Intermittent clouds floated in front of a large moon, shedding just enough light on the surroundings to make them vaguely familiar. Night sounds of wind whistling through the last dry leaves clinging to branches mingled with an owl’s distant mournful cry. They kept to the side of the road, taking full advantage of the tree line to hide themselves, lest anyone should happen by.
“You’re the woman who was at Briarton Park this morning,” Rachel said once they were under the protection of the forest.
Cassandra nodded. “Yes. I’m Cassandra Hale.”
“Are you acquainted with my brother then?”
The memory of the handsome, amenable man with dark blond hair flashed in her mind. “I only met him today.”
They walked in silence, and then Rachel asked, “Why did you help me just now?”
“I heard you from my chamber and thought you needed assistance. Did you?”
“I—I did.” She heaved a sigh and tightened her cloak around her. “I wonder if James knows I am gone. He’ll never understand this.”
When it was clear Rachel was going to say no more, Cassandra spoke. “It’s none of my business, of course, but I can only assume that you had some sort of agreement with the young man.”
Rachel sniffed. “There is no sense in trying to hide it from you, especially after what you witnessed. We were to be married. In Gretna Green. He’d made all the arrangements. None of my family knew. We’d planned to meet this night and depart. But—but just hours ago I changed my mind.”
Cassandra had suspected something of the sort, but the similarities of this story to her own at this age were poignant—and heartachingly familiar. “And I take it your brother did not approve of this young man.”
“No. Not in the least.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Cassandra had to choose her words with care. She did not know this girl or her family situation, but she did know how strong the attachment of the heart could be and how damaging others’ opinions could be. At such a moment this girl might just need a friend. “How old are you, Rachel?”
“Sixteen.”
“We are not acquainted, and I doubt my opinion will hold much weight, but I think you made a very brave decision.”
Rachel scoffed and impatiently swiped a tear from her cheek. “Brave? Nothing about this feels brave.”
“I’m sure you faced him knowing it would be a painful, maybe frightening, conversation, and yet you did it anyway.”
Rachel swatted at a low-hanging branch as they walked, her face hidden in shadows. “I’m not sure my brother would agree with you. He, no doubt, will think me foolish and irresponsible.”
“Perhaps, but in the end, I’m sure he would prefer this decision than the one to leave.”
“I did love him.” Rachel choked on a sob, her shoulders shaking. “I think I still do.”
Cassandra allowed several moments of silence to pass. How well she knew the power of such sentiments. Over the years she had learned, at Mrs. Denton’s urging, to suppress emotions, but she remembered how intense some emotions could be. It would do no good to tell her to ignore them or focus on something else, not when the sting of her pain was so fresh. “Those feelings are strong. And I say that not only to make you feel better but from my own experience. I was in a similar situation, years ago. But I was seventeen, a little older than you.”
Rachel stopped short. “You were?”
Cassandra’s recollection of her own indiscretion rushed back to her. How she recalled the empty loneliness in the days following the incident. It had been raw. Painful.
Normally, Cassandra never would have dreamt of sharing such a personal detail, but she did not know this girl, and once her business in this village was concluded, she would likely never see her again. What harm would come in sharing a bit of solidarity and support?
“The details aren’t important, but I could have left with him. But someone, my teacher, intervened on my behalf and refused to let me leave. I was so angry at her at the time, but now I see the wisdom in her response. I needed someone to make the decision for me. Thankfully you came to your senses on your own. It speaks to your maturity.”
Rachel drew a shuddering breath and tightened her cape about her as they walked. “How long did it take for the pain to subside?”
But before Cassandra could respond, a distant pounding echoed from the road ahead.
Rachel stopped. “Is that . . . ?”
The sound sharpened into rhythmic hoofbeats.
Someone was coming. And fast.
Chapter 8
Raw, frigid air blasted James as he and his horse thundered away from Briarton Park and toward the bridge that marked the edge of his property and the start of the village of Anston. A sharp kick of his heel urged his horse faster down the lane and under trees he knew so well. He had to get to the Green Ox Inn as soon as possible.
Despite the evening’s persistent chill, perspiration moistened his brow. He refused to think about what would happen if his assumptions about where she was going were incorrect. He didn’t even have time to do so, for before his horse even reached the bridge, two shadowed figures appeared.
Two cloaked figures.
Two women.
On instinct he yanked the reins, and his horse neighed and reared in shock, sending a plume of wintery breath into the night air.
As he regained control of his horse, one of the figures let down her hood. He’d recognize those wayward curls anywhere.
Rachel.
Relief flooding, he slid from the saddle and rushed toward his sister. “What are you doing here? I could have trampled you!”
Rachel crossed her arms and met his gaze defiantly.
Her indifference and lack of response sent fresh fire surging through his veins. Words seeped through his clenched teeth. “Where have you been? What on earth are you doing out at night?”
The moonlight highlighted the glint of rebellion in Rachel’s expression. “Well, you got what you wanted. Richard’s gone.”
“What are you talking about?” Her words made no sense. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“Richard. He’s gone now. And he’ll not be returning.”
James recoiled. “So you came upon this knowledge now? At this hour?”
A voice from behind Rachel reminded him another woman was present. “It’s been a trying evening, Mr. Warrington. Perhaps if you take her home and get her warm, this conversation might be easier.”
He stared at the cloaked woman. How dare a stranger comment on a personal conversation with his sister? “Who are you?”
“She is Cassandra Hale,” spouted Rachel, stepping closer to him. “She offered me assistance. She was the only one to help me, I might add.”
He looked closer at the woman. The hood of her cloak masked many of her features, but it did not hide the elegant slope of her nose or the attractive fullness of her lower lip. He could not fully make out her profile, but the honeyed tone of her voice confirmed that this was indeed the same woman who had graced his great hall earlier in the day.
The surprise of seeing Miss Hale again, here of all places, overtook his frustration with his sister’s cheekiness. But his consternation quickly turned to suspicion. “I have to ask, Miss Hale, how is it that you have come to be with my sister at this late hour?”