The Passion of Darius, A Gothic Tale of Love and Seduction
: Chapter 13

The two of them went along together in this way for many weeks, until Marianne’s father died. Mr. George aspirated his own vomit while passed out from too much drink. Darius was the one to tell her and to hold her while she cried her heart out. Grateful Marianne was spared the burden of discovering her father dead, he took consolation in that small blessing at least. That dubious “honor” had gone to Mr. George’s housekeeper instead, who’d found him cold and already stiff in the bed.

Marianne grieved, of course, the last member of her family dead, and under sad circumstances. Darius agonized for Marianne, wishing he could ease her pain. For all that he had disapproved of Mr. George, he was still his wife’s father and loved by her. She had shared fond memories of him from childhood.

The sight of her mourning at the graves of her parents rent his heart. So sorrowfully beautiful, dressed completely in jet black, the only points of color being her blue eyes and the pearl crucifix he’d given her, would be an image of Marianne he’d never forget.

Darius could see that Marianne missed her father, and he began to worry. He worried that Marianne did not have cause to need him anymore. It was not necessary to be reminded of how he’d won her. She had sacrificed herself to save her father. Darius knew that. Well, her father no longer needed saving. He was dead. And because of that, Marianne did not really need Darius any longer.

She might not need him, but she was stuck with him, for he would never let her go. The very idea was an impossibility. She was his precious Marianne, whom he loved more than anything. The wife he loved, even though she clearly didn’t love him in return.

Loving was never part of the plan, but in matters of the heart, things rarely go to plan. It was simple, really. He loved Marianne and had told her so. Hearing the sentiment returned was his greatest wish. On more than one occasion he had told her, and the pain of the absence of those words given back was acute.

Darius didn’t know what he could do about it though. He’d made such a mess of everything and was now so entangled, he felt like a puppet bounced along on a string.

There was also the idea Marianne might be pregnant. They’d made love nearly every day, and she had never been indisposed to him. Not once. The fear that she could resent being tied to him was reminiscent of his own parents. He fervently prayed she would welcome a child. Marianne would be a loving mother, he thought, nothing like his own. ’Twas part of why he’d chosen her…

After the funeral, Marianne started having nightmares and awakened crying in the night. Darius always held her, speaking soothingly until she returned to sleep. Using Italian words seemed to comfort her.

Marianne didn’t appear to recall what she cried out in the dark, or the things she said, but Darius heard every word as he held her fitful body close to his, crying out for someone she had loved dearly and who was lost to her now. She spoke the name with regret and anguish. The name she cried out in the dark was… Jonathan.

…T he squall had sprung up out of nowhere. Jonathan! She ran to the sea as fast as her legs could carry her. The terror pounding inside her chest overrode the bursting need of oxygen for her lungs. Their boat was overturned in the surf. She counted boys. Only two boys! Jonathan? Noooooo… it cannot be true! Where is my Jonathan? Dear, God, nooooo! I am sorry… sorry… so sorry, Jonath—

“Shhhhh. Marianne, you’re having a bad dream. Cara, I am here.” Lips kissed her forehead. Strong hands stroked her back.

“Darius?” She awoke quickly, panicked and sweating, trembling in his embrace.

“Yes, darling. It’s all right now. You were dreaming… again.”

Relaxing into his arms, she became aware of reality. “I am so sorry for disturbing you. I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

“I think you are sad and missing those whom you have loved and lost.”

“You are probably right, Darius.”

“Jonathan? You miss him?” His voice was low and clipped.

“You know about Jonathan?”

“It is his name you cry out in your sleep, Marianne. You loved him.”

“Very much. I loved Jonathan the most. He was my light… ”

“I understand… you grieve for him,” he whispered.

“I do, Darius.”

13th August, 1837

Darius knows about Jonathan. I’ve cried out his name in my sleep. Papa was the last of my destruction of my family. All of them, utterly and completely gone now. I would be too, if not for Darius. I would have nothing to live for. I must tell him… and will have to face up to my great sin, once and for all.

MR

Marianne started taking solitary walks along the shore. She tried to do it when Darius was busy for she knew he would not be pleased. He had made her promise she would not walk alone, and she was fully aware of her disobedience as she broke the oath she’d made to her husband.

This day was very much like the day it had happened. The weather typical of late summer, seemingly mild but easily changeable. Marianne had walked out on the rocky headland, purposefully leaving the dogs at home. She needed to be alone today.

This was a favorite spot of hers. Standing on the rocks, she could almost imagine she was on a tiny island, the foamy peaks crashing below. From this vantage point she could scan the ocean horizon and call to him. He was out there somewhere. This was the place she came when she wanted to remember him. His smile. The rakish grin. The hair and eyes that matched hers.

Marianne was so lost in her musings she didn’t take notice of the size of the approaching swell. It exploded into the ledge, blasting a vertical swath of water straight up and onto her. The sheer size of the oversize wave, combined with the rough force, knocked her down, hard. Her feet were blown out from underneath, and she toppled perilously close to the edge.

Her dress, now soaked, weighed heavy and pulled her over. Her feet caught on a ridge of rock, slippery with moss, or she would have gone down. She was inches from going into the churning water below. If she went in, the weight of her garments would sink her. She would drown. Marianne knew the grave danger she was in, but eerily resigned herself if it was to be her fate. Taken by the sea… just like him…

And then she thought of Darius and what she needed to say to him. As she dangled there in the cold spray she felt a change. The emotion, the will, the driving need to save herself at all costs. The intense feelings came on her in a rush. She had reasons to live.

Frantically her hands gripped for purchase on the sharp stones above, grasping determinedly until finally gaining a handhold. The jagged rock cut into her skin, but she held on fiercely.

She had to.

Intense resolve strengthened her determination, and slowly, inch by inch, she pulled herself up onto the flat of the headland.

Lying exhausted from the effort, she counted her blessings and regretted her carelessness.

Thank you, dear God. Thank you… thank you… thank you.

Slowly Marianne rose and shakily took stock of her person. No permanent damage, it seemed. She was very lucky. Hoping she might be able to restore her appearance before Darius should replace out what happened, Marianne made her way back to the house as quickly as she could.

She wondered how in the world she’d ever be able to explain the state of her hands, and the bruises that surely bloomed this very moment on her skin.