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She nodded. “I prefer riding in the morning, just as the sun comes up. It is peaceful and gives me time to reflect on what I truly want most out of life.”
“Which is?”
“I suppose I want what most people want,” she said, “to find happiness in my life.”
Lord Hawthorne visibly stiffened. “Not everyone is entitled to happiness,” he remarked, his voice gruff.
“I don’t believe that to be true.”
“Then you are incredibly naïve.”
“Perhaps, but I choose to be.”
“There are bad people in this world,” Lord Hawthorne said with a shake of his head, “people that rejoice in others’ misery. Do you suppose they are entitled to happiness?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to consider that,” she admitted truthfully.
Lord Hawthorne gestured towards her townhouse and remarked dryly, “You live in a gilded cage, one that keeps you safe from the horrible atrocities of the world. But you have no idea the level of corruption, death, and hatred that spews from every corner of this earth. It is everywhere, and you don’t even have to seek it to find it.”
Hearing the undeniable pain in his words, Madalene asked, “Have you seen this hatred in the world?”
“I have,” he admitted softly. “I have been in the midst of it, and I have seen the devastating effects of it.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Madalene murmured, taking a step closer to him.
Lord Hawthorne watched her with anguish in his eyes, but then he blinked, and his emotions retreated.
He reached behind his back and retrieved a small pistol. “I want to give you this muff pistol,” he said.
Madalene eagerly put her hand out to accept it, but Lord Hawthorne didn’t place it in her hand as she had expected. “There are a few things we need to discuss before you can handle a pistol,” he remarked instead.
“Which are?” she asked, dropping her hand to her side.
“You never point a pistol at anyone unless you have no other option,” Lord Hawthorne stated. “Taking someone’s life is not something you should regard lightly.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do,” Lord Hawthorne responded, a solemn look on his face. “Watching the life draining out of a person’s body will forever remain with you. It will haunt you every time you close your eyes.”
Madalene looked at him curiously and was a bit fearful. Lord Hawthorne spoke with such conviction that she had no doubt he had experienced this firsthand.
An image of her mother came to her mind, and Madalene grew solemn. “I understand more than you can possibly know,” she breathed.
Lord Hawthorne gave her a look that implied he didn’t believe her but, thankfully, he didn’t press her. He glanced over at the townhouse and remarked, “I see that Mrs. Foster is watching us rather dutifully.”
Following his gaze, she saw Mrs. Foster standing by the window with her arms crossed over her chest.
“She is rather intense for a companion, is she not?” he continued.
Madalene smiled and waved at Mrs. Foster. “She may be, but she is all that I have left.”
“Oh?”
“Mrs. Foster and my mother grew up in the same village and were dear friends,” Madalene explained. “After her husband died, Mrs. Foster came to live with us and became a second mother to me. Sadly, after a few years, my mother grew sick, and she made Mrs. Foster promise to look after me.”
“That must have been nice, to have someone who could help you navigate through your grief,” Lord Hawthorne remarked.
“It was,” she admitted, “but not a day goes by that I don’t miss my mother.”
