"I have not the slightest, Miss Brown. The way I heard it, he was rejected and to soothe his pride he went off in search of a wife. Next we heard, he's married some girl!"
Catherine knew she should retreat but she was glued to the spot: too curious for her own good. There was so much to learn about her husband. Before he asked her to marry, there had been another woman. Perhaps that's why he had rushed the wedding.
"Have you seen her yet?" Miss Brown whispered.
"Yes, a pale little thing, dark hair and huge eyes. Utterly average, really. I cannot imagine why a gentleman would settle for her."
"Maybe she has a bit of personality?" Miss Brown offered, though she sounded skeptical.
"Not that I have seen. She's silent as death, and when she speaks you should hear the airs she puts on, you would think she is Queen Victoria herself!"
Hearing this harsh assessment, she turned to leave. It was bad enough she had listened this long, but their next words held her in place.
"Maybe Lord Thornton is enchanted, growing up next to that forest. I have heard some awful tales."
"Don't be daft. Those are just stories mothers tell their children to keep them minding."
"I would like to see you going for a stroll during a Thorn Dwellers' Moon."
Miss White laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Let's take this washing in. It won't dry out here in this wet.""
The sounds of the gravel crunched beneath their feet as they retreated. How disgraceful, to eavesdrop on the housemaids! Tears pricked her eyes, and Catherine backtracked the way she came, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable run-in with the gossiping maids. If she had been a braver woman, or even a brasher one, she would have confronted the two of them. However, her cowardice sent her further from home than she planned on venturing.
She hurried along the path, her mind swirling with their criticisms. They were not incorrect in their assessments. She was the daughter of a gentleman of little standing who could hardly offer a dowry that would entice any man, and Edward was a lord of considerable income. He would have done better to marry someone whose dowry could have added to his own wealth. Men of his status married for gain, not for love. But he swore he loved her, and could not be without her. Being desperate as she was Catherine agreed, though she did not know her own feelings. What if she was meant to be a replacement for another woman?
The fog seemed to be growing rather than dissipating, and since she was not paying attention to where she was going, before too long she was lost. She looked up and the house loomed in the distance. It was a two-story manor, ivy clung to its sides, and turrets erupted through the fog like spears. In the swirling mist, one would think the house abandoned. Trees lined the path she had stumbled upon. Judging from the overgrown beds, she suspected few came this way. A bench beneath an oak tree promised a good spot to rest and recollect herself.
The sun struggled to break through the haze of the earlier rainfall and she shivered in her coat. The bench was practically ice as she sat down upon it. The cold seeped through her skirts, but she did not move, too afraid she would be seen tear-stained and sniveling.
A breeze prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Catherine looked up as the fog shifted and exposed a copse of tangled dark trees. They lay thirty paces from where she sat beyond the line of oaks, and were swirled with mist. The branches seemed to reach out for one another, grasping and twisting until she could not decipher where one tree started and the other ended.
It struck her as odd to see such an untamed place among the manicured lawns and well-cared-for hedges and flowerbeds, well, except for these at her feet. It occurred to her: this must be the place of which Mrs. Morgan had spoken. A fine mess she had gotten into. Looking at these dark woods, she could see where the maids' superstitious fears came from. The trees were ominous.
A faint song drifted on the wind. Catherine lifted her head to listen, straining to catch the tune. The words were unearthly, the singer somewhere between man and woman, the voice high and fluting. It beckoned to her. She stood and edged towards the end of the gravel path where the manicured lawns sloped down towards and crashed against the wild forest. The song grew clearer; she could almost make out the words. If she just stepped a few feet closer she could hear it better.
"Be careful," an amused male voice said.
Catherine tensed and then twirled on the ball of her foot. A man with wavy dark hair tied into a knot at the base of his neck smirked at her. His white teeth flashed against his olive skin as his smile widened. His smile was almost lewd, but that could have been her imagination. She ducked her head when she realized she had been staring.
"Haven't you heard the stories?" he asked.
The sensible thing to do would be to politely excuse herself, but her mouth moved without her consent. "What stories?"
"Those are the Thorn Dwellers' Woods. The locals say there are creatures who live in these woods, and at night they lure the unsuspecting in with their song before they take their heart."
She shivered and pulled her arms close to her. There was a reason she hated the untamed places; they were full of dark strange things. Her heart raced just thinking about it.
"What an awful tale," she said and hated the haughty contempt of her voice. He smiled again and she fidgeted. "I should be heading back. It was a pleasure speaking with you......" She realized he had not introduced himself, nor had she. She was not certain she wanted an introduction. A gentleman would never tell a lady such a ghastly story. It had been anything but a pleasure. Good manners, however, had been ingrained in her like breathing.
"The pleasure was mine, Lady Thornton," he said.
She turned to face him as if drawn in by the spell of his voice. She searched his face. He had full lips, high cheekbones, and eyes dancing with mirth. He was handsome. Even she could not deny that.
"Who are you?" Even though she knew she should leave, Catherine lingered.
"My apologies, my lady. My name is Ray." He bowed and extended his arms as he did so. His movements were as fluid as water and as elegant as a dancer. The hairs on the back of her neck were raised and everything fiber in being was telling her to run but she could not move. A small part of her, despite her fear, was intrigued. The staff had all been cold to her and he had been the first kind person she met.
"You have no surname?"
"It's Thorn. Ray Thorn." He smirked as if he were indulging in his own private amusement.
"I should be going back now."
"Be careful, my lady."
She hesitated. She may have been reading into his words, but that was the second time he had said that. Perhaps she was searching for a meaning where there was none. She decided not to ask. Sometimes things were better left without answers. But she took a few steps before changing her mind. When she turned around, the spot he had occupied was vacated as if he had disappeared into the mist.
Read more here.
Nicolette is a native San Diegan with a passion for the world of make believe. From a young age, Nicolette was telling stories whether it be writing plays for her friends to act out or making a series of children's books that her mother still likes drag out to embarrass her with in front of company. She still lives in her imagination but in reality she resides in San Diego with her husband, children, a couple cats, and an old dog. She loves reading, attempting arts and crafts, and cooking. Connect with her at: Website, Facebook, Twitter.
Also by nicolette andrews
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Fairy Ring
Fairy Ring Page 7