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“Now, where is Lord Bragg?” He asked.
They climbed the stairs to the kitchens, and Graham passed off Tilda to the constable, but the maid hung on to him.
“Lord Bragg has gone to search for her. You see, he returned last night, but I knew Lady Bridget couldn’t see him, so I told him she was asleep.” She lowered her voice, her eyes flitting back and forth as if she was keeping something from the others. Graham wondered if she had known Bridget was going to Foxglove Hall. “I felt she needed her rest. She has slept so poorly since your dear sister passed, and I thought knowing that Lord Bragg was looking for her would only upset her further and rob her of her sleep. He did not like it, but he retired for the night.”
Lady Sedgwick spoke next. “It was this morning that we found Bridget’s note. Lord Bragg was already awake, and I'm afraid my… hysterical reaction summoned him.”
“Yes,” Tilda took over. “He looked at the note, but Lord Bragg assumed Lady Bridget must be lying so she could run away with you! He was incensed, as he had been so certain she would never commit such an act. He accused her of going behind his back, of-of horrible, unladylike things.
“ He quickly summoned us, and after interrogating me as if I were a criminal, locked us in the cellar. Wehave no idea where he has gone.”
Graham frowned. “If Bragg thinks Bridget’s run off with me, then…”
Lady Sedgwick’s face paled as they came to the same conclusion—there was only one place Bragg would have gone looking for her. Graham’s heart pounded with fear as he realized with horror that he should be at Foxglove Hall, at the side of his future wife, keeping her safe.
“I fear the place you thought my daughter was resting safe and sound is not as safe as you believed. Your Grace, you must go,” Lady Sedgwick said. “Tilda and I will be fine in the care of the constable and his men. And Your Grace—keep her safe. I beg of you.”
Graham nodded. “I will not see her harmed,” he said. “You have my word.”
And with that, he spun on his heel and ran back to his horse, his heart pounding at the prospect that Bragg was on his way to Foxglove Hall.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
Bridget walked toward the willow tree, a breeze whipped her hair back, and she smelled the earthiness in the air that always dominated after the rain. It was quiet; only the sound of her bare feet crunching on the grass filling the air. There was not even a bird’s song to be heard.
The sun stood high in the sky, and a rainbow had appeared, stretching over the trees, with the willow tree at its center. Bridget walked, one step in front of the other, while her heart thundered with a staccato beat. Anticipation ran through her veins, though she did not know why. Something lay ahead, something profound—but what?
She walked until the willow tree loomed large before she raised her head, shielding her eyes from the sun that insisted on glaring into her eyes.
There, hidden in the tree’s thick leaves, was a figure. Bridget frowned when suddenly, a flurry of movement followed, and something flew from the tree and landed softly on the ground.
“Buh!” A familiar voice called, followed by hearty laughter. Bridget’s heart leaped, and she jumped back when her eyes settled on their laughing face of Mary, pleased by her successful joke.
“Mary!” she exclaimed and placed a hand on her heart. “You scared me. I thought you were a robber come to relieve me of my jewelry.”
Mary shook her head, her honey-colored hair grazing her pale face. “I rather adore your lovely rubies, my friend, but I should not resort to stealing them,” she winked at her. “I would rather just ask to borrow them and…”
“Forget to return them. I believe that is the fate that befell my pearl earrings,” Bridget said with a tease. She’d loaned her friend her pearl earrings a year ago when they’d attended a ball in the next village, hosted by the Earl of Stoke. Mary had never returned them, though she knew there was no malice in her friend’s forgetfulness. She had a habit of forgetting things like that, and Bridget hadn’t missed them enough to bother collecting them.
“I shall have Graham bring them next time he sees you,” Mary said and spun. The soft, muslin material of her dress swayed as she turned and retrieved their blanket from the tree. She spread it out as the sun cast its light upon her and illuminated her in a way that made her look almost angelic.
However, once the blanket had been spread, she plopped down onto it in a rather un-angelic fashion, patting the space beside her.
“Come, sit beside me,” Mary said, and as she did, it occurred to Bridget that her statement had been rather peculiar.
“What do you mean, when Graham sees me next?” She tipped her head to one side and watched her friend, who smiled with a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“You know what I mean. Think.” She blinked, and her long lashes fluttered. Bridget wetted her lips and looked around, unsure what her friend could mean.
She looked out over the fields and toward Sedgwick Manor, but then, a sparkle to her left caught her eye, and she realized they were no longer underneath the willow tree. Instead, their blanket was spread in front of the lake.
Bridget’s head snapped around, and she stared at Mary, whose smile had faded, replaced by a small frown.
“You understand now?”
“This is not real,” Bridget said, her voice so low it was hardly audible. “Am I dreaming?”
Mary placed her hand on Bridget’s forearm. The touch was so gentle—light as a breeze.
