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But then, Ann pointed to a stain on Matilda’s dress. It was the size of a blueberry.
“How is it that you can’t go a few hours without dirtying your dress?” She shook her head and walked off, paying no mind to the fact that she was in the kitchen. Matilda counted herself lucky.
Matilda grabs a servant’s cloak and drapes it over herself. The second she does, she feels invincible almost, like she had won some sort of grand game. It put her mind at ease, knowing that for the night, she had gotten away from her troubles. Of course, they would still be there when the sun rose the next morning, but at least for a few hours, she had her freedom; she had her hope.
She finally left the kitchen and made it to the outside grounds, where the cool air of the night hugged her like an old friend. It felt almost easier to breathe.
Matilda remembered as a young child she had always been fearful of the nighttime. It gave her a strange sensation, like monsters were lurking around the corner. But to her, on that night, the only monsters were at the party amongst the bright lights and decorations. Outside near the trees, animals getting ready for bed, and the moon, she was in her element.
As she walked, she looked up to the night sky and looked at the twinkling stars. There was so much mystery, so much possibility. It was just yesterday she felt that her own future held the same. The journey was unknown. The adventure was limitless. Knowing that she would spend the rest of her life with a man she did not desire curved the adventure. That ruined every possibility. Even when it came to bringing children into the world. What joy would there be in that if she did not care for their father romantically? That was not how it was supposed to go. That was not the definition of perfection. That was a lie, a fraudulent life.
Matilda wandered around some more, acknowledging that she would not be able to sneak away from the future. Even when it came to the remainder of the night, she would have to stay outside until the party neared an end. That was rather boring. That left her too much time to think, dwell, and dread. The one thing that could possibly alleviate that was seeing the horses.
From a very young age, the horses at Hardon House always put a smile on her face. And the fact that they were in many of her books made them feel extra special, like they were fantastical beasts. She was also not blind to the fact that they represented freedom in their own right. When you get on a horse, you could ride it to anywhere your heart desires, barring danger, weather, and whatever else could pose a threat.
The grounds were hard to navigate at night. There were a lot of bends and gates that you would have to pass through. But Matilda eventually heard the rustling of horses, and then her eyes fell upon the stables.
Most of the horses were sleeping, and that made her sad. The one thing that could have made her night better was a let-down. It soothed her nerves to see them in general, but it would have been nice to see them eye to eye, to have a connection of sorts.
Then Matilda noticed that one was awake. It was a brown stallion with hair so long that it looked fake. Even in the darkness of the night, she could tell that the beast was beautiful and not the type of beautiful that the party-goers used to refer to Matilda.
Looking at the horse, her mind drifted. It drifted into the starry sky and to the notion of freedom. She knew that she could take that horse and never come back. She could see the world, go to a different town, marry whoever she wanted to marry. That brown horse could be the key to her own story. The horse looked her in the eyes and made one of those loud huffs that horses make from time to time. It was eerie. She felt as though the horse was outright speaking to her.
But she could not. It was too absurd of a plan. And that realization brought tears to her eyes. The tears were so heavy that she just began to outright weep. And it felt good to do so. She was finally admitting to herself that she was unhappy. She did not want a future with Charles. She didn’t want any of it.
Footsteps. The sounds of heavy footsteps arrived behind her, and she spun around with her salty eyes. Before her stood a man that almost lit up the stables with how attractive he was. His eyes were those that held emotion. His lips were surrounded by the perfect amount of stubble on a jaw that looked as though it was chiselled from a statue. But it was his hair that really stuck out to her. She could not see the very top because he towered over her, but there was one special little strand that caught her attention like nothing else.
“It is not my place, but may I ask just why you are crying?”
Matilda could not find in herself the ability to answer him. Instead, she thought of them as characters in one of her books. Was it the spark that Ann spoke of? Was that why her mind had been doing all the funny things that she did not get around Charles? No. That was foolish. She felt herself being too emotional. And that was the cause for certain.
“I am well.” She lied.
“You are not well. You are crying.”
“I was not crying.” She lied again, feeling nervous to not look foolish around him.
“There is no shame in crying. There is a shame in lying.”
Matilda let out a huff much like the brown horse. “Fine. I was crying.”
“But why?”
She did not want to reveal that. Instead, she remembered a poem that sounded like a good reason. “Tears are rain to things of pain.”
And then, she almost fainted when the man replied, “But they don’t stain like champagne.”
He knew the rest of the poem.
