A short story I wrote for a contest. (I didn't expect to win, but the winning story was written by a frickin' pyromaniac. I mean...come on!) Anyway, its inspired by a story I read about an ancient princess having to choose to either give her lover up to another woman or to a hungry tiger. We never find out what she chooses...

His Choice of Ladies

‘The lady or the…lady?’ James unconsciously fingered his snowy cravat, shifted in his obsidian black boots, and starred at the mirror before him. Around him, his private suite of rooms was calm and uninspiring, decorated in bland shades of cream and moss green. But inside, he was in turmoil.

Tonight he had a choice to make. There was Annamaria, or there was Isabella. Both were exceptional women. Annamaria, the loving, if subdued daughter of a poor Baron, or Isabella, the loud, spontaneous, flirtatious daughter of an Earl. As an heir to a dukedom, James should already have married someone of his station.

Like Isabella.

And James had intended to do exactly that. After all, what was a dukedom without an heir, and what was an heir without a loving, caring, rich wife? Most importantly, one who could bear children. Duty was everything in the world around him. Duty and the carefully maintained façade of propriety. Scandal should not have found a place in the ton’s world. They could make you, or break you, and scandal was now their idea of fun.

‘With Isabella’, James thought, ‘I could be even wealthier. I could be accepted into the very highest social circles.’ His life would be planned out to the minute by his conniving wife with party after wine and caviar party. Money would be spent extravagantly, but then again, there would be no end to the cash flow. A mistress would most likely become part of his liked after a year or two of marriage. His wife would gradually take on other interests, perhaps even a lover of her own. To be content and docile like that was very tempting. It was safe, reliable; it was the “acceptable” route.

Annamaria, however, was akin to scandal itself. She should not have found a place in his life, in his head, or in his heart; but she had. Irresponsibly, she clung to his soul, a ghost of an image at every turn. A flash of brown curls, a twinkle of honey colored eyes. She was the embodiment of freedom. She gave him the joy of wide spread wings.

If he married Annamaria, what might await him? A cottage maybe. Eventually it would become covered in moss and wild rose vines. He would slowly be converted to a country gentleman and accept the general lack of soirees. Annamaria would stay his faithful lover for years to come and he hers. Money would be sparse till he came up with the courage to demand his inheritance, which would stay locked away till he claimed it. The days would be bright with the occasional visitor, and the nights would be private and terribly romantic. But was it enough?

James pondered his choice while the valet worked to brush his Hessian boots till they shone. What a waste of energy. At midnight, Annamaria would be waiting at the far edge of Pevensey Park, the place that he was staying at, in a carriage. She would have all her worldly possessions in a trunk or two. His own suitcase sat hidden under the bed behind him. He had packed it himself the night before, as well as a borrowed carpet bag stuffed of more frivolous things; like valuable items, candles, money, and trinkets.

Edward the valet stood up and quickly dusted off his master’s shoulders. “You are all done up sir.” He said primly and backing away. The ball downstairs could be heard faintly. The musicians were warming up and guests were undoubtedly already dancing. They would be waiting for him.

James could barely acknowledge the man a few paces away, choosing instead to stare at the bed. He wished the bag was not under there. It made his possible choices glaringly clear. To stay, or to leave. He didn’t even have to leave. And although each door was open, neither was the clear path. Soon, the moment of reckoning would arrive. The mind of the duke was tired. Weary of the indecision, soon, it drifted slowly away, going back to the unforgettable moment of his first memory of Annamaria…

By then, James had already known Isabella for a few months. The ton was whispering in excitement, their tongues ready to fly at any moment. And all about an engagement that was rumored to happen that very night.

In all frankness, James had been planning to offer for Isabella’s hand that night. She was a lovely girl, perfect in every way, if only she would stop encouraging every man that came near her. Of course, her father was hopeful for an advantageous match as well. He spent the night trying to convince James that the blonde beauty was in love with him only. Tired of all the congratulatory pats on his back, James tried to escape to the garden. However, things only got worse from there.

As many as, if not more, people than before accosted him among the rosebushes and cleverly hidden candles. Words of encouragement, congratulations, and even pity had fallen from their spiteful lips. This was an even worse fate than the ballroom. Desperate, James left the private sanctuary for lovers, crossing the veranda to enter the ball once more. Just barely, he escaped Isabella’s probing gaze by slipping into a darkened corridor. The ball was confined to the ball room and card halls, so this portion of the house was closed off. After a few random turns, he slipped into the library. He was safe there, for Isabella despised books.

To his astonishment, James discovered that someone else had snatched his hiding place already and claimed it for her own. A young woman sat in a nearby chair, staring ferociously at the wall of books before her. Her dress was out of fashion by at least five years, it was out dated all the way down to the tips of the sturdy black boots just peeking out from under her hems. The delicate cream lace was slightly frayed, the dress a faded maroon. Even this women’s stare, sparkling in the tentative moonlight, was weary, not unlike his own in a way.

Caught up in her own world, she jumped when the door closed behind him. The women looked over him quickly. Intuitively, she took in his high quality clothes. The dark blue jacket that matched his eyes, the ribbon that tied back his dark hair. She self-consciously straightened her own clothes before even looking into his eyes. Her posture was wary, her eyes dead serious and carefully searching. But her voice, oh, her voice, was like the sun. “Oh. Do you…do you need me to leave?”

Shaking himself from his reverie, James glanced at the clock. Only a few more minutes left till he had to make an appearance. But did he stay the whole night? Or should he cross the fields on a harried horse and ruin the Hessian boots he valet, Edward, had worked so hard on?

What was the matter with him? He had to be serious, not sentimental. Still, he unwillingly remembered the way his heart had delighted when Annamaria’s eyes had lit up during one of their extremely endearing conversations. James tried to steady himself, bracing his spirit for the onslaught of hours to come. Truly, there was nothing wrong with Isabella. But there was nothing wrong with Annamaria either. Why was his mind so chaotic? Who made his heart thump erratically?

The clock chimed eight, signaling his arrival in the ballroom. Isabella was the first to greet him. She came gliding over from a far corner, the picture of propriety, only to cling to his arm in an indecent fashion. They ambled slowly around the room, taking particular time to greet a group of young men. People came from every direction to greet the pair personally. Every whispered word, every proposition placed in his ear by a coddled, well-to-do lady, was crushed by his conscience. There would be only one woman for him, whoever she turned out to be.

The first dance was a waltz, which he had already promised to a simpering Isabella. James had to admit it was mildly pleasing to have a woman so beautiful and desired in his arms. The second dance was snatched away by the red headed Marissa. The third by Leticia. And hours later, as he stood there with a glass of champagne, Isabella on his arm, James realized that it was a half an hour till midnight.

Within seconds, James’ mind was consumed with confusion. Did he really want the moon or the sun? Did he want the moss covered cottage, or the castle? The draft horse or the thoroughbred? Vaguely, he felt someone tug at his sleeve, but the person was brushed off easily. He didn’t want anyone touching him at that point. Distraction would only make it harder for him to walk away from one of them.

James’ feet had almost carried him to the staircase when he realized where he was going and stopped. By then, Isabella had caught up with him, her face pulled into a cheerily fake smile. “James.” She whined. “Where are you going?” and then in a lower voice. “People are staring James.” She stepped closer, consequently scuffing one of his boots.

Indeed, people were staring curiously. After all, not many men walked away from Isabella. But then, they were only a small group, only about ten people, their eyes riveted to the confrontation. The rest of the crowd was still gaily laughing, dancing, batting their eyelashes and fluttering their fans. James glanced back and forth between Isabella and the staircase. His two “doors”. His two “paths”. More and more people were beginning to glance over at them. He could feel more and more pressure upon his shoulders with every new pair of eyes.

Isabella continued to bore her eyes into the back of his now stationary head. For a moment, James was just tempted to run away from it all. Just to escape, to leave both of the women behind. There was no easy choice for him here. He could please everyone else and crush his own feelings. Or he could be selfish and please himself, while heavily disappointing all who know him. Which would weigh more heavily on his eternal soul?

Slowly, ever so slowly, James turned back around, his hesitant steps echoing slightly in his own ears. Isabella looked relieved, if only because the bad attention was gone. “Oh good!” she cooed. “You are going to stay for the rest of the night!” James felt like grimacing.

…At ten after midnight, on that very evening, a carriage rumbled away from Pevensey Park. The couple inside was happily basking in the glow of their mutual love. Strapped to the top, were a few bulging bags and a pair of ruined, muddy Hessian boots, gleaming in the precocious moonlight.

THE END