My fingers smoothed down the mahogany bannister as I descended. Maids nodded as they passed, toting buckets and rags. One of our footmen, perched atop a tall ladder, used a feather duster on the chandelier in the entry hall.
Two heavy chairs held open the wide double doors, letting in a cool, salty breeze as more maids scrubbed the black and white tiles.
I found Padraig waiting for me in the stone driveway with my horse saddled and ready for town.
“Milady.” When he bobbed his head his woolen flat cap slipped, revealing thinning white hair. “Best be on yer way. ‘Twas a fine mornin’, but I’m afraid the same won’t be said fer this afternoon.”
I felt what he said on a much deeper level.
I thanked Padraig and mounted before my father caught me riding instead of taking the carriage. He thought proper ladies of our social standing should ride in carriages like pretty little porcelain dolls.
So I rode whenever I had the chance.
The road rose and fell, stretches of fields waiting to be planted on either side of high bramble hedges.In a few months, they’d stink of slurry. Today, all I could smell was the salty breeze rattling through a few stubborn brown leaves, the leather saddle and the horse beneath me.
Who was I going to marry?
Callum McNamara had wed this past spring. His brother Liam was too fond of the drink. Michael O’Donnell had left to serve in the king’s army in Vellana. Lord Donnelly was too old. Sir Roger Quinn was rumored to have done away with his first two wives. Thomas Mattingly was kind enough, and he made me laugh with his irreverent sense of humor. But there was no way my father would approve of a miller’s son.
My father.
What would he do if I flat out refused? Likely keel over from shock.
Hedges eventually gave way to low stone walls and grazing cattle. The few travelers I passed waved but no one tarried. Black clouds on the horizon edged closer to the small town built on a height, overlooking a port filled with merchant ships.
What if I skipped town altogether, went straight to the docks, and used my savings for passage on one of them?I’d entertained that foolish notion a few years ago when I’d met a handsome sailor. We’d made plans. Silly, naïve plans.
Plans that ended the night he sailed away.
I passed the sign welcoming visitors to Graystones, an apt name for a town devoid of all color beyond the daffodils blooming around the central square.
The plaster buildings, cobbled streets, and limestone cathedral were all varying shades of gray. Even the signs swinging from the shops remained unpainted and unadorned with decorations.
I tied my horse outside the milliner’s and made my way through the lively crowd of gentry and commoners toward the daily market. I probably should have been smiling at the eligible men who passed, trying to catch their attention. Instead, I glared at them.
No one told a man when he should marry. Being a bachelor wasn’t frowned upon. If anything, it was regarded as a badge of honor. A man could ride his way through the entire female population and still be considered a catch if he had any wealth to speak of.
If I was caught having a conversation with a man in a room without a chaperone, I’d be ruined.
So bloody unfair.
Skirting around a wide puddle, I stalked toward Dame Meranda’s shop at the far side of the square, the only building in Graystones owned by a woman. When she’d first opened five years ago, the locals had shunned her until it became clear that none of the other seamstresses could hold a candle to her talents. And then Graystones’ elite had changed their tune. What took others a fortnight would take Meranda a few days. And her stock of fabric remained unmatched on the east coast of Airren.
This trip should’ve been the highlight of my week. Today, I couldn’t wait to return home. And just when I thought the day couldn’t get worse, I caught sight of Lady Freya Goodman strolling toward me on Robert Trench’s arm. I didn’t give a whit that he couldn’t pull his gaze from her abundant chest being strangled by her too-tight corset.
The cad had been dead to me for years.
It was my sister’s heart I needed to protect. If Keelynn had come along, she could see first-hand the way he acted around other women and save herself a good deal of heartache.
When she caught sight of me, Lady Freya waved her handkerchief in my direction. “Lady Aveen? Is that you?”
I stifled an unladylike groan.
Robert’s hazel eyes went so wide, it looked like they could pop out of his skull.And if they did, I’d stomp them flat on the cobblestones.
“Lady Freya, it’s lovely to see you.” I reluctantly returned the wave. “And is that Robert Trench?” His shins deserved a good dent. My boots ached to give it to them. “Robert, it’s been ages.”
A lie. Two days ago, he’d swung by to take my sister on a picnic. She hadn’t stopped smiling since.