Page 33 of What the Heart Knows

Suspicion gleamed in his eyes, and distrust colored his voice. “I’m sure you’ll take very good care of yourself and recover in time for our wedding. The Squire would grieve to lose his treasured daughter at so young an age.”

His grip on her chin tightened painfully. “If you understand me, nod.” He released her chin, moving that punishing grasp to her arm.

She gave the required nod.

“Now kiss your fiancé for good luck. Business will take your father and me from home this evening.”

Everything in her revolted at the idea of putting her lips on his. She started to lift on tiptoe then stumbled with a forced cough.

Brookbank held her upright.

“I beg pardon,” she rasped through another false cough. “I fear I have acquired a chill. I would not wish to risk passing it to you.”

“Clever girl. Are you clever enough to realize I will have everything I wish from you and more?”

She stared, not knowing how to respond.

“At a loss for words?” His raised brow and scornful smirk belied any pretense of sympathy. He forced her forward along the corridor. “Just as well, I suppose. A girl like you might be too clever for her own good and make a mistake she would regret for a very long time.”

She’d already made such a mistake. Kit was right. She shouldn’t have come home.

They arrived at her door.

Brookbank opened it and shoved her inside. “I’ll bid you goodnight, my dear. Sleep well. Expect to see me tomorrow to, er, check on your well-being.”

He removed the key from the inside of the door before shutting it in her face, and turned the key in the lock.

Why oh why did I leave my key in the lock? Why did I return the skeleton key to Father’s desk?

The last gleam of daylight winked out. Meg shivered. Her future looked bleak indeed. Unless she could find a way to escape. Kit knew Brookbank planned to be smuggling tonight. Meg prayed he could manage to stop the gang and arrest them all, Father and Brookbank included.

If that happened, she might be stranded in her room for some time before anyone came to release her. They would come eventually. However, it wasn’t in her nature to sit and wait for rescue.

She prowled the spaces, hoping for inspiration and a means to escape her prison. The possibility was strong Kit wouldn’t succeed in stopping the gang. Brookbank would return, and she…Well she’d much rather contemplate a future with Kit than one with Brookbank. All she needed was a means for making the future she preferred happen.

Having examined all the parts of rooms she knew intimately, Meg wandered to the east windows. From there she could see the coast and the thick stand of trees that protected Sea Grange from the elements. The sea fret now covered the entire shoreline. She lost track of time watching the thick white fog consume the grasses on the shallow dunes. Too soon, cottony mist covered every window on all three sides of her chambers. She couldn’t even see the ivy that covered the outer wall to just below her window.

The ivy!

She opened one of the windows and put her head out, looking down. She could see a few sprigs sticking up over the sill. The plant had been growing there since before she was born. If she could find a sturdy enough branch she could climb down. Even better, with the fret, no one would see her.

She ran to her armoire and took out her light gray cloak. Into it she bundled everything she imagined she might need.

Using a belt, she fashioned the bundle into an awkward sack and secured it at her waist. At the window again, she leaned out searching down into the ivy for a part of the vine that could hold her weight.

Eventually, she found one nearly as thick as her wrist. She tugged and pulled at it as best she could. It stayed anchored to the wall. Taking a large breath, Meg clambered out the window and set her feet onto the ivy. She waited, praying she’d not hear any cracking or tearing. Heaven blessed her downward climb. Then the crack she dreaded came. The ivy pulled away from the wall, and she fell backward, hands clutched in the leaves and shoots.

She landed on her back, losing her breath on impact with the ground. Pins and needles attacked her chest as she struggled to inhale. How long before she could breathe regularly, she didn’t know. She wasn’t dead. That much was certain. Was she injured?

I’ll not know until I try to stand.

Cautiously she bent one knee then the other. Bracing her hands against the ground, she levered herself upward. Everything ached, but nothing felt broken.

I must not have fallen very far.

She moved in the direction where she guessed the house stood. Fortunately, she guessed correctly. With one hand on the wall, she guided herself around to the front entry and from there to the stable.

Can I persuade one of the grooms to let me take a horse?