by Amy Field
A gust of wind whistled through the garden as the first of her tears escaped, dripping down her cheeks and onto her satin gloves and gown. She sniffled.
“Ellie, my dear?” a soft voice called.
“I’m over here, Mother,” Ellie replied. She watched as her mother gracefully strolled down the cobblestone path. With a tall, slim figure and only a touch of gray streaking her ebony hair, her mother still turned heads with her elegant beauty.
“I was told that you’ve spoken with your father,” she explained, taking a seat on a nearby stone bench.
“Does nothing happen in this house that the servants do not know?” Ellie remarked with a touch of sarcasm.
“Of course not, and you would be wise never to forget,” she said with a flick of her gloved hand.
“Why, Mother? Why would Father do such a thing?” Ellie sobbed, her head in her hands.
“Darling, this arrangement is beyond our control. The Commander and your father made these decisions many months ago. You know that neither you nor I can change what has been decided. We simply must make the best of your upcoming nuptials. Therefore, in honor of your engagement, we shall throw a ball—the grandest of the season, I assure you.”
“A ball? I’ve yet to meet the Commander. Isn’t he still away at war in France?”
“The war officially ended two months ago, Ellie. You must brush up on your knowledge of current affairs. Of course, the Commander will be in attendance at the ball held in honor of his own engagement. You will meet him then,” her mother replied, rising from her seat and retreating from the gardens.
Ellie wasn’t ready to leave her sanctuary just yet. Once she rose from the sweetly scented lavender, she’d have to resign to her fate. To be the wife of a man she’d never met, the mother of children that weren’t hers, and the lovely, voiceless prize on the arm of the country’s most dashing and celebrated hero.
THE BALL
Ellie fidgeted with the lacework trailing from the puffed sleeves of her ivory satin gown and tried not to move around too much, lest one of the peach roses pinned into her chestnut curls tumbled out of place. She attempted to take a deep breath, but the constricting gown with its gold trim and Italian lace was too uncomfortably tight to allow for such a luxury.
“My dear, may I present to you, the Commander in Chief of the British Army, his grace, the Earl of Southerland. Lord Southerland, standing before you is our most beloved daughter, Lady Eleanor,” her father introduced them with a flourished wave in Lyndhurst Hall’s gilded ballroom. Enough candles filled the room to light an entire village and cascades of peonies, roses, and ferns covered everything.
Ellie studied Lord Southerland briefly. Tall and masculine, the Commander was handsome, but his features were too harsh, his dark eyes too cool for her liking. His black hair was shot through with silver and a scar cut through one of his eyebrows. Something about him sent a shiver down Ellie’s spine.
He gingerly took the gloved hand she extended and kissed it. “Lady Eleanor, you are lovelier than I could have ever imagined.” He smiled at her.
“Why, thank you, my lord,” she replied, curtseying.
“Shall we dance?” he asked, offering his arm. Ellie nodded and placed a hand on his brushed velvet coat as he led her to the center of the ballroom. As they danced a lively quadrille, she tried her best to enjoy it.
“I trust you are enjoying yourself, Lady Eleanor?” he asked as they spun around.
“Yes, my Lord. I love to dance,” she told him.
“Lovely.” He smiled down at her, and Ellie felt her heart warm slightly for the strange man soon to be her husband.
When the dance ended, Lord Southerland escorted her from the dance floor.
“Good evening, gentleman,” he announced as they approached a group of officers near the doors to the veranda.
The group nodded and bowed as required by their ranking.
“Lady Eleanor, I would like you to meet a few of my finest men,” Lord Southerland said, gesturing to the men. Ellie politely smiled and curtseyed as he introduced his officers to her, but as he reached the last of them, her heart strangely warmed and felt tight in her chest.
“This man is making quite the rise among the ranks with his keen intellect and swift bravery. Lady Eleanor, I’d like you to meet Captain Wyndmere.”
Ellie dipped slightly as Captain Wyndmere with his windblown hair and bright blue eyes staring intensely into her own, smiled kindly. The room suddenly grew warm, and Ellie untied her silk fan.
“Ellie, my dear!” a high-pitched female called. She turned to see her childhood friend, Elizabeth, waving happily.
“I see you are wanted by a friend. Just as well, I’ve need to attend to a pressing matter,” Lord Southerland informed her, parting ways with her as she closed the distance between herself and Elizabeth.
“Is it true then, Ellie? Are you to be married?” she exclaimed, taking Ellie’s hands in her own.
“It is,” Ellie said, hoping she sounded pleasant.
“I’m quite jealous! They say the Commander is second only to the king in status and loyalty among the country,” Elizabeth remarked.
“I suppose. I’ve only just met him. Excuse me, Elizabeth, but I must get a bit of air and a moment to collect my thoughts,” Ellie explained, rushing away from her kind, but oblivious, friend and the stifling press of the crowd.
“Lady Eleanor,” a male voice called. Something about the way he said her name—almost like a song with a hint of mirth and mischief just below the surface filled her with butterflies.
“Yes?” she turned and saw the dashing Captain Wyndmere awaiting her attention.
“Might you dance with me?” he asked, bowing.
“I suppose so,” she nodded, hoping her elation at his request didn’t show.
On the dance floor, the slow tune of a minuet began. With each calculated step, Ellie’s eyes never left Captain Wyndmere’s, and when their hands clasped, an intense burn singed her inner being. What was it about this man that mesmerized her?
All too soon, the music ended, and Ellie saw her father peering suspiciously at her dance partner from across the room.
“Excuse me, Captain Wyndmere, I need a bit of fresh air,” she told him with a quick curtsey before rushing off to the seclusion of the garden.
Chapter Two
Finally alone with her tumultuous thoughts, Ellie rested against the stone garden wall, comforted by the fading twilight and the stillness of the evening air, until a faint moan brought her wandering mind to attention. Ellie glanced around her, but with only a trace of the dusk left, she couldn’t see much of her dark surroundings.
Again, she heard the soft cry of what sounded like a woman. Someone must be hurt! She lifted her gown and searched for the source of the noise.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is someone hurt?” With the lantern lights coming from the center of the garden, she turned the corner and saw movement in the distance. She rushed towards the movement, and then her eyes widened, and she gasped when the sight came into focus.
Ellie gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
“Lady Eleanor!” her fiancée cried in surprise, fumbling to extricate himself from the woman beneath him. Ellie glanced from him to the female figure lying on her favorite patch of lavender, a woman who, stretched languidly on her back, certainly did not wear the expression of a damsel in distress. Ellie recognized the woman with her skirts around her waist as Lady Blakely, a wealthy widow known for her questionable moral compass.
“I-I must go!” Ellie cried, running from the scene of passion and her betrothed as fast as she could. Marrying this man was the last thing she wanted! Running with her heart, not her head, she soon found herself in Lyndhurst’s vast stables.
Sneaking past the grooms busy with a game of cards, she crept into the stall of her mare, Leona, shimmied up and onto the horse’s pale gray back. All along the while thanking her lucky stars that she’d been blessed with magic when it came to
horses and much to her parents’ chagrin, practically lived in the stables during her childhood summers. Her gray mare stood patient and still as it took Ellie a few tries to master the old trick of hopping on her bareback from her youthful years. It only proved more difficult while wearing an expensive ball gown.
Once she’d managed to position herself astride the horse, her dress tucked scandalously about her knees, she leaned over to speak softly into the horse’s ear. “Now, Leona girl, I need you to slip out of here as quiet as a church mouse, and we’ll ride like the wind once we clear the paddock, alright, love?” Ellie soothed.
With the ball in full swing, music pouring from the open windows and doors, no one noticed as Ellie directed Leona out of the stable. Ellie slowly edged her way down the long, winding drive, and as soon as Leona’s hooves hit the packed earth of the main road, she kicked in her heels and urged the horse into a full gallop. As she rode wildly away, the wind pulled the pins from her tresses and her hair waved in long curls like a flag of freedom behind her.
She rode fast and hard, afraid that any moment someone would try to catch her and drag her back to her fancy, gold-trimmed prison. Still unsure as to her plan, she simply let Leona lead, trusting that wherever she ended up would be better than the place she was leaving behind.
An hour into her liberating journey, the chill of the night began to seep in, and Ellie wished she’d thought to wear a shawl. Thunder began to rumble ominously to the east, and Ellie urged Leona from her casual saunter. She’d need to find lodging soon.
As she peered in front of her, unable to see much of anything, a fat drop of rain landed on the tip of her nose. Another landed on her bare arm. Then another. Before she knew it, rain poured from the sky in unrelenting sheets, drenching her and Leona to the core. Having no choice, she began to guide Leona to shelter under a tree to wait out the summer storm, but out of nowhere, an intense jolt of lightning sizzled in front of them, followed by an earth-shattering boom of thunder, startling the horse and causing her to rear back.
Unprepared for Leona’s frightened reaction, Ellie fell from the horse, her body slamming into the muddy road with a thud as the terrified horse ran away, surely back to the Lyndhurst Hall stables. Minutes passed while Ellie lay there, too shocked and afraid to move. Her hip and shoulder throbbed, but she couldn’t stay curled in a heap on the soggy road while the rain continued to fall relentlessly.
After a few tries, Ellie managed to pick herself up and limp in her sodden skirts to the fence lining the side of the road. Scooting her body to perch on the stones beneath the makeshift shelter of a tree, she settled in to await help.
A while later, Ellie wasn’t sure how long since each minute ticked by in agonizing slowness while she endured rivulets of water trickled off of her gown, inside her stays, and even into her shoes, she heard the welcome sound of a horse galloping. The steady beat only grew louder. Her heart soared—help was on its way!
But as the horse drew close and lightning illuminated the sky, she realized it could very well be a highwayman. The horse approaching was large and dark and held a broad rider. She gasped, but quickly slapped her hand over her mouth to cover the noise. Maybe, if she stayed utterly still, the stranger would ride away without noticing her.
“Lady Eleanor!” the rider called into the wind.
Her eyes widened. In a surprising turn of events, she prayed it was someone here to return her to the safety of Lyndhurst Hall. Returning was much preferable to dying at the hands of a stranger or catching her death of cold on the side of the road.
“Here! I’m here!” She stumbled from her hiding place, tripping on the swirling sogginess of gown clinging to her legs and falling to the muddy ground once again.
The rider stopped short, his horse neighing in protest.
“Lady Eleanor?” he asked, hopping down from his ride and rushing over to assist her, “It’s me, Captain Wyndmere,” he explained as he helped her rise.
“How did you find me?” she asked breathlessly, clinging to him as he led her to his waiting stallion.
“I saw you rush from the gardens, clearly distressed. I apologize, but I followed you after our dance to make sure you were alright,” he said sheepishly.
“Please don’t apologize—I’m thankful for your assistance,” she assured.
“We’ve got to get you out of this weather,” he said swiftly, helping her onto his horse and swinging up behind her. He grabbed the reins and she sunk back against his chest as the horse broke into a swift pace. “I believe the Huntington’s country manor is just up the road. We’ll seek lodging and wait out the storm.”
She nodded wordlessly, closing her eyes in exhaustion as they rode. Despite the roaring wind and unfamiliar surroundings, she felt oddly at peace and secure in the arms of a man she’d only known for a handful of hours. Her lips curled at the irony, remembering her tireless lament about marrying a stranger.
Chapter Three
Ellie tossed and turned beneath the embroidered coverlet. Despite her heavy eyelids and aching exhaustion, sleep evaded her in her foreign surroundings. Although the Huntingtons were acquaintances of her family, she’d never visited their modest country manor, and after her harrowing evening, spending the night in their second-floor guest room made her doubt, even more, her hasty decision to flee Lyndhurst Hall.
As soon as the silver light of predawn began to seep into the shadows of the dated room, Ellie rose. She slipped out of the nightgown Lady Huntington’s housekeeper had given her to wear and into a day dress two inches too short and far too loose in the bosom. Plaiting her thick hair into a braid, she squeezed her feet into the slippers of the younger Huntington daughter and with no looking glass in the bedroom, had to trust that she looked presentable enough for the journey back to Lyndhurst.
Moments later, when she entered the dining room to break her fast, she saw Captain Wyndmere sitting at the table alone. She dipped a quick curtsey as he stood to greet her.
“I trust you slept well,” he said as she turned to the boiled eggs, fruits and scones set out on the buffet to make a plate at her leisure.
“As well as expected under the circumstances,” she replied taking a seat at the table.
“Lord and Lady Huntington have yet to rise,” he explained as she glanced around the empty table.
“I hope to be on our way as soon as possible,” she said, taking a bite of a blueberry scone.
“Certainly, Lady Carrington. I’m sure your family is quite worried.”
She sighed. “I suppose so.”
“Lady Carrington?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Might I be so bold as to ask why you left the ball unaccompanied?”
“Seeing as I owe you my very life, I shall tell you the truth. As you know, I am to marry the Commander, though I do not wish to do so. After we had been introduced to one another yesterday evening, I had a moment of hope that marriage to him might not be as terrible as I’d assumed. However, I ventured to the gardens and happened upon him and Lady Blakely in a most compromising position,” she told him, her cheeks flushing.
Captain Wyndmere coughed. “I see. I apologize, Lady Carrington. Any man lucky enough to be engaged to a beautiful and spirited lady such as yourself, must not be in his right mind to seek the arms of another woman,” he confessed, his voice low.
She bowed her head as the warmth of his words washed over her. Her heart pounded in her chest. “You are too kind,” she whispered.
“I know I am too forward, but my lady, I find it quite a fate of fortune to be here with you, seeing as you have stolen my heart.”
“Captain Wyndmere, you mustn’t speak of such things,” she stammered, “I am engaged to be married.”
“I know, but to a man who does not love you. Tell me, does your heart not quicken when we are together? Do you not long for me the way that I long for you?”
She stared at her hands folded in her lap. She’d only known him one day. How did he know this? That she felt for him
in a way she’d never experienced before? That the idea of his leaving her at Lyndhurst Hall today and possibly never seeing each other again drove her mad?
“I think we should be on our way. I’ll pen a note for the Huntingtons. Surely, they will understand,” she said, rising from the table and motioning for a servant.
“I’ll ready the horse,” He stood and bowed before leaving the room. She let out a deep breath; she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it once she was alone. Captain Wyndmere stirred feelings within her surely not appropriate for a chaste woman soon to be married—even if her husband to be was not of her choosing.
“Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” Captain Wyndmere asked as she stepped upon the mounting block.
“Just a hand, please,” she permitted, letting him help her settle on the pillion. He followed, lithely swinging up and onto the black stallion with ease. Being in such close proximity to him did nothing to calm her heart’s rapid fluttering.
With a jolt, they were off, and Ellie had to cling to him to keep from losing her seat. She hardly ever rode in such a precarious fashion, and she had trouble staying upright at his swift pace.
“We’ll have you home before luncheon, my lady,” he remarked over his shoulder.
“Ah, yes. I see,” she replied vaguely. What would be waiting for her behind the thick, scrolled doors of Lyndhurst Hall? An angry father, an embarrassed mother, and an outraged fiancé? Most likely. Ellie didn’t look forward to her impending arrival.
“I’m afraid, there may be talk of your reputation. I only say this as a warning, of course,” he said a moment later.
“I’ve figured as much. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I rode away yesterday evening, and I will try to explain as best I can,” she ventured.
“I know that, but when you arrive with me, gossip will spread among the county before the first course is served at luncheon,” he explained.