to be judged a man.
Isabella suddenly veered to the right, disappearing between two buildings. I
jogged to catch up, reaching the corner and finding an empty alley. Sure that
she had to have gone in that direction, I made my way down the dark corridor.
Navigating through various bits of refuse and debris, I found myself in
unfamiliar surroundings. Though I knew parts of London could be seedy and
dangerous, I had never before been exposed to them. Out of the darkness, a
hand grabbed my wrist.

The Cliffs of Dover

"Master Masen, you should not have followed me here!" Isabella exclaimed.
"I saw you on the street and I could not let you pass me by. I've waited a year
to see you again."
"Don't be absurd. You have no business being seen with me."
"What would you have me do? Pretend like I don't know you? Pretend like we
didn't spend hours and hours in each other's company?" I questioned.
"Exactly that. You have a reputation to think of. We're no longer children,
Master Masen."
"Please, won't you call me Edward again? Let there be no titles separating us."
She snorted. "There will always be a title between us."
"Don't be this way. I can't help my lineage any more than you can."
"Yes, well, your illustrious family saw to it that my dear mother wasn't able to
work any more. Not only were we sent away from your home, we were also
barred from working for any of the other families, with just one word from
your father."
"I don't believe he'd be so cruel."
"Believe it. He even had the audacity to insinuate that I was trying to seduce
you, Edward."
"What?" I was horrified by my father's actions and immediately began
formulating a plan to make things right.
"Where are you and your mother living?" I pressed.
"My mother is dead. She only lasted a month on the streets of London, and was
buried in a pauper's grave. I've survived the best I can, with the tools I have at
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The Cliffs of Dover

my disposal."
She raised her head and straightened her shoulders, looking up at me with a
haughty air.
"And what, pray tell, are those?" I asked angrily.
"I don't answer to you."
"Please," I begged softly.
"Anything I can do; washing, mending, lying, stealing, selling my soul to eat
and keep a roof over my head. Things that you've never imagined."
"I won't let this go on. I won't let you be hurt anymore."
"There's nothing you can do, Edward. You're barely sixteen and besides, you
wouldn't care about me anymore if you knew the depths I've sunk to in order to
stay alive."
"That doesn't matter; nothing matters so long as you're safe. I always meant to
find you. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about you, missed you."
She laughed, but it was false laughter. "Oh Edward, you're so nave. What
happens after you save me? What then? You can't marry me; I'm little better
than a common whore!"
"No!" I shook my head, trying desperately to believe that she hadn't said those
words.
"See, it can never be. Run on back to your privileged life, your pre-ordained
future. Let me make my own way in the world. I don't need handouts from a
spoiled rich boy, Little Lord Masen," she spat.
I turned and ran from her, the anger and bitterness she projected, wounding me
to the core. Days passed, and I found myself slipping further into a deep
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The Cliffs of Dover

melancholia. My parents didn't seem to notice, but then, they never noticed
much about me. Isabella was constantly in my thoughts, her words echoing
through my mind on a loop. All I had ever wanted was to be with her, but the
constraints of family and class were working tirelessly against us. Because of
my love, she was forced to fend for herself. My love caused it, and so I
determined, my love should make it right.

At every opportunity, I walked the streets of London, seeking out the most
unsavory areas in hopes of finding Isabella. I returned home every night, filthy,
tired and on several occasions, robbed of my pocket money.
More time passed and I despaired of ever seeing her again. For all I knew, she
could have already died, as illness and disease ran rampant through the city
tenements. And if she met her death there, she'd be buried in an unmarked
pauper's grave just like her mother.
The winter months were bitterly cold, and I prayed most fervently that Isabella
had such simple luxuries as a warm hearth and a dry place to lay her head, no
matter what she had to do to obtain them.
The first of February dawned wet and dreary, the English winter seemingly
dragging on forever as it did every year. An epidemic of influenza spread
across Europe, and England was not immune from its deadly touch. The Great
War continued on another year, the frequent sounding of the air raid sirens
reminding us that death could come in many forms.
I was still too young to officially join the leagues of men in uniform, but I often
felt the call to serve my country battling with the desire to find Isabella. Many
of my acquaintances, I must call them that as I really had no friends, had
already been dispatched to serve His Majesty at the far corners of the British
Empire. From Persia, to Egypt, the trenches of France and the Italian
countryside, British soldiers defended our interests against the Kaiser and his
German forces. They boarded ships at Dover, where I had often spent summers
on holiday with my parents, and went to face the enemy. Standing against
machine gun fire, gas attacks, and the many horrors of life in the trenches, the
armies of England were slowly regaining lost ground.

The Cliffs of Dover

Still, the hospitals were full of wounded and dying men, and they now also had
to find a way to handle an influx of patients from the epidemic. I took to
haunting the hospital gates, inquiring of the exhausted nurses as to whether
they'd seen a girl fitting Isabella's description. They usually passed me by,
ignoring my questions and looking on me as if I were an inmate escaped from
the asylum.

Finally, an orderly took pity on me and offered to search the wards, for a price
of course.
I waited an hour or more, simultaneously hoping that Isabella would be found
and dreading that she may be terribly ill. The orderly reappeared, motioning for
me to follow him. The hospital floor was packed with patients, staff running to
and fro, and the lingering smell of death permeated the air. I removed my
handkerchief from my breast pocket and covered my mouth in an attempt to
keep myself from retching.

The orderly continued on, down a hall and into a second, overflowing ward. A
tall, blonde-haired doctor was leaning over a cot, examining a patient in the far
corner of the crowded room, and that was the direction in which I was led.
As soon as we were within a few feet of the cot, I knew it was Isabella lying
there. The hand which I had held on every available occasion hung down
limply, the pale flesh of her arm marked with tell tale pink and purple
splotches.
Hearing our approach, the doctor swung around to face us. "What are you
doing here? Visitors are not permitted. Do you want to become infected
yourself?" he questioned angrily.
I ignored him, pushing past his outstretched arm and kneeling beside Isabella's
prone form. Her usually reddened cheeks held a deathly pallor, the circles
under her eyes dark and pronounced.
"Are you responsible for this girl?" he asked.

The Cliffs of Dover

"Yes."
"She's very ill, brought in off the streets near death and claiming to have no
kith or kin."
"I want a private room for her, and constant care. Make arrangements, would
you?"
He nodded and left us, hopefully to see to the changes immediately. Due to my
lack of medical knowledge, I knew there wasn't much I could do to help her,
but money I had, and money was a great motivator. Poor and penniless,
Isabella would have likely seen only rudimentary care, but with a private room
and constant nursing, she stood a far better chance of surviving. And I was
determined that she would live. I hadn't spent all these months chasing her
shadow to lose her again, permanently.

Looking at her like this, I could hardly tell she was alive. Her skin was clammy
and hot to the touch, her breaths shallow and raspy. The groans and hacking
coughs of the other patients echoed around the room. The faint weeping of
children and moans of those about to die made me wish I could do something
to help them all, but there were so many...
An hour passed in which Isabella barely stirred beyond the fluttering of an
eyelash. Afraid to speak in case I disturbed her, I simply held her hand in
between my own, gently rubbing her knuckles and massaging her palm with
my thumbs. I felt the strange prick of tears in the corner of my eyes, a feeling I
hadn't had since I was a small boy. Willing them away, a dry, stuttered sob
escaped me instead. Isabella's hand jerked in mine, her lips pursed and her eyes
cracked open. She attempted to speak, but her gasps became a hacking cough.

"Shhh, I'm going to make it better. I'm going to make it all go away, Bella."
Finally, several orderlies approached and I moved out of the way to allow them
space to remove her. I followed them up to the top floor, where they installed
her in a small but pristine room.

The Cliffs of Dover

Once she was settled into the bed, a nurse came and shooed me out, claiming
that they would be bathing and changing her out of her filthy clothes. I found
the head nurse, deposited all the money with her that I had on my person and
extracted promises that Isabella would only have the most excellent of care.
"Now, go on, Sir," she instructed. "Leave the hospital before you get ill
yourself."
"I want to stay with her. I can help. I need to help her."
"Leave your card and I'll make sure you're notified of any changes in her
condition, but you truly can not stay here. We're not equipped for this level of
patients, let alone allowing visitors into the mix. And what help will you be to
her if you fall ill?"
After a long moments hesitation, I agreed with her, and at her suggestion, I left
down the rear stairs instead of going back through the wards.
Life at home stayed much the same. My disappearances seemed to go unnoted,
which was unsurprising since my parents were seldom home and the staff cared
little about my comings and goings. Unable to wait for word from the hospital,
I continued my vigil at the gates each afternoon, the nurses suddenly being
kind enough to give me updates on Isabella's condition. It's amazing how nice
people become when they know you have money.

Though I was unable to see her, I was constantly reassured that her condition
was improving and she had not contracted pneumonia, which was often the
death knell for flu sufferers.
On the twelfth day, the head nurse informed me that Isabella would be
discharged within the week. Hearing that news, I was overjoyed to say the
least, but it also meant I had important plans to make. Isabella could not be
allowed to go back to a life lived amongst ruffians on the streets of London.
This time, I would refuse to take no for an answer, or permit her to shock me
into silence and fear. I loved her and wanted to care for her, and she would just
have to accept it. In my heart of hearts, I hoped that she would be able to love

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me in return, but I didn't know if she would be able to convert the childhood
affection she had for me into romantic love.
That very afternoon, I secured rooms for her in a safe area within walking
distance of my home. I paid the elderly woman who owned the building several
months in advance and arranged for the woman's spinster daughter to act as
nursemaid and chaperone for as long as Isabella might need her. I also gave
them extra money to supply Isabella with a few ready-made dresses and ladies
items I knew nothing of. I didn't know if she had belongings elsewhere or if she
owned anything that would need to be recovered later, but she had appeared to
have nothing with her at the hospital.

On the day she was set to be released, I waited anxiously on the hospital steps
for her to come into sight. Because I knew that she would be unable to travel
comfortably by foot, I "borrowed" my father's car. If anything could be said to
be second in my heart to Isabella, it was that car. A white, Rolls-Royce Silver
Ghost, my father had acquired it brand new in 1911. It was a rare occasion
indeed that it was used for motoring, and when it was, every head turned. He
had never said I couldn't drive it, so I decided to take that as tacit approval,
besides, the wide back seat allotted quite a bit of room for Isabella to relax and
lie down on the way to her rooms.

Several orderlies emerged towing Isabella in a wooden wheelchair. The change

in her was unmistakable. Her small frame had reverted to skin and bones, her
once vibrant skin and hair were dull and lifeless. Inwardly, I wept for the
beautiful, vivacious girl she once was.
"Bella?" I spoke tentatively.
"Edward? What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to take you home."
She laughed dryly. "I have no home. At least, not anything resembling a
home."

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"I've taken care of it. In fact, I've taken care of everything I could think of that
you'd need. Let me help you into the car."
She lifted her head to look past me. "In that? But that's your father's car."
"I know; it's a bit showy, but it's what I had at my disposal."
They wheeled her down next to the car and I popped open the door. Reaching
down, I tenderly lifted her featherweight body and slid her onto the seat
cushion before wrapping her in a thick blanket.
"You're so strange, Edward."
I chuckled. "And why do you say that?"
"It's like you have this compulsive need to wait on me, just like when we were
children."
"You noticed that, huh? It's because I love you, and that has never and will
never change."
"You've lost your mind. You don't know what you're saying."
"Only because I've been so worried about you. It took me ages to find you, and
when I finally did, you were here, at death's door."
"I never meant for you to find me. I wanted to stay lost forever, make it as if I
never existed," she replied, her eyes downcast.
"I refuse to let that happen. I refuse to let you disappear out of my life again.
You belong with me. I've known that since the first time I set eyes on you."
"You couldn't have known that, you were only a boy. And you were so shy and
unassuming. I thought you would ignore me like the other children, but you
came right up to me and offered your services as a knight in shining armor.
Obviously, not much has changed."

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She looked so tired. Her head lolled against the seat and her eyes drooped into
tiny slits.
"Why don't you rest now? We can talk about all of this at great length later,
when you're feeling up to it," I calmly suggested.
She nodded slightly and I closed the door for her before easing into the front
seat. Driving slowly and trying to avoid the ruts in the road, I eventually made
it to the home in which I had rented the rooms. Isabella was sleeping soundly,
so I eased her into my arms and nestled her tightly to my chest. Mrs. Cope, the
elderly owner, was waiting for us at the door and accompanied us to the
bedroom. Placing Isabella betwixt the linen sheets, I made sure she was
covered and looked comfortable before I reiterated my instructions for her care
to both Mrs. Cope and her daughter. When I was sure that they understood, I
told them I would be back the following day and took my leave for the
evening.

Arriving home, I found the house silent as a grave. There were no maids
rushing back and forth, no places set for the evening meal. My footsteps
echoed loudly down the front hall, and I grew more concerned the farther I
went without seeing anyone. When I reached my father's study, I pushed open
the door, fully expecting to see him ensconced behind his massive desk as was
normal. Instead, I was greeted with the sight of Alistair Davies, my father's
friend and barrister.

"Edward, come in and sit down, please. I'm afraid I have some bad news to
impart."
I crossed the room and settled into one of the stately, old wingback chairs,
crossed my legs and gripped the wooden armrests.
"Your parents fell ill a few days ago while visiting their country estate. I'm
sorry, there's nothing that could be done. They were both gone before dawn
today."

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"But...but...I didn't even know they had gone on holiday! What do you mean
they're gone? Dead? Both of them?" I was completely shocked, the news
nowhere near settling into my mind.
"Again, I'm sorry, Edward, but we have some matters to discuss. As their only
child, you are the sole inheritor of their estate, which of course includes this
house as well as the one in Kent, and quite a lot of money, both invested and
liquid funds. You're aware that I have been your father's solicitor for many
years, and I'm offering to remain in your service, to guide you through this
difficult transition."

He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his bloated belly,
awaiting my reply. My voice was stuck in my throat and my hands shook. I
simply could not and would not discuss the transfer of assets and property like
my parents hadn't just passed on so completely unexpectedly.
"With all due respect, Sir, you can't possibly expect me to make sound
decisions right this moment!"
"Of course not, that's why I'm here, to protect your interests and make sure you
aren't taken advantage of. I assume you have no idea how to run a household,
am I right?"
I nodded in agreement.
"Just as I thought. Your father already made his wishes known that he expected
me to see to your well being in the event that he died before you reached the
age of majority, and I plan to see that to fruition. Your family hasn't held their
standing this long without hard work and good luck. It would be a shame to see
anything come to pass that would put that in jeopardy. Don't you agree?"
I nodded again, understanding that his reasoning was sound and in my best
interest.
"I think this is all I can handle this evening. If you wouldn't mind, may we
schedule any further discussions for a later date?" I inquired.
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"Certainly, but you'll want to do that soon, as we'll need to get you into
boarding school and close up the house before too long."
"Yes, I see," I responded noncommittally. "And my parents, what kind
of...arrangements need be made?"
"Already taken care of. They'll be laid to rest in two days time at St. Paul's
Knightsbridge, as was stipulated in your father's will. You'll be in attendance of
course."
"Yes, most definitely. It seems I have much to thank you for. I would never be
able to do this on my own."
He collected his things and made ready to leave. "Your father was a good man.
Be happy he took the time to make sure you were adequately cared for."
"Yes, Sir," I replied, getting up to shake his hand before he left the room.
I was relieved to be alone, but at the same time, I didn't know what to do with
myself. I thought that I should feel sorrow or pain at losing my parents, but the
truth was, I felt nothing. I never really knew them beyond the way a servant
knows his master. Affection and familial love were foreign ideas to me, as my
parents never expressed any, the closest thing I had to a real parent was my old
nanny, but I'd been without her for years.

The majority of the next few days I spent by Isabella's bedside. She slept most
of time, but when she was awake I attempted to shove as much nourishment
into her as possible. I didn't tell her about my parent's deaths or their
subsequent funeral. I attended, and was glad to find that it was understated and
without great fanfare. Over the last few years, death had become so
commonplace, even among the upper classes, that funerals failed to hold as
much entertainment value as they once had.

By staying out most of the day, I successfully avoided any more social calls
from Mr. Davies, though he left his card on several occasions to show that he
had come calling on me. The servants avoided me, skittering down hallways to

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avoid passing me in the house. I didn't even know what the duties of most of
them were, and had the urge to send them away, but I thought that Isabella
might be in need of them when I made her mistress of the house. That was still
my plan; love her, care for her, and then bring her home as my wife. I just had
to convince her that it was meant to be.
Isabella's condition steadily improved. With each passing day, she grew
stronger until finally, she was able to get out of bed and stretch her legs without
collapsing from exhaustion. I read to her, made sure she was waited on hand
and foot by Mrs. Cope and her daughter and tried to coerce her into
conversation. She didn't talk much. Usually, she just listened to me ramble on
about anything and nothing, afraid to broach any of the truly serious topics.

One day in late April, it was unseasonably warm and dry. We ventured out to
the gardens together and strolled slowly so as not to wear Isabella out
prematurely. I cradled her arm in my own and she leaned on my shoulder for
support. The light but chilled breeze ruffled her loose, wavy hair and she drew
her wrap closer for warmth. I halted our walk and gathered her up into my
arms, rubbing her shoulders vigorously to produce heat.

"You're cold; we should go in," I suggested.

"You worry too much. I'm thankful to be out of my rooms for once."
"I'll always worry about you; you're the most important person in my life."
She smiled and her hand slipped up to my cheek. Her fingers were cold, but the
touch of her palm caused my skin to grow warm and tingly.
"You're the most important person in my life too," she whispered.
Her eyes were inviting, her smiled stretched, and her body molded to mine. I
dropped my hands so that they came together at her lower back and slowly,
hesitantly, brought my lips to hers. It was the first time I had kissed her since
we were fourteen, and this was ever so much different. That had only been a
soft, chaste peck on the lips whereas this kiss was full of heat and desire.

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Feeling her tongue brush my lips, I opened my mouth and let her in, tasting
her, glorying in the affection she was showing me and reveling in the emotions
that had so long been locked up but now spilled from us both. Hope, desire and
sheer joy swirled through my body as she continued to hold me close and
return my ardent kisses.
I paused, slipping my lips slowly from hers and resting my chin on the top of
her head. I couldn't say what I was about to say while looking in her eyes, for
fear that I would never forget the look of rejection I might find there.
"I love you. I want to marry you, as soon as possible, without any further
delay."
She stiffened in my arms. I clenched my eyes shut and waited to hear her say
no.
"It's not possible. It's not possible for you to love me and it's not possible for
you to marry me; not without turning your back on your family and your
destiny," she whispered brokenly. "This all has to end. This little fantasy we've
been living in is false, and I shouldn't have allowed myself to enjoy it for so
long."
"Forgive me, Isabella, but I've let you live under a misapprehension for too
long now. My parents passed away the day you were released from the
hospital, though I didn't know it until later that evening. They contracted the
influenza and died at their country estate. I didn't even know they had left
London. I have no family. I'm the last of the Masen line."
Stepping back from her, I gripped her upper arms and found the courage to
look in her eyes. "I want to bring you home as my wife. You belong there;
you've always belonged there."
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at me, and her head shook back and
forth.

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"Edward, I'm not made to be a fine lady in a fine house. I'm ruined! Don't you
see? People will know! They'll talk, and I'll be an embarrassment to you."
I cupped her face and ran my thumbs under her eyes to clear the tears away.
"It doesn't matter. I've never involved myself in that world, and I don't intend
to. Just because my ancestors have all desired to enter public life, doesn't mean
I want to, and now that my parents are no longer around to try and force me,
I'm free to do as I please. Being with you is what I want, all I've ever wanted.
Please don't let other people's perceptions stand in our way. If you're going to
turn me down, turn me down on my own merits, or lack thereof."

She turned from me and walked several feet down the path, clutching her wrap
tightly at her elbows.
"You'll regret this; that's what I'm afraid of," she responded, looking back at me
over her shoulder.
"The only thing I regret is the time we've wasted. You could have easily died
and kept us from ever being together. I don't want to take that chance anymore.
But enough of what I want, tell me what it is that you want."
Her head hung and her fingers fidgeted nervously in the ends of her hair. "I
would like nothing more than to be your wife," she raised her eyes to mine, "in
this world and the next."
I didn't let her go on. Instead, I raced forward and scooped her in my arms,
spinning her in a circle and whooping loudly. She giggled in a way I hadn't
heard in quite awhile and threw her arms around my neck, her hair falling
down and covering our faces, hiding our fervent kisses from view.
Though I could have gone on kissing her all day, I could tell that she was
reaching the point of exhaustion. Eventually, I persuaded her to go back to her
rooms to eat and rest. I promised her I would return in the morning with a plan
in place for our marriage.

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The Cliffs of Dover

Immediately after leaving her side, I made my way over to see the registrar and
filled out the necessary paperwork, learning that we would have to wait sixteen
days before the ceremony could be conducted; sixteen more days to hide from
Mr. Davies and keep Isabella from changing her mind.
Despite my fears, the sixteen days passed without a hitch. I stayed away from
home until late at night, thereby avoiding Mr. Davies attempts at locating me,
and I kept up a long line of reassurances to Isabella that we were making the
right choice.
By the day of the wedding, Isabella had regained most of her strength, and her
physical appearance and health had vastly improved over the state I had found
her in several months before. Though I had explained to her that I would be
quite willing to give her any type of wedding she would want, she admitted
that she preferred a small civil ceremony. Mrs. Cope and her daughter
accompanied us to the register office as our witnesses and our only guests.
Really, there was no one else I would care to invite, and Isabella had no other
living relatives and claimed to have no friends either.

Her simple, white gown skirted her ankles and gathered quite fetchingly at her
small waist. I wore my best suit, which hadn't seen the light of day in ages, and
polished my shoes until they shone. We stopped first to have our wedding
photo taken, and then went straight on in the Rolls Royce to have the ceremony
performed. It was very quick, just a short exchange of words and promises, but
it meant so much to look into each other's eyes and say them. Mrs. Cope wept
quietly into her handkerchief and leaned on her daughter's shoulder. We
returned them to their home directly after the ceremony and picked up
Isabella's few belongings before driving back to my home; our home now.

Hurriedly leaping out of the car, I ran around to the passenger side and plucked
Isabella out, scooping her into my arms and carrying her up the pathway and
into the house. I brushed past the housekeeper, a cranky, middle-aged woman
known as Mrs. Clearwater, and continued toward the main staircase. I could
hear her muttering noisily behind me, but introductions to the staff could wait.
I bounded up the stairs with Isabella giggling cheerily in my arms. I didn't
break stride until I reached the door of my room, jabbing it with my elbow

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The Cliffs of Dover

since both of my hands were occupied.
We fell together on the bed, smiling and laughing, happy and content to finally
be joined together as I had always known we should be. After our few
moments of silliness, we stilled, lying on our sides, facing one another. I raised
my hand and traced the contours of her face, outlining the ridge of her nose and
her sweet, full lips. I simply had to kiss her. I couldn't wait any longer, and so I
allowed my lips to gently touch where the tips of my fingers had just been.

Isabella made the first move to deepen the kiss, licking my bottom lip with her
tongue and pulling my face closer to hers. I was quite willing to let her lead.
Though it pained me to think on it, I knew she was far superior to me as far as
experience went. However, she surprised me when she stopped abruptly.
"Edward?" she whispered.
"Hmm?" I had attached my mouth to her throat when she had moved in order
to speak.
"Do you think you could retrieve my bags from the car? I need to change."
I nodded into her neck and tried to wriggle from the bed. "I'll be right back."
Rushing back down to the car, I yanked her bags from the back seat and raced
back to the room, taking the steps two at a time. I burst through the door and
switched it locked behind me, and then turned around to see Isabella sitting
demurely on the side of the bed.
"Your things, Lady Masen." I bowed at the waist and held out her bags,
grinning facetiously.
Her head cocked to the side and she stifled another round of giggles behind her
hand. "Why thank you, kind sir. I must see to my toilette."
She rose and took her bags, stopping to look at me questioningly.

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The Cliffs of Dover

Still bent over in the manner of a fine butler, I waved my hand with a flourish
in the direction of the en suite and she swiftly disappeared behind the door. At
a loss for what would be an appropriate way for me to proceed, I stood dumbly
for some time, staring at the closed door. It was only mid-afternoon, and I
wondered if it would be entirely too forward of me to strip down and crawl
under the sheets.

While I pondered, the door opened slightly and Isabella peeked out. "What are
you doing?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"Get into bed. I'll be out in just a moment."
I suppose that was the answer to my question.
Nervously, I pulled off my clothes, all but my combinations, and slid the sheets
back. When I was a boy, the bed seemed absolutely massive, easy to hide in
and impossible to accidentally roll out of. Now that I was over six feet tall, it
didn't look quite as big, but there was still more than enough room for Bella
and I, and little chance that we'd roll out.
I sat propped against the headboard, anxiously awaiting Bella's return. My left
leg shook a bit and my fingers tugged ruthlessly through my windblown hair.
Finally, I heard the door creak open and Bella emerged. She had changed into a
floor length ivory nightgown that had straps instead of sleeves, leaving her pale
arms bare. I could hardly stand the sight of her exposed flesh, as it seemed to
incite a riot of sensations inside my own body. My faced flushed and my toes
went cold, my knees shook and I could feel sweat gathering on my brow. She
drew closer, her lips twitching and trying to form a smile. When she reached
the foot of the bed, she pulled up her nightgown, freeing her legs, and boosted
herself up onto the mattress. She edged up slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.
Grasping the sheets in her left hand, she yanked them down, revealing my
lower limbs. Her hands traced my ankles and slid up to my knees, before
diving down to grip my hips. She pulled and I sank down until I was flat
against the mattress.

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The Cliffs of Dover

Isabella's hands kept moving, up over the planes of my stomach and chest, until
they settled behind my head. With her legs on either side of my hips, she
brought her body down and rested astride me, centering herself on my rigid
cock and making me inhale sharply in surprise and wonderment.
After a moment's hesitation, I gripped her legs behind her knees and ran my
thumbs up over her thighs, pushing her nightgown up and revealing more skin.
Suddenly less anxious and more than a little aroused, my hands couldn't wait to
touch, and they flew up her thighs to her hips, gripping her there and pushing
her down harder against me. She smirked and arched her back before
repetitively swiveling her hips, making me throw back my head and grown
aloud.

I started tugging her nightgown off at the same time she decided to start
yanking open the buttons on my combinations, resulting in both of us being
tangled messes and we had to stop and laugh while we sorted ourselves out. Of
course, as soon as we had gotten all of our remaining clothing removed, things
got quite serious again.
I wrapped her in my arms, pulling her as close to me as possible before I began
kissing up and down her neck and jaw. She went back to rotating her hips, but
the delicious friction was no longer aided by material between us. Instead, she
slipped and slid over the head of my cock, causing me to tense with
anticipation on each pass.
With one hand on her neck, I forced my lips onto hers, and with my other hand,
I gripped her backside, halting her motions just long enough to situate myself
and thrust gently inside of her. She smiled against my mouth, nipping my lips
with her teeth and sighing.
Being inside of her was like nothing I had ever felt before. The warmth, the
heat, the closeness of our bodies was liberating, yet at the same time it was
deliciously constricting. She sat up, and I could see everything. My eyes went
wide as I tried to take it all in. Her face flushed with passion, her skin naked
and wet with perspiration, her breasts full and supple, and the place where we
were joined, my cock hard and throbbing. I watched as it disappeared inside of

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The Cliffs of Dover

her on each downward stroke.
All too soon, I started feeling overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and feelings
associated with our physical joining. As much as I tried to prolong our
lovemaking, I couldn't, and crying out, I burst inside of her.
Isabella slowed her movements, and then stopped all together. I lay exhausted
and spent on the bed, too tired and well-pleased to move. She rolled off of me
and snuggled in to my side, where she traced my ribs with her fingers and
tickled me by pulling gently on my chest hair. I looked down on her face
snuggled against my shoulder and gave her my most glorious smile, trying to
translate my happiness without making the effort of speech.

"I've never seen you look more handsome than you did just now," she
whispered. "Your skin is glowing, your hair is a major catastrophe, and you
look happier than I've ever known you to be."
"I am. Well, except for the day you agreed to be my wife. I couldn't possibly be
more happy than I am right now."
Rolling on to my side, I nudged her chin up so I could reach her lips and kiss
her some more. I knew there would never come a day when I would ever tire of
having her lips brushing against my own. She took my hand and first placed it
on her breast, encouraging me to touch and squeeze, before guiding it down to
the apex of her thighs. Together, our fingers explored her heated flesh. I
diligently followed her lead, watching her face in order to find out what
pleased her most. By this time, I was hard again. Her thigh rubbed my cock
continuously while I did my best to delight her with my hand. Our kisses grew
more heated, and I could see that she was teetering on the brink of orgasm. Her
whispered pleas and pants were becoming more desperate, her rotating hips
and glistening fingers more insistent in their movements. Abandoning her lips,
I peppered her breasts with kisses and lapped at her nipples with my tongue.
Her pants turned to moans with each bit of attention I gave her breasts, so I
took her nipple into my mouth and sucked it, swirling my tongue and enjoying
the taste of her soft skin in my mouth. She writhed harder against our
commingled fingers and threw her leg over mine, bringing us closer still. My

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The Cliffs of Dover

erection stroked alongside the back of our hands, her body taunting me with its
nearness.
Unable to resist any longer, I rolled our bodies so that I fell on top of her,
between her legs, and flung both of her hands over her head, gripping them in
one of my own. With my free hand, I grabbed behind her knee and brought it
up, fitting it in the crook of my elbow and giving myself additional space to
maneuver.
It was rare for me to express dominance over her, and I could tell by her face
that she was surprised at my actions. I slipped back into her, both of us
releasing dual moans of pleasure, and slowly, steadily, pumped in and out.
Our foreheads touched, and we first gazed into each other's eyes, and then,
when she looked down, I followed her line of sight and found that from this
position, we could both watch my cock delving inside her. Of course, the view
was both mesmerizing and intoxicating in its simplicity, and we watched with
rapt attention.
Our pace picked up speed, both of us driving towards climax with
single-minded determination. As soon as I heard her cry out and felt her tighten
around me, it propelled me toward ecstasy, sending shivers down my back as I
emptied inside her.
We both collapsed, completely worn out from our exertions. Sweaty and with
tingling muscles, I lay staring at the ceiling, too tired to even blink. Bella
appeared to be in the same condition, her breathing labored and her skin a
radiant, rosy red.
I couldn't tell you how long we lay there like that, it could have been minutes
or it could have been hours. I didn't care if I never left that bed again.
As the days went by, we did spend most of our time there. Other than meals
and the occasional walk outdoors, we barely left the room. I gloried in her
attention, and she in mine. The staff looked at us as if we were loons, and we
cemented that idea with our actions. We raced through the house, playing

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grownup versions of hide and seek and singing songs at the top of our lungs.
We danced in the ballroom and played piano in the parlor. We made love with
wild abandon and with the ceaseless energy of young lovers. I instructed the
butler to turn away any visitors and so we blocked out the outside world and all
its troubles.
In the bliss of our youthful innocence, we truly believed that we could stay this
way forever, caught in a happy and ignorant limbo. That all changed one night
when we were having an unusually quiet evening, relaxing and reading
together in the library. Bella had poured us both some tea, and she sat propped
on my knee with her head on my shoulder. The doors to the library sprang back
and banged the walls on either side, the loud and unexpected noise rattling
through the house. The angry form of Mr. Davies filled the doorway, and I
knew that my pleasant evening was about to be thoroughly ruined.

I bolted upright in the chair, almost toppling Isabella to the ground with my
sudden movement. "Mr. Davies, how good of you to stop by this evening," I
greeted him with false enthusiasm.
He seethed; his lumbering body vibrating with barely disguised disgust and
anger.
"Lord Masen, it seems you didn't take my warnings to heart and have let this
lovely wench rob you of your sanity. I believe your recently deceased parents
are rolling over in their graves at what you have allowed to enter their home.
Do you realize what you've done? The position you've put yourself in? The
disgrace you've put on your family name?"
He kept sputtering out insults, rubbing his hands together and shaking. I was
momentarily stunned into silence, angry replies trying to make their way out of
my frozen vocal chords. Isabella pitched herself off my lap and fled the room,
bursting into tears as she passed Mr. Davies at the door.
"I'm afraid that if your only goal tonight was to insult my wife, I'm going to
have to ask you to leave, Sir," I finally answered.

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"The shame, Edward! The shame you've brought on yourself!"
"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I really don't care what you or your friends
think."
"Maybe not, but what about what your government thinks? You're not going to
school, you're not planning on working for the ministries, you're an able-bodied
man not in uniform, have you deserted your country as well as your family
duties?"
I paused, the rightness of his words wounding me to the quick. Here I hid,
playing and living and loving, whilst every other boy and man I knew had
joined the war effort.
My head hung and I did feel shame, not for my beautiful wife, but for my own
actions. I should have already enlisted; I should have been at the front that very
moment.
"Please leave, Mr. Davies, I have a very upset wife to see to," I pleaded in a
defeated whisper.
"Very well, Edward. May God have mercy on your soul, for I am done with
you. It seems your cowardice and dishonor know no bounds."
He turned on his heel and exited the room. The front door banged, signaling his
aggravated departure from the house, and I slowly made my way up the stairs,
only the great concern I had for Isabella pushing back the deep seated feeling
of failure I now carried in my heart.
I spent most of the night comforting her, reaffirming my love for her and
denying that that love was wrong or misguided. The whole time I held her,
repeating again and again that she was all I could ever want or need, the idea
that I was really undeserving of her was bouncing around my mind. Mr. Davies
was right about one thing, I had deserted my country when she needed me
most; I was a coward, unworthy of Isabella's love and trust, and I had shirked
my duties. I had to make it right or live the rest of my life knowing that I had

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allowed myself to become dishonorable.
The very next morning, while Isabella slept heavily in our bed, I began making
plans. I sent a note to Mrs. Cope, asking if her daughter would be willing to
come and stay with Isabella during my absence. When I had received a reply
stating that she could come at a moment's notice, I left the house and went
down to the nearest recruiting station. As was to be expected, they were quite
happy to sign me up, telling me to report for duty the very next morning. Just
in time to solidify my decision, I was presented with a white feather from a
lovely matron on my way home. It seems they were giving them out to every
man not in uniform.

Upon my return, I found Bella still sleeping soundly, so I took the time to write
out a long, torturous letter, detailing my decision and reasoning, and then the
many things I wanted her to know that I loved about her and how I would
return to her a redeemed man.
That night, I made love to her like I was crazed, with a feverish intensity that
surprised her. Once, twice, thrice; it would never be enough, but she had to
know how much I loved and wanted her, how much her mind and body called
to me.
By dawn I had exhausted her, and while she slept, I gathered the few
belongings I would take with me. On the pillow beside her, I left the letter and
the white feather; the symbol of my cowardice.
Mrs. Cope's daughter arrived just as I was about to leave, and with her I left the
other letter I had prepared; a will to place in the hand's of Mr. Davies, directing
that all of my property and assets were to go to my wife, who I loved above all
things, in the event of my death.
The British military was nothing if not capable. I was trained, equipped and
shipped out with preternatural speed, and found my place in the Third Army
just in time to see my first action at the Second Battle of the Somme. Sir Julian
Byng was the general in charge, and I was attached to him as a glorified errand
boy, too educated and well bred to be sent to the front lines, but not

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knowledgeable enough to be of any real use.
I had never made friends easily, preferring to keep to myself always, but the
American boys had recently joined us, and I had a hard time avoiding them;
they were so boisterous and happy, their enthusiasm was catching. Jasper and
Emmett, two boys from Texas, seemed to particularly enjoy my company.
They liked to tease and joke around, making fun of my accent and other traits
they found peculiar. They also liked to talk about their girls at home, Alice and
Rosalie. When they found out I was already married, they wanted to know all
about Bella, and I enjoyed telling them. It made it seem like she was there, like
she was still a real part of my life.

Many times I had started writing her letters, but I always ended up shredding
them. I knew it was quite likely that she was very upset with me for leaving her
the way that I did, but I also knew if I had explained it to her face, I would
never have gotten out of the door. Sometimes I wondered if she would even
still be waiting there for me when I finally got home.
The Allied counter-offensive lasted for weeks, beginning in late August and
keeping us constantly on the move. The noise of the battles was deafening, the
constant specter of death or dismemberment disheartening, but we were finally
making progress. Pushing the Germans back was becoming easier now that we
had an infusion of fresh bodies, thanks to the Americans. Though they had
been not-so-secretly aiding the Allied cause for several years, the additional
manpower was really the key to achieving victory.

Moving into Havrincourt in mid-September, the French town was in German

hands, but General Byng was determined to see it back in ours. I was usually
stationed close to the general, out of the direct line of fire, but on this day, I
was sent to deliver an important directive to one of the field commanders. The
battle was already in full swing, and I had a hard time navigating my way
through to get to the right man. I became lost and disoriented; too many people
were running this way and that, too many guns were going off, and too many
buildings were in the way. Stumbling into an empty hull where a structure had
once stood, I tried to get my bearings. Just as I was about to head off in another
direction, I heard the shouts that signaled a gas attack was underway. Unsure of

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The Cliffs of Dover

which path to take, I was frozen with indecision. And then, all at once, it was
upon me, no direction was the right one, no route was safe. The gas crept
through the hollowed out building, skirting the ground and circling me at my
knees. I was quickly enveloped, coughing and wheezing, covering my mouth
and nose with my ineffectual handkerchief. The last clear thought I had was
that I was going to die here, alone in a tiny French village on the Western
Front.

I burned.
The pain was indescribable, as if a blowlamp was being held steady on my skin
and down my throat at the same time. I could feel myself heaving everything
out of my stomach over and over, but my eyes were stuck shut and I wandered
in a daze of blindness, tripping and falling repeatedly. I could feel the screams
ripping out of me, but they still seemed inadequate in expressing my pain and
horror.

I don't know how long I went on like that. The noise of the battle disappeared
at some point and it was quite possible that darkness had fallen, but I had only
the lack of light filtering through my stuck fast eyelids to tell me so. My skin
was seared worse than it had ever been, far worse than any sunburn could do.
I drifted into blessed unconsciousness, but the pain broke through, continuing
to torture me.
Sometime, whether it was hours or days later, someone touched me, picked me
up, and threw me over their shoulder. The sting of the touch sent me back into
a tailspin of screaming lungs and flailing limbs before I passed out again.
Time moved on, but I was stuck in a hell on Earth that I had never imagined
could have existed. Burning flames of pain coursed through me at all times, my
lungs failed me, my limbs seemed like nothing but charred remnants. I only
thought of the pain, I only saw the darkness; I had no other thoughts or
feelings.

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The Cliffs of Dover

Occasionally, a voice would break through, always the same voice, male, gruff,
and French speaking. Like a shout in the dark, he would bark things at me, but
I couldn't string a thought together long enough to determine what he wanted
from me, or who he was, or even, who I was.
Eventually, little things began to break through. He repeated the same speeches
over and over like a mantra. His name was Marcus and he was a veteran of the
Franco-Prussian War. He was an old man, weary of this world and its conflicts,
but determined to live long enough to help me.
Late one night, while the old man snored on a cot near me, my eyes finally
opened. Everything was blurry and unfamiliar, the only light coming from the
moon through the window. The very act of regaining my sight seemed to
exhaust me, and I fell asleep again, only to reawaken the next morning to a riot
of colors. I had to re-accustom myself to the light, to the spectacle of everyday
objects. The house I was in was completely unfamiliar to me, but I could no
longer judge what should have been familiar; I couldn't remember if I had
always been there or if I had awoken in a new life.

Marcus helped me stumble through this new existence. I knew my name was
Edward, and that I had been a British soldier, but I remembered little else. My
body was slow to recover; every step was full of pain and confusion.
Marcus told me that the war was over, that I could go home, but I didn't know
where home was anymore and I felt a lingering sense of duty to him. He had
helped me when I was untouchable, defenseless and needy like a newborn
babe. I stayed with him, doing little things that his aged and decrepit body no
longer allowed, and because he offered a quiet companionship when I had no
one else.

And then, one day, he left me. He died sometime in the night, as quietly as he
had lived. I was unsure what to do with myself. It seemed wrong to stay on in a
house that wasn't mine, but I was afraid to leave as well.
That night while I slept, I dreamt of brown eyes and brown hair, splayed so
beautifully across pristine white sheets, of feminine curves and naked flesh,
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The Cliffs of Dover

pale pink nipples and perfectly shaped legs. I thought of her all through the
day, knowing that I knew her, had known her in every sense of the word, but
was unable to recall her name. Every night thereafter, she haunted my dreams
and crept into every waking thought.
Some days later, a bridal party passed me by on the road, the bride decked out
in an ankle length white gown, cinched at the waist, and her long brown hair
flowing behind her. And I remembered.
Bella.
My Bella, waiting for me to come home from war, waiting for me to return and
be her husband again.
I couldn't move fast enough. Hobbling back to Marcus' house, I gathered my
meager belongings, and a few francs before hitching my way to the port at
Calais, and across to Dover. It felt good to be back on English soil after being
gone so long. According to the newspaper dates, I had left Dover for France
over two years before. I had lost so much time, and my greatest fear was that
my wife wouldn't even know me anymore.

Finally making it to London a few days later, I went straight to my home in

Belgravia, and that is where I presently found myself, watching my wife in the
arms of another man.
I stood against a lamppost; the thick fog covered the street and hovered at
knee-height. I watched for hours it seemed, tormented and alone in the dark.
The man finally left the room, leaving Isabella alone, turning down the lamps.
She reached the one by the window I was spying through and she stopped,
gazing out into the night. Her eyes fell on me and she jumped, leaning forward,
she threw up the sash and leaned out, shaking her head in disbelief. She ran
from the window, and moments later, flew out the front door and halted just
short of the road.

"Edward?" she asked in a strangled whisper.

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The Cliffs of Dover

Before I could respond, the door opened again and the man emerged. Isabella
turned to look behind her, and I shrank back into the darkness, out of the halo
of light that the lamppost had provided.
"Bella? Bella my love, what are you doing out here in the cold?" he asked,
concern seeping through his voice.
A strangled sob burst forth from her. "He was here again, Jacob. I saw him; he
was here!"
Here again?
The man she called Jacob, sprinted down and caught her up in his arms, or arm
I should say, as it was quite clear he was missing an appendage. His one sleeve
was rolled up and I realized he was most likely a fellow soldier, injured in the
war.
"You know he's gone, love. He's been dead for two years now. In time, your
subconscious will recognize this and stop sending you these haunting visions,
not unlike how I sometimes still feel my arm, though it's been gone just as
long. They are just phantoms, there to frustrate us when we should be most
happy. You know this, Bella."
He stroked her shoulders, comforting her and making me wish it were me
doing the comforting. She fell against him, resting her head on his shoulder and
weeping quietly.
"I'm so sorry to keep putting you through this. I'm so sorry I can't be a normal
wife for you," she sobbed.
"You are! There could be no other for me. We both have our baggage from this
war, us and so many others. You can't go on blaming yourself. Now, come
inside, all this anxiety can't be good for the baby, and you'll catch your death of
cold out here."

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The Cliffs of Dover

And there was the death knell for all my hopes and dreams. Bella truly
belonged to another. She carried his child, and they obviously shared great
affection for one another. I watched them slowly return to the house, their arms
wrapped tightly around each other's waists.
Bereft, I staggered through the streets with no aim or goal. To this world I was
dead, just another name on the roll call of dead soldiers. There was no fight left
in me, no will to go on.
I wandered for days, eventually making my way back to Dover where I drifted,
unsure of whether to stay, or head back to the quiet calm of Marcus' empty,
unclaimed house. It did not really matter; my life was empty, without purpose
or direction.
One morning at dawn, I found myself seated on the cliffs, watching the waves
beat heavily upon the rocks below, and an old memory flitted through my
mind: Isabella and I, sitting in the garden at twelve years old, re-enacting
Shakespeare's King Lear in our silly childish way.
O you mighty gods.
This world I do renounce,
and in your sights
shake patiently my great affliction off.
If I could bear it longer, and not fall.
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should burn itself out.
Away, and let me die...

33