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With a wave to Benedict, Anne turned her attention to the sandbags. She released first one off the front of the basket and then let one from the back fall. The balloon rose more quickly into the air, and as soon as she’d lifted twenty feet off the ground, the feeling of freedom encompassed her, swept the cobwebs and worries from her mind, and she grinned.
Yes, this was where she’d always been meant to be.
While the balloon rose higher and higher, she pulled her brother’s compass from beneath her shirt, glanced at it, then pressed her lips to the glass. “This is it, Aaron. I’m going to make a name for myself, and in turn make you proud. Never will you be forgotten.”
Forty minutes passed quickly, as they often did while Anne was engaged in flying. There was truly nothing more glorious than watching the sun set from among the clouds. Vivid colors of gold, pink, and lavender streaked the skies. The one thing that marred the flight was an anemic breeze. It basically made navigation and forward movement difficult, which would slow her entire trip and she’d only reached the halfway point.
Far below, two riders on horseback followed the meandering path she’d taken as best they could while keeping to the roads. A good distance behind them was Matthew in the flat bed wagon. She smiled even though none of the men could see the gesture, for there was nice comfort in knowing she had a team supporting her.
Here in the air, traveling amidst the clouds, she finally had time to take stock of where her life might go and who she wanted on that path with her. There was no doubt that Benedict was smitten; he couldn’t keep those emotions from his eyes each time they were together. His every action spoke of his feelings, but it had only been a handful of days that they’d known each other. How could he be so certain? What had she done to warrant such love except be herself? And though they’d already come together intimately like two storms colliding, that didn’t mean she harbored those same feelings. He might conduct his life by logic and risk assessment, but why couldn’t he see that choosing to align himself with her was a risk in and of itself?
Oh, everything was happening so fast with so much depth, like being in an out-of-control balloon—that it frightened her to the point she wanted to run away and hide from her budding feelings as well as his. She didn’t want to be put upon a pedestal and worshipped. There was too much anxiety in that. And she certainly wasn’t perfect. Not by any stretch. Because of that, she’d surely disappoint him at some point, and when that happened, how could she bear to see that adoring infatuation fade from his expression, replaced by doubt? Knowing she’d soon be bound by expectations and responsibilities not of her own making should she throw in her lot with the viscount sent a current of icy fear down her spine.
It was too much pressure on her already crowded shoulders.
Was it a risk for her to complete her own fall? Most certainly.
Was it even worse that she thought she could love Benedict someday but knowing he was a prisoner to his fears held her back? Absolutely.
Would the things currently important to her become compromised once marriage came into play? Quite possibly.
Was it such a bad thing that she might wish for both once the viscount continued to confront his fears and break through them? Indubitably.
She must have spent more time lost in thought than she’d assumed, for when Anne recalled herself to the present, the gorgeous colors of sunset had faded, and the navy shadows of twilight had replaced them. Now that the sun had disappeared, the heat of the day would cool, and that would cause the hydrogen in the silk envelope to dissipate. Eventually, the balloon would slowly deflate.
However, she was nearly to the fairgrounds. Already, the light from a bonfire came into view. Dark outlines of gathering fairgoers moved like shapeshifters in the developing darkness. Here and there, lanterns were lit until the area seemed swarming with oversized fireflies. It truly was a wonderful welcome. Then she glided over a stretch of forest, and everything lay shrouded in shadows. Even the men on horseback were lost to her vision temporarily.
A quick glance at the timepiece pinned to her shirt told her she’d been aloft for fifty minutes. The trip would come to an end one way or another even if she didn’t reach her landing point. More advancements in the field were needed to keep a hot-air balloon in the air for longer than an hour or so.
With a gentle tug on the chain, she vented some of the hydrogen. The balloon lowered a few feet. As soon as she cleared the trees, she’d let go more of the gas in preparation for landing at the fairground. Would she break a record with this flight? That remained to be seen, but there was no doubt that afterward, Mr. Davies would have no choice except to take notice. She would go on to fly about London as his direct competition, and she would succeed.
For a moment, Anne’s imagination ran away with her. She could almost hear the words of apology the horrible Mr. Davies would issue, read the coveted words in the newspaper saying he was wrong and that she did have skill enough as a balloonist. Then the image shifted, and she caught the admiration in Benedict’s eyes. The veriest of squeezes played with her heart.
There was a possibility, however remote, he’d be different, that he’d buck the traditions of his title and his life, that he would lift her higher so she could soar instead of clipping her wings with the usual societal roles.
But was she willing to take that chance? Honestly, she knew him not at all even if the feelings that inundated her when she was in his company spoke otherwise.
The whizz of something hot flew in front of her face, quickly followed by the unmistakable whine of a firework being sent into the sky. Seconds later, it erupted into brilliant points of light perhaps five feet from her balloon.
“Oh, no!” Anne peered over the side of the basket, but trees continued to block her view. She was probably low enough that they also blocked the sight of her balloon from those on the ground. Surely, they hadn’t decided to release the fireworks yet, especially when they knew she hadn’t arrived back.
But then the damning evidence came again in the form of another rocket. This time it shot across the balloon’s basket and exploded a few feet away.
This was a terrible development. For if the volley wasn’t halted immediately, there was every chance one of the rockets would puncture the silk envelope. That would spell disaster for her, yet there was essentially nothing she could do. Without a cooperative wind, she couldn’t maneuver away from the danger. Not even the clever rudder she’d designed to help steer her craft had any effect in the night’s stillness.
“I believe I’m about to land in a sticky wicket, Aaron,” Anne whispered as she wrapped a hand around her brother’s compass.
As another rocket launched into the rapidly darkening skies, she unknotted a sandbag and let it fall over the edge, but it made minimal difference in altitude, for the hydrogen was running out. Gaining lift was next to impossible now.
Then, all her fears came to life. Another rocket took to the skies, and this one was a direct hit to her balloon. As soon as it punctured the reinforced silk of the envelope, it exploded seconds later into a shower of sparkling color. Each tiny burning ember found purchase within the balloon’s fabric resulting in infinite holes.
Immediately, the balloon gave a mighty lurch. The gondola swung wildly as her position began a rapid and unstoppable descent. Anne shrieked out her frustration as she grabbed onto both sides of the basket and stared upward. The rocket’s hole widened with every second, and that accelerated her fall.
Oh, dear God, I’m going to die.
Never for a moment had she thought herself subjected to bad fortune, not even when her brother had expired in a similar crash, yet here she was, facing what would likely be a quick and painful death.
Not willing to give up entirely, Anne let loose the remaining sandbags in the hopes that her descent would slow without the added weight. Casting ballast helped, but only just, and down, down, down she went. The topmost branches of trees raced up to meet her.
