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But it would seem my feet weren’t all that interested in it because they led me to the spot on the wide gravel drive in front of the house, beneath my bedroom window.
Or, not that any longer. Beneath the Carnation Room window.
I didn’t look up.
I walked out, in the direction Daniel had been going when I saw him the first night we were there.
The manicured space gave way to forest, which was untamed in such a way it boggled the mind how the Alcotts had subdued it. Then again, they’d had centuries to clear trees and dig out rocks and make their mark on the landscape.
The forest didn’t last long and opened up to the moors.
Here, the wind was biting, digging through my wool duffle coat, my thick cashmere turtleneck and scarf, and the long-sleeved shell I wore underneath it. My wool-lined, leather gloves held up, but I wished I’d put on a hat, not only for the warmth, but because the wind kept whipping my hair in my face, and it was annoying.
I kept going, and going, beginning to like the sting of the air, the freshness after being in that house for more than a day.
The thing was, the farther I went, the more I realized there was nothing out there. There weren’t any trails. There weren’t any cottages or farmhouses.
There was nothing at all.
So where was Daniel going?
Or more to the point, what was I expecting to find?
Many people had trouble sleeping and they did a number of things to remedy that. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to put on clothes and take a quick walk to clear the cobwebs and maybe bring on some tiredness.
Perhaps Daniel was wound up about our visit, the dinner that didn’t go so well, and he couldn’t sleep. Thus, he took a walk.
“I’m an idiot,” I muttered to myself, turning and noting how far I’d come.
In the distance, I could only see the chimneys of Duncroft.
I headed back, deciding, not only for Portia’s sake, but my own, to cut Daniel some slack. To try to pull myself together and not let the house and its history and its atmospheric location get to me. I wasn’t sleeping, all this was just amping up my anxiety, and I was doing it to myself.
When I made it to the house and was walking across what could be considered its front lawn (one a regulation football game could be played on), my intent was to go around the other side then head to the rear to look at the gardens.
I didn’t want to go in yet. The sun was weak, but it was there, giving me much needed vitamin D. The air was crisp, and it felt like both were clearing my head.
However, as I began to traverse the drive, the front door opened, and Laura stood there.
I waved.
And she called.
“Miss Ryan! If you will!”
Laura, like Brittany, had not been in the kitchen last night, so I hadn’t chatted with her and gotten to know her. She was several years older than the other girls. And right then, she looked severe and reminded me why I’d been letting my mind run away from me about this visit.
I switched directions and headed to the front door.
I was almost to the top step when Laura announced, “Lady Alcott would like you to join her for a light lunch in the Viognier Room.”
She stepped out of my way so I could step inside, and in that yawning, marble entryway, I still felt the chill.
“Are Louella and Ian joining us?” I asked Laura.
I was taller than her, not by much, still, she tipped her head back to look down her nose at me.
No.
