by Candace Camp
Reed had groaned inwardly, sure that Miss Farrington had been thrown into the mix in another one of Kyria’s valiant attempts to find him a wife, as he had never before noticed that Kyria had trouble deciding on anything on her own. Kyria had always been an inveterate matchmaker, and marriage seemed only to have made her worse.
He had argued valiantly that he intended to leave as soon as possible, but Kyria had countered that after two years of traveling, she was an expert at packing quickly, and the twins, of course, were ready to go at a moment’s notice, needing only to extract a promise from Thisbe and Desmond that they would make sure that the parrot and boa and the rest of the twins’ menagerie were well taken care of. As for Rosemary, Kyria could vouch for her speed and efficiency, as well as her willingness to take off on a lark.
Finally Reed had given in, knowing that to continue to argue further against their joining him would only result in exactly the sort of curious questions that he was trying to avoid. He would have far preferred to have gone alone, but he had to admit that taking several members of his family with him would make the trip appear more normal and conveniently mask his real purpose.
Kyria had kept her promise of packing and moving with speed, and within a day they had set out, travelling not by train, as Reed had originally intended, but in Kyria’s new victoria, an elegant low-slung open carriage that Rafe had recently bought for his wife, with Reed and Rafe riding alongside, followed by a slower wagon of personal servants and luggage, as well as a groom with several more horses for the twins, Kyria and their guest.
When they arrived at Winterset, Reed had immediately talked to the butler, then to the local solicitor, Mr. Norton, and even to the caretaker of the place, subtly inquiring about what had been happening in the area. Frustratingly, he had come up with no indication that there was anything amiss locally. He had tried to keep any inquiries about Miss Holcomb casual, but he thought there had been a definite spark of interest in Norton’s eye when he answered that Miss Holcomb and her brother were in the best of health.
It occurred to Reed that he had been both precipitate and foolish in placing so much importance on a dream. No matter how vivid it had been, no matter how it had shaken him, it was, after all, only a dream. A rational man, he reminded himself, would not forget that.
Still, he could not dislodge the feeling deep inside that it had indeed been important, and he knew that he had to find out more. He needed, he knew, to talk to Anna, to see her and judge for himself whether or not anything was bothering her. For that reason, he had ridden out this afternoon, heading along the path to her house. It was one he had taken many times in the month he had spent courting her, and just riding along, looking at the beautiful landscape around him, had filled him with a poignant sense of loss and regret.
He wasn’t sure what he intended to do. He had learned from the butler that Sir Edmund, Anna’s father, had died two years ago, and her brother, Christopher, was now in charge at Holcomb Manor. He did not know Sir Christopher, and according to the polite code of society, it would be correct to wait until Christopher came to call on him, as Reed was the visitor to the area. On the other hand, Reed had called at Holcomb Manor many times before when he had lived at Winterset, so it would not be breaking any rule of conduct, really, to call upon Anna.
It would, of course, be awkward in the extreme.
However, he could think of no other way to talk directly to her. He certainly had no intention of sitting around, kicking his heels, waiting for Sir Christopher to call on him so that he could return the call, or for Anna to call upon his sister, which seemed unlikely, given the circumstances.
It had seemed heaven sent, then, when he had spied her walking in the distance, and he had kicked his horse into a trot, eagerness rising up in him.
He had seen the stricken expression on her face when she had looked up at him, and it was only then that he had realized his eagerness was out of proportion to what he should feel. His second thought had been that her beauty had not diminished in the three years since he had seen her. She had, if anything, grown even more beautiful—or perhaps his memory had simply been unable to recall the full extent of her beauty.
He had dismounted and then stood, feeling like a fool, knowing that she did not want to speak to him, or even see him; that was obvious from the way she stood, poised as if she might run away at any moment. Their conversation had been awkward and stilted, and he had found out nothing from her that he did not already know.
It had been impossible to ask her outright if she was in any sort of trouble. She would have thought him mad—and if he had told her about the dream that had sent him to Winterset posthaste, she would have thought him even more insane. He had no right to protect her; he had not even seen her in three years, and when last he had seen her, she had rejected him.
Worst of all, as he had stood there struggling through their awkward conversation, he had been aware of the fact that what he truly wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and kiss her. After all this time, despite her flat and unequivocal rejection of his proposal, he still wanted her.
What a fool he had been to come back here! Reed could not help but wonder if what had sent him running to Winterset had been less certainty in the portent of his dream than the long-dormant, but obviously not-quenched, fire he had felt for Anna.
There was no hope for him with her; there never had been. Coming back here had just stirred passions that were better left alone. He had spent three long years getting over the pain of loving her. The last thing he should do was place himself in danger of falling in love all over again.
He should leave, he knew. Forget his bizarre dream and just go back to London, where he had a perfectly enjoyable and trouble-free life. He should simply do what he had told everyone he was doing here: spend a day or two looking over the house, then order repairs and put it up for sale. Then he should return to London and forget all about Anna Holcomb.
And yet he knew, even as he thought it, that he would not. However foolish it was to stay, he would not—could not—leave.
* * *
The girl walked as quickly as she could through the trees. She did not like to be alone here, where the trees grew thickly all around and the night was silent except for the occasional scrabbling of some nocturnal creature. There was an eerie quality to the woods that frightened her even during the daytime, but at night they seemed twice as ominous—secret and dark and full of things that she could sense but could not see.
Her lover scoffed at her fears. He said the woods were like a cloak, hiding and protecting them. They could meet no other way. It was only in the woods at night that the two of them could be alone together, could express how they really felt.
And it was for that reason that she plunged eagerly in among the trees. She would meet him here tonight as they so often did, and he would kiss away her fears, tease her for her foolishness even as his hands caressed her. She did not mind that he teased her, did not care that he talked of things she could not understand. He loved her, and that was all that mattered. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that one such as he could love her. She hugged that knowledge to herself like a kind of talisman against the darkness.
Something rustled in the bushes behind her, and the noise sent an icy prickle down her spine. She glanced uneasily behind her, but she could see nothing. She picked up her pace a little, her hands fisting nervously in her skirts. It would not be long before she was at their meeting place, and then everything would be all right.
There was a snap behind her, and she jumped and whirled, peering into the darkness behind her. “Hello?” Her voice came out quavering and thin. There was no answer.
It was nothing, she told herself, or perhaps it was her lover, playing a little joke on her. She did not always understand his jests. She waited, but the longer she stood waiting, listening, the more stretched her nerves grew. Again there came a rustling, but this time to the side of her. And as she whipped her head around, she glimp
sed something—a flash of movement.
Fear tore through her, and she began to run. She called his name, her voice swallowed up by the enormous silence of the woods. She ran, her pulse pounding in her ears, her breath rasping in her throat.
It was following her. She could hear the snap of twigs, the whisper of branches pushed aside, the soft thud of someone—something!—running. She ran with all the speed of terror, but it gained easily on her. She could hear its breath behind her, and then it slammed into her.
She went sprawling on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. Its weight was heavy on her back. She struggled to breathe, struggled to crawl. It growled, low and menacing. Tears of fear sprang into her eyes. She tried to turn, to face her attacker, but it held her head down.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a face—fearsome, snarling, like nothing she had ever seen. Then, before she could even think, something sank into her throat, ripping, tearing. Her screams echoed and died in the stillness of the trees.
CHAPTER THREE
Anna heard all about the arrival of Lord Moreland and his party at Winterset, first from her excited maid the next morning and later from the squire’s wife and daughter. Anna carefully refrained from telling either one of her newsbearers that she already knew of Reed’s arrival. She listened patiently as Mrs. Bennett repeated the chemist’s description of Moreland’s entourage as it had moved through the town of Lower Fenley, keeping a pleasant smile fixed on her face.
After the Bennetts left, Kit turned to his sister and said thoughtfully, “I suppose I ought to call on him—to be polite. Or do you think that’s forward?”
Despite her inner turmoil, Anna had to smile at her brother’s somewhat anxious expression. He had brought the same subject up days ago, when they had first learned that Reed Moreland was returning to Winterset, and obviously he had been considering the matter ever since. Kit was, after all, still rather young, only twenty-four years of age, and the prospect of new neighbors was a little exciting to him. There were few people his age or station anywhere around them, and his social life in London had been cut short by having to return to take over his father’s responsibilities. He had accepted his lot with good grace, never complaining, and for the most part he seemed content to live quietly in the country.
But it was only natural that he should want to meet some new people. The social highlight of his life was a weekly game of cards in the village with Dr. Felton and a few of the local men. Indeed, Anna knew that had circumstances been different, she, too, would have looked forward with pleasure to meeting the occupants of Winterset. The last thing she wanted was for Kit to meet Reed, but she could not bring herself to tell him about the disastrous relationship that had formed between her and Moreland. Nor could she ask him not to call on the man.
“No, I don’t think it’s forward at all,” she assured him, fixing a pleasant smile on her face. “I think it is just what is proper.” She hoped that Reed would not be abrupt or unkind to Kit just because he was her brother. “And you will get a better idea of whether or not they intend to stay and if they are friendly or too snobbish to mingle with us country folk.”
“Is that the way Lord Moreland is?” Kit asked. “You knew him. Mrs. Bennett seemed to think—”
Anna forced a chuckle. “Come, Kit, surely you are not relying on Mrs. Bennett’s version of events. Why, to hear her talk, one would think that you are quite taken with her daughter.”
Kit made a wry face. “Point taken. But you did at least talk to the man.”
“Yes. At parties and such. He was…a nice man. He did not seem puffed up with pride, as I had expected of the son of a duke. But it has been three years. He may have changed.”
Kit smiled at her. “Don’t worry. I will not be disillusioned if he offers me a set down.”
As it turned out, Kit was far from offered a set down. In his eagerness, he rode over to Winterset not long after their conversation, and when he returned, he was smiling and bubbling over with liking for their new neighbors.
“He’s a jolly good sort,” Kit told her, a boyish grin on his face. “Just as you said—not at all proud or puffed up. I quite liked him.”
“Good. I’m glad,” Anna responded with genuine pleasure.
“There were several other people there, as Mrs. Bennett said,” he went on. “His sister, Lady Kyria, and her husband, who is an American.”
“And what are they like?” Anna remembered hearing Reed speak of Kyria more than once, as well as his other sisters, and she could not help but be interested in her.
“Very nice. Lady Kyria is stunning. Actually, I had seen her when I was in London. A friend took me to a party once, and she was there. Unforgettable.”
“What does she look like?” Anna pressed.
“Red hair, very tall. Just…just beautiful,” he finished lamely, shrugging. “And quite charming. Not a bit of snobbery about her, either. Strangely enough, the family seems a bit egalitarian.”
“I understand that the duchess is very forward-thinking,” Anna told him.
“Lady Kyria’s husband is a chap named Rafe McIntyre. He’s an American—shook my hand, acted as if he’d known me all my life.” He paused, and his expression shifted subtly. “There is another woman in their party…Miss Rosemary Farrington.”
Something cold touched Anna’s heart. “Another woman? A relative, do you think?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t get that impression. I think she is perhaps a friend of theirs.”
“What—what is she like?” It was common to bring friends along to stay at one’s county estate, but it betokened a certain interest in a woman if a man asked her to come with his family to his estate, especially if she was there by herself, not just a member of a family invited to stay. “Is she—are her parents there?”
Kit looked at her oddly. “No, I don’t think so. No one said anything about them. Why?”
Anna blushed, realizing how peculiar her question had sounded. “I don’t know. I was just wondering…if there were any other people there. You know, if it was a large party or small. One cannot rely on Mrs. Bennett for accuracy, you know.”
“No, I think they are the only people who came to Winterset.”
“Tell me about Miss Farrington.” Anna strove to keep her voice light. It was absurd, she knew, for her to feel this quiver of jealousy at the thought that Reed might have an interest in Miss Farrington. After all, she expected him to go on with his life. Indeed, she wanted him to. She wanted him to be happy.
“She is a beautiful woman. Not, perhaps, as beautiful as Lady Kyria is, but, to my way of thinking, much better—more normal, you know, more approachable. Her hair is blond and her eyes are blue. She is quite small and just a little bit shy, I think.”
It was only then that Anna noticed the moonstruck look on her brother’s face, and a different sort of anxiety crept into her. “Kit…you are not—you sound quite taken with Miss Farrington.”
Her brother’s expression hardened, the rapt look in his eyes replaced by something a little bitter. “Don’t worry. I’m not a fool. I know that there is no possibility—”
Anna’s face filled with sympathy, and she went to her brother, slipping her hand into his. “Kit, I am so sorry….”
“I know. It is not your fault.” He smiled faintly down at her, squeezing her hand a little. “You, after all, suffer just as much as I. One cannot choose one’s lot, can one? And, for the most part, I am well content.”
“For the most part.”
He shrugged. “I cannot help but see, can I? Cannot help but feel?”
“No,” Anna replied, her voice threaded with sorrow. “One cannot help but feel.”
* * *
After her talk with Kit, Anna felt the need to get outside. She had always loved the outdoors, and she refused to let Reed’s proximity deter her from her almost-daily walk or ride about the estate. Whatever the problem, it always helped clear her head to go on a long ramble.
She would be careful
this time, though, not to head in the direction of Winterset. She would go into the woods toward Craydon Tor. So, putting on her walking boots and grabbing her hat, she left the house. She took the same path out of the garden that she had used the other day, but this time she headed into the leafy green trees leading toward the tor, an upthrust of land that on this side was a gradual elevation and on the other was a more-or-less sheer drop to the valley below. It loomed over the village of Lower Fenley and was the most distinctive landmark for miles around.
As she walked through the trees, the vegetation grew thicker around her, and the path became less and less clear. Anna knew the area, however, and she had no fear of getting lost. There were some, she knew, who disliked the woods, finding them dark and gloomy, even frightening. But she had always thought them peaceful and serene, and she liked the glimpses of wildlife that she found in them, from the red flash of a bird flitting from branch to branch to the jittering antics of a squirrel on a limb.
The woods worked their usual magic today, calming her. At one point she came upon a fawn with its mother, both of which turned and shot off as she approached. She sat on a large stone for a few minutes, just listening to the sounds of the woods—the twitter of birds, the soft stirring of the branches, the rustle of some small creature in the leaves.
Holding her skirts up with one hand and grabbing at branches and saplings with the other, she made her way down into a small depression where a little pool had formed. She chuckled as a startled frog jumped off a stone at her approach and landed with a splash in the large puddle. Past this indention in the land, she climbed upward at a slant, taking a narrow path. It led, she knew, to a small, enchanting glen not much farther on, where a fallen, mossy tree trunk provided a natural seat. Perhaps she might go even farther than that; she might go to the hut and see how things were there. She too often avoided her duty there, she thought. Her father would not have been pleased; he would have said that the distress she felt when she went there was no excuse.
