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Soon, Reginald was at the thicket of trees. He halted and considered his surroundings. The trees weren’t close together, so a horse could easily navigate through them, albeit at a trot. As Reginald dismounted, Phillip halted near him.
“Does Lady Marcella have a favorite place to go when she’s upset?” Reginald asked.
“She often rides unaccompanied.”
Reginald raised an eyebrow. “Suppose that some disaster befalls her?”
Phillip cast him an odd look. “Lady Marcella has lived on this estate since girlhood, My Lord, and she knows its grounds as well as anyone. Besides, what could possibly hurt her?”
Nothing, of course. There weren’t exactly highwaymen lingering around country estates. The greatest danger to Lady Marcella at the moment would be the cold drops of water, which had begun to fall slowly from the clouds.
“If anyone would know, it might be her lady’s maid. Sometimes, she rides with her,” Phillip said. “Do you think we’d do best to fetch her?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment.”
Reginald knelt to the ground, carefully searching the long, frost-heavy strands of grass which swept over the ground. Faintly, he could see a place where the frost had snapped and broken. He took a few careful steps forward, dredging up the skills he’d once used to find his fellow highwaymen hiding alongside the road. It was difficult to see, but there was the faintest trail of broken frost, which he suspected would lead him right to Lady Marcella.
“There’s no need for the lady’s maid,” Reginald replied, mounting his stallion. “I’m sure she went this way.”
He urged his horse into a trot, steering it carefully through the trees. The ground seemed even, but Reginald was still careful to watch for dips and holes. He rode for what he suspected was only a handful of minutes, but it felt much longer with his attention so focused on finding the faint breaks in the frozen grass and the snapped twigs which indicated that Lady Marcella had passed. The rain became stronger, beating insistently against the ground and trees. Reginald wiped a few scattered raindrops from his cheek and soldiered onward.
Steadily, he became aware of water, gentle and slow. It was likely a river, partially frozen. The path of broken frost seemed to lead towards it, so Reginald quickened his pace just a little. A brook seemed like a peaceful place to contemplate one’s life. Then, he rode around a tree, and there was the gray horse. Her rider was absent.
Reginald dismounted and adjusted Lady Marcella’s cloak over his arm. “She must be nearby.”
As he spoke, Reginald heard footsteps, and when he turned around, Lady Marcella stood behind him. Her breath frosted the air, and although she had her arms crossed, she quite clearly shivered. Gooseflesh had risen along her bare throat and spread across her collarbone and to the justbarelyvisible curves of her breasts. Reginald fought against the desire to wrap his arms around her and press her cold body against his chest. That was by far the most pleasant way of making another body warm.
“For you,” Reginald said, offering her cloak. “If you were going to flee your parents, you should’ve dressed more warmly.”
She nearly snatched the cloak from his hand and donned it. Her shivering seemed to lessen just a little. “Thank you, My Lord. Phillip, I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble, My Lady,” Phillip replied.
“I suppose it was too much for me to expect either my father or stepmother to follow me out here,” Lady Marcella said bitterly.
“They wanted to,” Reginald replied. “I told them that they’d best stay away. You seem terribly angry with them, after all. I thought you might rather talk with me. Forgive me if that was presumptuous.”
Lady Marcella’s hard expression seemed to soften. “I didn’t mean to put you in this awkward position. I imagine that you think I’m a spoiled, silly girl who refuses to accept the reality of things. There are women and men who have much harder lives than I. People who are struggling to eat this time of year, and I’m worried about a good marriage.”
Interesting. She seems more like the lady I met the night of the ball.
“There are certainly people who are struggling more than you,” Reginald said carefully. “That doesn’t mean that you don’t have a right to your own happiness. It’s quite clear that whatever your reasons for running out here, this is something which has been eating away at you for a long time.”
“Indeed, it has.”
“Shall we talk about it, My Lady?”
Lady Marcella bit her lip, and Reginald found it difficult to tear his eyes away from that plump, rosy mouth. “Yes, let’s walk.”
Reginald beckoned for her to go before him, so she could set the pace and choose where they went. He was glad the lady was warm, but he felt a hot longing for the return of her gown, which traced her delicate form so nicely. She chose to walk through the trees, and soon, Reginald saw the brook he’d heard. Chunks of ice flowed through it, as the water made its slow course over the rocks and dead grasses.
“I feel as though I never have control of anything,” Lady Marcella confessed quietly. “It’s as if my life is a story being written, but I’m not the author of it. I’m only a character in a novel written by my father, my stepmother, and now you.”
“And you want to be the author of your own story, of course. That seems quite reasonable to me.”
“You’d be the first to think so,” Lady Marcella said, gazing into the water of the brook. “Most tell me that I’m being ridiculous and that I ought to accept my lot in life, but I feel as though something inside me will just break if I do. Then, I won’t really bemeanymore.”
Reginald nodded. He was beginning to understand. How was he to comfort Lady Marcella, who looked so sad and lonely? Even if Reginald’s own innate sense of chivalry said that he ought to help her, he still needed her to marry him. Breaking the engagement was impossible, even if it might please her, but forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want seemed unfathomably cruel.
