Cynthia’s heart beat frantically as she waited for Michael to join her. There was an awful mixture of wrongness and rightness to what she was doing. She was a grown woman for heaven’s sake. She’d been married, had lived through the pain of losing her husband, of seeing his still body stretched out lifeless before her. She’d helped arrange his burial, all the while acutely aware the accident might not have happened if they hadn’t argued before the race.
Henry had loved her and yet she’d never forget the way he’d looked at her prior to climbing up into his curricle, as though she were the most useless creature he’d ever laid eyes on. To have Michael look at her thus was more than she could bear.
Yet bear it she must since anything less would be wrong. Already, she’d delayed too long.
Yesterday, when they’d lain side by side in the grass, watching the clouds drift by overhead, and he’d said he’d stand by her forever regardless of what her mother had done or his father’s attempt to tear them apart, the truth about the divorce finally spilled from Cynthia’s lips along with every detail pertaining to her existence.
“Mr. Hewitt was her friend,” she explained when she turned her head to one side and saw Michael gaped at her in dismay. “He married her in order to save me from illegitimacy and now she’s returning the favor. So his child won’t suffer that fate.”
“But that means…” He’d pushed up onto one elbow and stared down at her with sudden intensity. “First of all, no woman should ever endure what your mother went through, but beyond that I need you to know that I do not care if you’re illegitimate. Indeed, we ought to tell Papa as I’m sure he’ll—”
“No.” Cynthia held his gaze with unwavering fierceness. “Mama swore me to secrecy and I am breaking her trust by confiding in you. To tell your father would be the utmost betrayal so you have to promise me, Michael. Promise you will not utter a word of what I’ve just told you to anyone else.”
He did not even blink. “Of course. You have my word.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and welcomed the loving caresses that followed even though a small voice at the back of her mind compelled her to tell him the rest. Except doing so was delayed by his kisses, by the beautiful lovemaking they’d engaged in after, and then by Mr. Dales unexpected arrival and all this had led to.
So Cynthia had determined to share the rest of her troubles with Michael the following day. Even as she’d penned a note to her mother and packed her things, she’d decided she wouldn’t allow him to whisk her away until he was fully aware of what he was getting into.
But when he came to meet her in the meadow as planned, the words she so desperately needed to speak failed her. Perhaps it was due to the magical pre-dawn glow, or how handsome he appeared as he rode toward her while leading another horse by the reins.
No. It was because she lacked the courage required to risk everything she held dear.
And then he was on the ground, pulling her into his arms. A kiss followed and whatever remained of her resolve flitted away completely.
Tomorrow she’d make her confession, she thought, as he helped her mount the mare he’d brought her.
Or maybe the day after that.
Everything ached when Wilhelmina woke. Wielding a shovel the day before had clearly left a mark on some previously unused muscles. She groaned in response to the soreness gripping her back as she sat. Her neck felt stiff and when she turned her head to the right, a twinge of pain shot through her. Conscious of having made some sort of movement with which her body did not agree, she rolled her head from side to side a few times, then stretched her arms up into the air and yawned.
Daylight glowed along the edges of the curtain. She glanced at the clock and immediately cursed. It was past eight. There were chores to be done. It was time to rise and get on with the day as quickly as possible.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Ten minutes later, thanks to the serviceable clothes she’d elected to bring with her, she was dressed in a plain lilac day dress. Her hair was swept up in a simple knot at the nape of her neck. A quick breakfast accompanied by a cup of tea would have to suffice. Water had to be hauled for the animals, who also required feeding. Afterward the cows would need to be milked, eggs gathered, and dung cleared out of each stall and pen.
Wilhelmina could only hope the Wilkinses and Betsy hadn’t been up for too long. She did not want to be the sort of mistress who lazed about all day while others did the work, even if she paid them. To her relief, hot tea waited for her in the kitchen, but the freshly baked bread on the counter suggested Betsy had been up for a while. Wilhelmina cut herself a slice, filled a cup with tea, and perched herself on a stool.
“Good morning,” Betsy said when she swept into the kitchen five minutes later. Her arms were filled with leafy greens. “Turns out Mrs. Wilkins has quite the knack for growing cabbage. Thought I’d use a couple to make a hearty stew.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Wilhelmina took a bite of bread and chewed. “Do you know if Cynthia’s up yet?”
“I haven’t seen her today, so probably not.”
Wilhelmina nodded and sipped her tea. Cynthia had been miserable yesterday. She’d retired early, but that didn’t mean she’d slept. Accustomed to the effect a bleak mood could have on the mind, Wilhelmina feared she’d probably lain awake until the early hours of the morning. And since she would not be eager to rise and face the day, Wilhelmina was reluctant to wake her.
But when Cynthia still hadn’t risen an hour and a half later, Wilhelmina decided to check on her. Taking a slice of fresh bread along with a cup of tea, she climbed the stairs and approached her daughter’s bedchamber. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet with every step she took.
Balancing the plate of bread and the cup of tea in one hand, Wilhelmina did her best to ease the door open as quietly as possible. She stepped inside Cynthia’s room and turned toward the bed. Air rushed from her lungs and she nearly dropped the items she held as her brain tried to come to terms with what her eyes saw.
The bed was neatly made with no hint of having been slept in. Shaking, Wilhelmina set the plate and teacup aside on the dresser and quickly opened the drawers. All were empty.
“No.” The hoarse word felt as though it was ripped from her throat. She shook her head and crossed to the wardrobe. Disbelief clasped her shoulders and pulled on her nerves while incredulity pricked at her skin. This could not be. Cynthia would not do this – she wouldn’t just leave.
Yet her carpet bag was gone along with most of her clothes.
Clasping a hand to her mouth, Wilhelmina turned, eyes searching for some piece of evidence that would disprove what she knew to be true. Her gaze settled upon a folded sheet of paper propped against the mirror that stood on the vanity table. Wilhelmina approached on wary feet. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the letter, and her insides tied themselves into knots as she read.
Dearest Mama,
When Michael and I met yesterday, we agreed our futures were ours to determine. While we both know you and his father wish us the best, neither of you has the right to come between us. Not when we are both of age and legally able to make our own decisions.
The last thing I want is for you to worry, and so you should know that he and I are bound for Gretna Greene. Hopefully you will welcome us once we return, for I very much fear Michael’s father will not.