“He’d surprise you,” Barric warned, then gestured Rena closer. “Come. He would be glad of some attention. Samson is rather a vain brute.”
She smiled, stepping closer and placing her hand on the horse’s wet snout. Samson was a pretty beast with wide, ponderous eyes and a few splotches of gray around his nose. The soft puff of air Samson snorted into her palm brought a delighted smile to her lips, and she gasped as he bowed his neck to nuzzle his nose against her stomach. She felt her smile leap into a grin. It was a delightful change, to feel joy so deep it finally showed.
Barric circled around Samson to stand beside her, his hands never leaving the reins. “He’s fond of you,” he remarked as Samson dropped his snout against her hip.
“Unsurprising, I suppose. Though he could also be searching you for a carrot.”
Surprised to hear Lord Barric speak so teasingly, and pleased by the gentle light she found in his otherwise tired eyes, Rena laughed her faint agreement. “That will teach me to come empty-handed, won’t it?”
Their smiles both dropped as a young, lanky stable hand came rushing out to take Samson, and Barric relinquished his hold on the reins, nodding his silent thanks.
As soon as the stable boy had disappeared with Samson, Barric glanced back at Rena. “Are you going home?” he asked, nodding toward the dusty road looping down the hill to William’s house.
She stepped back, realizing she had dawdled longer than she’d first intended. “Yes,” she answered. “I often come this way to avoid the other workers.”
“Might I walk with you?” He turned to hang his whip on a peg. “Just a short stretch of the road?”
Stunned by his request, and a bit suspicious of his motive, she nonetheless nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Barric drew up beside her, his even strides betraying no unease, though he was silent for some time as they made their way down the golden-colored hill.
“You have seemed tired these past few days,” he observed. Rena did not bother to deny it. She’d been working hard to keep up with the others, as Barric had told her she must, and felt wearier for it. She had tried to split her days in half, the mornings spent binding sheaves with the women and the afternoons spent picking for her own stores, but the work was backbreaking, and, as he had already pointed out once before, she was not used to hard labor. “I realize I haven’t really asked you how you are settling in,” he went on.
“Perhaps you’ve been too busy provoking me,” she answered before she could stop herself.
Barric’s eyebrow inched up as he slanted an approving smirk down at her. “Perhaps.”
Rena cursed her honest tongue. She must have been more tired than she thought, to speak so freely to a man of title. “I have been well,” she tried again, a bit more diplomatically. “The house suits us, if that is what you are asking.”
“The people here do not speak to you unkindly?”
“The people do not speak to me at all.” She had meant to sound casual, unaffected, but heard the hurt in her own voice she hadn’t been able to weed out. As Barric’s expression tightened, she hastened to amend, “Except for you, my lord. Of course. And the Wilmots.”
“They are good people,” he agreed quietly. “And will you be coming with them to the festival this evening?”
She hesitated. According to Alice, harvest home was a yearly tradition, a night of raucous drinking and dancing to celebrate the close of the harvest. All of Abbotsville would be there—landowners, stewards, even tenant farmers and common laborers. But Rena was none of those things, and she and Barric both knew it.
“Come,” Barric teased, “do not tell me you are afraid to go. I would never have thought it of you.”
“I am not afraid,” she insisted. “I just had not thought about it.”
At her defensive tone, he smiled—a true smile—one that pinched the corners of his eyes and pressed grooves along the outer edges of his mouth. “You ought to come,” he decided. “Everyone in Abbotsville is welcome, and many are the men who would feel lucky to dance with you.”
But, of course, Lord Barric knew this was not true. The men in his fields regarded her mostly with contempt and made no secret of it—they would not count themselves at all lucky to dance with her. Was Lord Barric trying to offer her words of comfort? Or was he trying to convey a message?
Did he want to dance with her?
This was hardly a safe question, and so she asked another. “Do you dance, Lord Barric?”
When he met her gaze, so direct, she was all the more glad she had not stammered in her reply. The man walked a dangerous line whenever he deigned to speak to her. Far too close, she’d think, and then stern enough to cool her blood with a word.
He surprised her with another smile, this one a faint twist at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps you would have to come to find out.”
The evening air was unusually mild for October. From the cottage window, Rena caught the heavy smell of towering bonfires smoldering in the distance. All of Abbotsville had gathered for the festival, but Rena had ignored Lord Barric’s invitation and dressed instead for bed. She was now curled into the caress of her favorite rocking chair, both feet tucked beneath the fabric of her nightgown as she read one of the books Alice had lent her. Music began tumbling across the now barren fields. The notes were thick and plucky, sticking to the window like hands pressed up against the glass.
“You ought to go to the festival,” Nell prodded, looking up from her knitting and glancing to the window. “You are young and made for dancing.”
Rena cradled her cup of tea, feeling the steamy rim press warm against her chest. “I have no interest in dancing,” she disagreed, turning a page to show she was otherwise employed. “Besides, the festival is for the masters and those under their employ. I am neither.”
But that was only half of the matter. The other half involved Edric and how she had not considered him once when she had spoken to Lord Barric of the festival. She was not ready to forget him. No, she was not yet ready to dance.
Nell’s fingers were steady on her needles, but her eyes twinkled in the dim light as if she was privy to some secret joke. “Lord Barric invited you, did he not?”
Rena sunk deeper into the chair. “But I am not his employee. I am his beggar.”
Nell opened her mouth to disagree, but three light knocks sounded at the door, cutting her off midword. Startled by the intrusion, Rena grabbed the blanket from her chair back and pulled it quickly over her nightdress as Nell bustled to the door and flipped the latch. Alice entered, wearing a wide-skirted satin dress made in the most fashionable shade of emerald.
“I’ve come to collect Rena,” she announced.
Setting her book and tea on the table beside her, Rena pulled her braid nervously over one shoulder and sat up in her chair. “What are you talking about?”
“The festival,” Alice explained with a confused frown. “Lord Barric told William you’d be coming.”
Rena was surprised Lord Barric had said any such thing to William and wondered how much of their conversation he had shared. Letting the blanket fall down a fraction, Rena gestured to her nightdress. “As you can see, Lord Barric was mistaken. I am not coming.”
Alice matched the gesture by holding up a lovely dress. The satin was rusty red, like autumn—like the blood moon. “I have no intention of letting you carry out the rest of your days like a hermit.” She crossed the room and dropped the fabric into Rena’s lap. “You are coming.”
“You’ve shown more than enough kindness,” Rena disagreed. “There’s no need to—”
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “If you stay locked up in here, everyone will know you were too afraid to come.”
Barric had suspected the same when he’d asked her about coming to the festival. And the truth was that Rena was afraid. Afraid of betraying Edric by living her life too soon after his death. Afraid of the whispers that still followed her wherever she went. Yes, even afraid of Thomas and Sir Ellis, that they might
be there too.
But she had sworn to be stronger, and maybe this was the moment to prove it.
She pulled herself up out of her chair, raising her eyebrows as if to say, Satisfied?
When Alice nodded her approval, motioning for Rena to strip out of her nightdress, Rena’s eyes fell back to the dress in her hands. “Oh, but it’s far too fine,” she protested, and reached for her usual black gown.
Nell stopped her, a gentle hand pressed against her shoulder. “It’s been well past two years,” she said softly. Rena’s eyes dropped. It was the first time Nell had called attention to Rena’s black garb, which she had already worn several months beyond the customary mourning period. Some days she wore it for penance, feeling like she had more to atone for than could possibly be done by earthly means, but she had to try something. Other days she wore it because she was not yet ready to release Edric, in much the same way Nell had wept over the graves in India, knowing once she left she would likely never visit them again.
“Edric would not want for you to wear it forever,” Nell whispered. Before Rena could disagree, Nell turned from her. “I’ll draw up a fresh basin of water,” she said, and then disappeared out the back door.
In Nell’s absence, Alice turned, giving Rena a modest moment to undress. Surrendering, Rena pulled out of her nightdress and climbed into her cotton chemise, followed by her drawers and stockings. Clearing her throat to signal she was through, Rena shuffled, cold on her feet, as Alice stepped up to fasten the corset.
“Not too tight,” Rena instructed as the boning cinched against her rib cage, pressing up and inward. Though she had begun wearing the British fashion when she’d married Edric, it still felt like a cage to her small frame, full of layers that clung in unnatural ways.
“Where are your petticoats?” Alice asked, a diplomatic question. She must have already known Rena did not own a wire crinoline, as was the current style, which made Alice’s own frame appear so impossibly bell-shaped. Alice shimmied the red dress over Rena’s shoulders, pulling the hemline down to brush the hardwood floor. Rena’s petticoats added some lift and width to her skirt, but not enough to make her look like any less of a skeleton, as Lord Barric had already once named her.
“I knew this color would look lovely with your complexion.” Alice smoothed out a few creases as she straightened out of her crouch. “Here, let’s undo your braid.”
Alice grabbed a few pins from the nightstand, then brandished a small jeweled net before signaling Rena to sit. As Alice fussed with her hair, Rena observed her friend’s bountiful curls, which were tied into a loose chignon at the back of her neck, with several careful spirals covering both ears. Rena winced against the scrape of hairpins, pulling her eyes away from her friend. Polished and poised and smelling faintly of lemon, Alice shimmered even in the dim candlelight. No matter how they dressed Rena or primped her, she would always stand out against Alice’s elegant, English beauty.
Alice briefly smoothed the top of Rena’s hair and stepped away to signal she was finished. Standing, Rena straightened the long sleeves and stole a surreptitious glance in the mirror across the room. She was surprised to find she looked like an entirely different person, her complexion much brighter now set against color. The sleeves hit low on her shoulders, but the dress was modest enough. Her hair was pulled into a gentle coil at the nape of her neck, secured loosely in the net so several waves escaped along the side of her face.
Nell slid back into the cabin, her smile curling as she shut the door quietly behind her. “You look incredibly beautiful, my child.” With gentle hands, she washed Rena’s hands, neck, and face with a wet cloth. Rena avoided Nell’s gaze, embarrassed to be trapped in such a dress while her shrouded heart was still very much that of a widow.
Rena pursed her lips as she slid into her shoes, the worn leather far too battered when set against the rest of her elegant ensemble. Then she pressed a kiss to Nell’s cheek and stepped outside. After weeks of enduring the chill of impending autumn, she was grateful for the evening’s warm wind, surprised when the thick air stuck to her skin and reminded her, strangely, of early mornings back home.
Like pursuing thunder, Rena’s feet followed the drumbeats rolling in the distance, a half step behind Alice as they made their way to the festival. They did not have to journey far. From the top of the hill, Lord Barric’s manor was brightly lit, its gray walls standing guard over the valley of rolling fields below. At the bottom of the hill, brushing the far edge of the tree line, six large bonfires roared, rimmed with people.
As they neared the first fire, Rena’s nose crinkled, unprepared for the heady mix of cinnamon and smoke that stung each nostril. Tables lined the festival’s perimeter, piled with enough food and drink to make Rena sick for a week. Since arriving in England, her stomach had become a stranger to nearly anything but bread and water. She remembered the feast she’d shared with Nell after Lord Barric had offered his fields to her. It had been the first time she had ever broken her family’s dietary laws and eaten meat—a decision she had made out of loyalty to Nell—but Rena had been so nauseated she had hardly slept that night and could barely drag herself out of bed to glean in the morning.
Frowning at the sickly memory, her gaze drifted over thick baskets weighted with apples to the hulking pork roasts skewered on spits. Every platter seemed slathered in sweet sauces and rich gravies, so different from the diet of spices and vegetables she had eaten at home. Everywhere Rena looked, she saw indulgence masked as celebration. Casks of deep autumn wine flowed freely into glasses, and those not drinking danced in lines near a low dais which was wreathed in orange and yellow flowers.
A fiddler ripped his bow against the strings, his eyes slicing sharply as the drummers carried the music into a crashing fever pitch. Nearly tripping over a stack of bulbous pumpkins, Rena watched the musicians, feeling their wild music as if their fingers and bows stirred her blood rather than strings.
It was a miracle the girls were not plowed over by the crowd altogether. People gathered in every open space of grass, their glasses full and eyes deliriously merry. Most of the masters gathered together, murmuring and laughing in expensive black suits, their waistcoats cut of every fine color imaginable. Alice smiled and nodded to William, who stood where a few of the tenant farmers had flocked to their own corner of the celebration.
As they circled the second fire, Rena spotted Lord Barric standing on the other side of the pit. Glass in hand, he stood close to the fire, his eyes trained on the flames as if he could see the wall of heat rolling toward him. A band of young women, several ranks above Rena, tangled like flames nearer to him, with teeth and ribbons flashing. Finally turning from the fire, Lord Barric offered a rare smile to one woman who was wearing a rich, jewel-colored dress. Immediately the woman broke into a feline grin.
Rena dropped her gaze to her hands, allowing the image of spitting flames to overlay Lord Barric’s casual expression as he spoke in the woman’s ear. Alice had said there wasn’t a girl from there to Liverpool who hadn’t set her cap at him, and here was the proof.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Alice slipped her hand around Rena’s arm and tugged her along. Before they reached the other side of the fire, however, a young man with playful eyes pressed briefly to Alice’s side, leaning at the waist to drop a few words into her ear. A slow, pleased smile drew across her face, and she squeezed Rena’s hand with a silent message.
“Forgive me,” Alice whispered. “I’ll be but a moment. Eat something in the meantime.”
Rena did not wish to eat. She wished to go home. She felt like an insufferable traitor to Edric for wearing Alice’s red dress, unsettled by the way it hit low on her shoulders and made her copper skin glow.
She trailed Alice and her partner to the end of the makeshift dance floor, watching the young couples stomp out the steps to a raucous, fast-paced dance. Alice’s young man seemed harmless enough, albeit a flirt. He wore homespun clothes, clean and pressed, and his dusty hair sh
adowed his eyes as he led Alice to the lines of dancers. He made Alice laugh, his hands eagerly searching out her waist each time they were rematched at the end of the row, and he had a habit of whispering when they were very close.
Rena wondered again that Alice had not yet married. Several men openly watched her friend, as though pleased by her laughing eyes, and Rena hoped with a pang that Alice was not saving her heart for Lord Barric, a man far too high in rank to consider marrying his steward’s sister.
Rena was about to turn away from the dancers when she sensed a presence beside her. She didn’t have to lift her eyes to know the voice when it spoke. William. “I see you’ve come out of hiding.”
“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” Rena replied, following William’s eyes to his sister, who stared at her partner with a bold, immovable smile.
The steward looped his arms loosely in front of his chest, his eyes not once leaving Alice and her companion. “Ah. So, taken hostage, then?”
“Your sister is very…persuasive.”
William barked a laugh and shook his head.
“She is kind,” Rena observed. “I like her.”
Arms folded against his chest, William continued watching Alice and the other dancers with a look of bored detachment. “You should know that people talk,” he said. “About you. And him. About your…arrangement.”
Though surprised by the boldness of the remark, Rena still managed to answer his suspicion in a steady voice. “Do you think I did not know that?”
The angular lines of William’s face sharpened into an expression that seemed oddly foreign to his usually reserved features.
“You may be prepared to martyr yourself to gossip,” he said tightly. “But I’m not ready or willing to see Barric make a fool of himself without good cause.”
Rena heard a burst of smothered laughter nearby and glanced to the side, where a group of men watched her with open, curious eyes, clearly amused by her conversation with William. Drink in hand, one of the men leaned closer as if hoping to catch their words.
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