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Hallway back to the manor, hoofbeats approached.
For some reason, she knew it must he Jude, and she braced herself for his all-seeing eyes. He would likely ride up and take one look at her and ask why she was hiding in the fog and feeling sorry for herself .
Cheeky wretch.
She was ready for him when the horse finally materialized on the lane ahead. So ready that she felt a flash of disappointment when she saw the dark muzzle and pale white star on the horse's nose. It wasn't Jude's great ugly beast, so it couldn't be Jude on his back.
The figure raised a hand, and Marissa stifled a sigh. She knew that elegantly slim arm.
Mr. Dunwoody. Damnation.
She offered a somber greeting as he drew near.
"Miss York, I was hoping to find you on your ride this morning. The stable boy said you'd gone this way."
"Don't let me keep you, sir. I'm already returning as I can hardly feel my nose."
"Ah." His smile flashed for only a moment. "Please, if I might escort you back ..." He turned his horse, and the geldi
ng's elegant legs pranced in impatience. It was a beautiful horse, its lines as perfect as the seams of Mr. Dunwoody's coat. Marissa swept a wistful gaze over the gelding. She did so love beautiful things.
"Your betrothal came as quite a surprise."
"Mr. Bertrand has been a friend of the family for years now."
"Yes, well ... I guess I did not notice him among your many admirers."
"Come, there were not so many."
"It seemed an intimidating horde to me." His
smile tried for self-deprecation but only looked worried. "Are you quite certain all is well, Miss York? After the argument with Mr. White and now this sudden betrothal, I can't help but worry."
"Worry about what, exactly?"
Now his familiar blush returned, and Mr. Dunwoody shook his head. "I apologize. It's none of my concern."
She should have corrected him, if only to be polite, but she couldn't. It was none of his concern.
The rigidity left his spine in tiny increments. Finally, he turned toward her with his normal smile. "All that aside .. ."
She smiled hack, and wondered if she might ever have approached Mr. Dunwoody with her predicament. She couldn't imagine it. He looked so very... young. Almost certainly, he would've reacted to her story with horror and shock. He would've been disgusted or outraged. Under no circumstances could she imagine Mr. Dunwoody matter-of-factly asking if she'd bled yet.
Wincing at the thought, she faced the outline of the manor beginning to reveal itself through the white.
Beautiful or not, Jude Bertrand was a man who could see her through this haze. Her doubts about him had floated far away.
"Well then," Dunwoody finally continued. "May I ask what you think of Miss Samuel?"
Marissa's heart leapt. "Oh, Beth is wonderful. She's my dearest friend. She's kind and loyal, and I'm sure you noticed that she's an excellent dancer. So graceful."
"Of course. She's lovely and soft-spoken. Very nice."
"Yes."
"What of Miss-Nanette Samuel? You must he close to her as well."
Her leaping heart landed in a heap atop her stomach. "Nanette? Um, yes, I have spent time with her as well."
