The Redemption Found in a Gilded Cage

Image by Jo-B from Pixabay

The Rogue returned to society a new man.

 

People were stunned watching him court the Marquis’ daughter since it was rumored he seduced the girl shortly after her debut. Once the surprise wore off, his former mistresses snickered with malicious glee. 

 

Even his friends couldn’t suppress their mirth. Respectability denatured the Rogue, the spectacle of him as a suitor both pathetic and irresistible. 

 

But he bore the ridicule with grace and ignored his detractors with ease. Feeling foolish in the face of indifference, the same ladies and gentlemen awaited official word of their engagement.  All had to admit the Rogue had done very well for himself. 

 

He visited the Marquis and the Debutante every day, arriving in time for dinner and leaving before his host showed signs of fatigue. His manner couldn’t have been more pleasant, but the Rogue never requested an audience with his sweetheart’s father. 

 

With each visit, he intended to ask the Marquis for his blessing. 

 

His near fiancée was a love, eager to please, and with a sensual nature. And her naivety was astonishing. He knew that if she were to be his wife, he could have as many mistresses as he desired and she wouldn’t be the wiser. But he just couldn’t bring himself to propose.      

 

However, the Rogue was still a rogue. 

 

Their courtship continued, and as formal as his manners were to the Marquis and the Debutante when he left, he always came back when all the lights were out save one and climbed the trellis to an open window. 

 

There he would stay until the dark hours of morning. He always hoped to see the vagabond girl when he left and was always disappointed. The memory of his nemesis was with him always.  

 

Finally, the night came when the Rogue was caught.

 

Complacency had dulled his instincts and his timing.

 

Winter was giving way to spring and he had become careless, leaving tracks in the mud to the trellis beneath the Debutante’s window.

 

He didn’t notice, nor did he hear the Marquis enter his daughter’s rooms. He became aware only when the Debutante froze, her face going white as she pushed him off.

 

The Rogue turned to the blank face of the Marquis staring at him in bed with his daughter.

 

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

 

The old man’s voice was feeble, looking from the Rogue to his daughter and back to him. 

 

The Rogue hesitated, struggling to find a believable lie.

 

“Since the very beginning,” he said.

 

“Then you will marry her, of course.”

 

The Marquis’ mouth quivered and he spoke without looking at them. The Debutante’s weeping echoed through the cavernous chamber.

 

“At least my father will be happy,” the Rogue thought and almost laughed aloud. 

 

He saw a future that would crush him.

 

His marriage would be a lifetime sentence of noble comfort with a woman he had little affection for. He saw the mistresses he would take, wives as bored with their husbands as he would be with his wife.

 

On occasion, he would seduce a virgin debutante during the years he was young enough, but only the really foolish ones and never the beauties.

 

If he was blessed, he may meet another woman like the Duchess who had spirit and imagination. But he knew that was unlikely, for he would never be as desirable as he was when he had his freedom. As time passed, his mistresses would grow older and less alluring until he succumbed and went to the courtesans.

 

Of course, he would only have the best and most beautiful of the profession. He would be able to afford them.

 

The Rogue saw the life that would be his and shuddered. 

 

His instincts came back and he rolled off the bed. He gathered his clothes before he knew what he was doing and leaped out the window.

 

The silence behind him was eerie for this was the worst thing he had ever done. He knew he was destroying the Marquis and his daughter as he climbed down the trellis.

 

He knew this would ruin him as much when his feet touched the ground. One gentleman never humiliated another and got away with it. 

 

But that thought didn’t stop the Rogue from fleeing across the yard to the trees throwing his clothes on as he went.

 

 

But even the Rogue couldn’t escape his shame for the disgrace he would bring on his father. He’d been proud of him for winning the heart of a Marquis’ daughter. There was pain in his heart, but the Rogue kept running, panicked that he couldn’t find his horse.

 

He heard galloping behind him and stopped. 

 

He knew it must be the Marquis coming to challenge him. A duel was the only way for a gentleman to restore his pride after a dishonor like this. 

 

The Rogue was relieved.

 

He was younger and faster than the Marquis, and would be preserved through victory. 

 

He heard the rhythm of more than one horse, wondering if the Marquis sent a posse after him. But he couldn’t run anymore and waited. 

 

The vagabond girl came out of the trees to the right of him. 

 

Then he saw his horse and understood why he heard more than one gait. 

 

He couldn’t see her face backlit by the full moon, her hair shining in its glow. She let go of the reins to his steed, then extended her hand and released one foot from her stirrup.

 

“You can take your horse, Rogue,” she said, “or you can come with me.”