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the-writerly-night-owl · 5 years

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What if That’s the Future

Desire and Decorum/MC x Ernest Sinclaire

Summary: Ernest has been shot and as he slept waiting for Clara he has a dream. A dream that shows him more then he ever wanted. Just before she comes to him at Ledford in the chapter.

Authors Note: so today’s chapter has me majorily po’ed and so I wrote this. My last TE story from that poll and then starting my desire and decorum ones will come next. See if you can spot a character from Red Carpet Diaries and High School Story.

Tag list: @flyawayboo @queen-among-writers @cosigottahavefaith @am-i-invisible777 @countrymusicandncis-blog @fluffy-cat-whisper @melodyofgraves @symonde @paisleylovergirl

The shot didn’t go off as Ernest found himself dreaming. He was sure that Luke and the others would bring him back to Ledford Park. Doctor Kerrigan was there, and Clara was nowhere to be seen. Of course, the duke….

That didn’t seem to matter as Ernest saw her. Clara was right next to him in a gorgeous satin green gown that reminded him of flowers. A wide smile on her face and her hair loose as it pooled around her shoulders. This was dreaming, this was lucid dreaming, he thought as he could hear his friends telling him not to sleep.

“Mr. Sinclaire you cannot die, please think of Clara,” said the demanding voice of Miss Parsons.

“He can rest,” said Doctor Kerrigan.

Sleep didn’t come easy as Ernest tried to relax. He had to think of Clara her smiling face and standing beside him. Finally, his mind rested on a dream that he wanted to be reality. Clara was in his bed as he saw love marks on her chest, her nightgown thrown on the floor as the sun filtered into their bedroom. Ernest stepped into the room already fully dressed as she rose from the mattress.

“Don’t have too much fun at work,” she said arching her feet to kiss him softly on the lips. He relished in her kiss and touch.

That illusion was shattered as he heard something from down the steps, however. His Clara seemed to have disappeared as quickly as she rose. Ernest took in a deep breath as he turned and started toward the noise. He straightened his cravat he headed toward the steps when the noise turned out to be voices.

“James,” he called wondering if his butler had let someone in.

No answer as Ernest headed down the steps as music eventually filled the air. Someone was playing his pianoforte. He was dreaming still right? He could bring Clara back as the flash of her green skirt disappeared down the steps. She was still with him but leading him somewhere.

Her giggle seemed to beg him to follow as he did what she wanted. He was curious to know himself. Gradually he made his way into the hall to see people. He peered around into the room where she disappeared as he could see that it was a packed. People milled around in strange clothes that he couldn’t begin to place. Next to him two girls were speaking animatedly to each other as Ernest couldn’t even catch up. Clara had to be around her somewhere as he heard their conversation.

“So, what was it like working with Chris Winters? Addison you have the most amazing job,” gushed a girl with auburn hair to the blond. “The Last Duchess has to be my favorite movie so far this year.”

“Chris is awesome, I don’t think you could work with someone nicer. Working on The Last Duchess was so much fun. The historical clothes were a blast to make and the cast is just all-around fun,” said the blond, presumably Addison. “What is it that you do Paige?”

“I’m an OBGYN and a certified midwife, it’s not nearly as glamorous,” said the redhead, Paige.

Ernest shook his head as he leaned forward and cleared his throat hopefully to get some answers. Who were these people and how were they in his home? Forgetting about Clara now he tried to piece together what was happening.

Neither girl looked up before a third joined them. The newcomer, a girl with ink black hair and a purple shirt that the girls called Kara, just seemed to walk right through him. Ernest put his hands on his body as he seemed to be invisible and ghost like. This was his death, he was sure of it as he glanced around the room.

This couldn’t have been death though. Where was his mother, father, stillborn siblings? Trembling Ernest straightened himself up and confidently walked toward the middle of the room. Someone around here had to be talking about why they were all gathered. He wasn’t presuming that this was some kind of heaven or limbo. Why was Clara here? Could she have killed herself thinking he was dead too?

Around him children ran with devices in their hands he didn’t know. Ernest took another breath. If there was one place, he could find answers there was the library. His sanctuary. He turned on his heel and walked off his heavy footsteps not making a sound underneath him.

Upon reaching the library he heard more voices. How dare these people for inviting themselves into rooms not designated for guests! Ernest felt shudder run through his body as another person seemed to walk right through him. He took a hesitant step toward the group that was gathered in the middle at a table.

On said table was a paper with lines and neat printed handwriting. Getting even closer upon closer inspection Ernest could see his name on that paper. Remembering that people couldn’t see him or anything he forced himself until he was sitting on the table. Although it was un-gentlemen like he needed a look at this.

At the very top of the paper Ernest read the first line unable to believe it. Sinclaire Family Tree.

His eyes settled on his ancestor Walter Fitzwilliam Sinclaire situated on the few middle lines. Then his eyes followed the lines to his own name. Swallowing Ernest trembled staring a bit aghast at section where his name was as if he could burn a hole right through the paper.

Ernest Sinclaire (20 Jul 1788 - 30 April 1867)

He couldn’t tear away, that was his birthday and that was his death date. He was eight and seventy upon his death. It appears that he was at the Sinclaire family reunion. Judging from the clothing of those around him he could be decades or even centuries ahead of his own time. He put a hand to his head as if to clear it. Blue eyes glanced over at the name on the left. Roselyn d’Ouler with the death dead marked when she gave birth to the Dukes child. Then his eyes slide over to the name on the right of his name.

He caught his breath and heart quickened as a smile of delight crossed his face. The name adjacent to his: Clara Mills (2 Nov 1795 – 24 Jun 1875). The date of their union to sometime in mid June of 1816. Ernest couldn’t help but glance at the next line.

Nine, there were nine marks for nine children. Six sons and three daughters were a blessing as he could see their names of their family. A family that he would make with Clara. His eyes saddened upon seeing the last name on the list, as his heart twisted to know that she only spent mere hours on earth. Underneath the names the lines got more and more complicated as they weaved together. Several last names of people he knew like Marlcaster and Chambers.

Sometime at the turn of the century a few family members dropped the ‘e’ from the last name he noticed. Several had moved from England and to far off places like America and New Zealand.

Everyone around him was his family, people that were related to Ernest Sinclaire, in some way shape or form. Ernest watched as a young woman brought her children to the front of the group. An elderly man smiled as he picked the girl up and put her on his lap.

“Now can you tell me your name young lady?”

“Melissa Grace Sinclaire,” she said proudly with a smile on her face. “My mummy told me to tell you to put my name on your paper.”

“Did she now?” said the man grinning as he mused her blond hair teasingly. “Well, I need to know who your mummy and daddy are. Your birthday and if you have any siblings and their birthdays.”

“My daddy is Luke Sinclaire and mummy’s name is Emma. My birthday is 10 August 2014. My brother’s name is Matthew Ernest Sinclaire and his birthday is 23 January 2017.”

The man put her name near the bottom of the tree as he watched. Ernest gapped upon hearing this as this far beyond what he thought it was. Everything he was witnessing. This was two hundred years from now. He was in the twenty first century as everything played around him like a moving picture. The only thing that made Ledford the same was the layout of his home.

A dream, this is what this was a dream, but this was a dream that he could make happen. Ernest could make that family with his beloved Clara and their family could prosper. Unable to help himself Ernest reached out and touched her name next to his as it lingered there.

His finger traced down the marks for each child as he wondered what they were like. Perhaps they were quick to smile like Clara. Did they have his sword skills (even the girls!)? Which one inherited the blond hair that he remembered from his mother? Ernest’s smile grew as his finger traced over the name Vincent Sinclaire. He knew where that name came from as his breath caught short as he looked at the dates under his name. 9 Feb 1817 – 30 of Mar 1895. No. That couldn’t be possible as he thought back to the night before the duel.

He got Clara pregnant, unless she went into labor a month early, she was already pregnant with their son.

Ernest had to wake up, he had to go to her and keep the Duke from ever touching her or their baby. He felt fingers brush upon his own as Clara was next to him. She grinned widely as she was examining the tree as well. Her free hand tracing over their marriage date as everyone else around them seemed to gradually fade.

“Can you believe it? We did this,” she said as tears pooled in her eyes. “This is our family that we made together.”

He glanced around as he saw the kids running, gossip from the older people, and someone playing a beautiful song on the pianoforte.

Ernest reached over and brushed her hair away from her face. “I know that this is a dream, but I want to make this happen. Both of us happy and married with a family of our own. There’s no Duke and I could keep you safe and loved.”

This Clara nodded as he kissed away the tears that had spilled over her cheeks. “Ernest wake up, I’ll be there, I promise.”

He adjusted and blinked himself awake over and over. Everything from the morning came back to him with the fight. That didn’t seem to matter anymore as he had a good idea of what would follow when they were finally together. Waking up he saw that Luke was still in the room.

“Where’s Clara?” he demanded.

“She’s coming,” said Luke.

“I need to see her.”

“She’ll be here.”

He was afraid that she would never show up until a half hour later. She was there in Ledford as he sighed. Clara was unharmed as his eyes and smile lite up. She looked beautiful as his eyes flitted briefly down to her stomach. Could they really have?

“Clara, how I’ve longed to see your face,” he said. If he could stand one more day, he could fight. Above all he was going to be with her until the end of his days.

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