Page 5 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

But then again, of course he had. Her hand shook so badly, the note nearly slipped from her fingers.

The man had always been a liar. But even so…

He'd promised.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She had been promised.

It was ridiculous that she could still feel such betrayal now. Over him.

Oh, what a fool she'd been to let herself believe. No. No, she hadn't truly believed she'd be free, had she? She'd let herself hope.

Three months ago, in this same hand, he'd promised that the Marbury affair would be the last of it. She had been told that her usefulness was nearly complete and soon she would be released from service. One more duty. After that, you will be free of me.

She'd handed over the desired information last week. For Mrs. Marbury wasn't just a doting mother and a tolerable hostess. No, she was the wife of a banker, wasn't she? And her husband prattled on nearly as much as she did.

The information had been almost too easy to come by, and then she'd handed it over thinking—no, hoping. Hoping it would be the last.

And she had been waiting one entire week to be told it was done.

The candle that had been guttering in her chest for some time gave one last small flicker and went out.

One more had never meant one more. It had meant the next one. It had meant and then the next, and the one after that. It had meant for as long as you are useful, which is for as long as you remain in society.

All at once the truth she'd been fighting for two years appeared before her so stark and so harsh, there was no denying it any longer.

She was never going to be free.

Her vision did that dimming at the edges that she'd learned to recognize as a signal. She had perhaps fifteen seconds to find a wall or a chair or something to put a hand against until she could make the world stop spinning and her lungs start pumping.

There was nothing to put a hand against. And while she kept drawing in air, it didn't seem to reach her lungs. She couldn't get enough no matter how quickly she inhaled.

The bench was only three steps away, but she took one step and then⁠—

She sat down on the gravel.

Or rather, she fell. Hard. On her knees.

Something sharp pressed into her shins, and her gown was almost certainly being ruined. The note was still in her hand, and she clutched it so tightly, her fingernails bit into her palm.

Her heart seemed to be making an escape, trying to hammer its way out of her chest. Her breathing was too loud, too quick, and a roaring sound filled her ears.

Panic made her eyes go wide and the hand that wasn't clutching the note clawed at the collar of her gown. She was trapped. She couldn't breathe and there was no way out, and⁠—

Is this what it feels like to die?

The world spun around her so quickly, she pitched forward, catching herself with her hands. One was still clutched tightly around the note so she landed on her knuckles, but the other palm stung from where it scraped against the stones.

The dimness at the edge of her vision grew until she was looking through a tunnel.

She couldn't draw in air. If she could just breathe…

But she couldn't. Her body didn't know how.

I am going to die on this path.

The thought was distant and not nearly as terrifying as it ought to be.

I will die here and they will find me here in the morning and…