As she trudged toward the house, her pace now much slower, its size became even more apparent. It must have over three hundred rooms!
There were two main wings to the three-story L-shaped stone house. Attached to the end of the longest wing was a large Norman tower. In the middle of shortest wing, an elegant curved double staircase led to massive double doors. As she stared at the enormous house, her thoughts and fears took on a life of their own—they reared, kicked at the traces, and bolted like runaway horses.
She had taken this journey one step at a time. First the decision to journey to Clairvale, then the journey itself where she only thought about how she might find John. But now she had no idea what to do when she reached the house. She couldn’t just knock on the front door and ask to speak to him.
Her steps slowed until she came to a halt. She couldn’t go on. The helpful ostler at the inn had given her no time to think about what to do next. She really needed to turn back, get more information, and make a plan.
She turned around and started to reverse her steps. Then stopped as she fought with herself. She’d come all this way. She had to know why he hadn’t been at the masquerade, why he hadn’t sent word.
She had to know if he’d tired of her. Every year she’d thought he would end it, so she shouldn’t be surprised. She shook herself. The John she knew would have told her it was over.
And so she circled back to her greatest concern—something had happened to him. Tired of arguing with herself, she turned back toward the house. She had to know.
Anyway, he might not even live there. Given her vague description, perhaps the ostler had made a mistake. Even if he hadn’t, she didn’t know who John was. He could be a second son. Or the butler.
Noel gave a very unladylike snort. Deep inside, she knew he was the lord of this estate. He had an air of self-assurance, a confidence and belief in himself. He was the epitome of a titled aristocrat.
She’d always known what he was. It was why she’d been so happy with their bargain. If it were said out loud, then she’d have had to give him up. She couldn’t have anything to do with the world he inhabited.
And she had no business being here. They’d agreed the masquerade was the only world in which they lived together. She was breaking their agreement. Would he understand? Would he forgive her?
As she got closer to the house, she was able to see more details. There was something on the entrance doors. Closer still and it was revealed to be a wreath. But not a Christmas one. As she stared, she realized the windows were covered with mourning curtains.
The bolting horses inside her came to an abrupt halt as every part of her being screamed, and she doubled over, choked by a series of sobs.
After what seemed like an age, the chill wind tearing at her thin pelisse impinged on her consciousness. She straightened, stared at the house, and then turned and began to walk back down the long drive.
There was no reason to go on.
About Peta
I’ve been enchanted with romance and history since I was eight and read a book called “Mara” where an Egyptian slave and noble fall in love and along the way save Egypt. By eleven, I was secretly reading my mother’s and sister’s romances, and by fourteen had my own substantial collection in which Georgette Heyer figured strongly.
No longer content with just reading books, I’ve turned to writing my own. My writing has been strongly influenced by my love of regency and paranormal romances as well as social history, especially food history.
Copyright © 2019 by Peta Lee Rose
Cover art by Deranged Doctor Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-0-473-49366-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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