anyway?’ She bit the inside of her cheek at the words. She hadn’t meant them to sound quite so self-pitying.
‘I can think of a lot of reasons, but I think what you need more than anything else at this moment is a rest. You look exhausted.’
‘Do I? I don’t feel tired. I usually do much more in a day.’
‘I didn’t say tired, I said exhausted. There’s a difference and you, my dear, are the latter. You work far too hard at the Foundation.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s too much for Mother to manage on her own.’
‘Perhaps, but she wants you to be happy more than she wants your help.’ Alexandra touched her chin gently. ‘Self-sacrifice is all very well, but not if it causes you to make foolish decisions.’
‘I’m not…’
‘In any case,’ Alexandra spoke over her, ‘you’re staying with me for a fortnight. There’ll be plenty of time to think about the future and make a decision after Christmas. In the meantime, I want you to rest.’
‘Yes, Cousin.’
Millie smiled half-heartedly as they put on their bonnets and capes and went out on to the front steps of the mansion into a world transformed. The moon was full and high, making the sky shimmer with snowflakes that danced and spun like falling stars all around them. It was hardly like night-time at all, Millie thought, catching her breath in wonderment. It was beautiful, as if a white cloak had been draped over the landscape. Even the air tasted different. Crisp and clean, utterly unlike that of London.
‘Here we are.’ Alexandra put an arm around her shoulders as three carriages rolled alongside the front steps. ‘You go ahead with the others. I’ll wait for your mother.’
‘No, you go.’ Millie looked at her pleadingly. ‘If you don’t mind, I don’t think I can bear any more conversation tonight. I’ll wait for Mama.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes…’ she smiled ruefully ‘…and I promise to go straight to bed when I get back.’
‘All right. If that’s what you want, then I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, dear.’
Millie waved goodbye, waiting until the first two carriages had rattled away before turning back into the house. Her mother had made it as far as the hallway, though she seemed in no hurry to leave, still engrossed in conversation with the handsome gentleman. Something about the way they were standing made her avert her face again quickly, too, struck with the distinct impression that she was interrupting something private.
She looked up at the falling snow again, wondering what to do next. She could climb into the last carriage, she supposed, but she didn’t want to shut herself up inside just yet, not when the world looked so breathtaking. And surely a quick stroll through the gardens wouldn’t hurt?
She threw a swift glance over her shoulder and then hurried down the mansion steps, over the gravel drive and across the lawn. It was positively luminescent, she thought delightedly, the snow beneath her feet making soft crumpling sounds as she wandered into a small grove where a line of willow trees obscured any view of the house. It was like a fairy-tale grotto, secret and silent and peaceful, the trees all bedecked with sparkling crystalline pendants. A memory popped into her mind, of throwing snowballs in the park with Silas and Lottie as children. They’d charged around like hoydens while their parents had watched arm in arm from the path. It was a happy memory, but bittersweet, too. She’d been so much more carefree and adventurous back then, always running about and getting into scrapes. What had happened to her? As a woman, she obviously couldn’t expect the same freedom allowed to her brother, but Lottie still managed to be fun. Why—when?—had she become so dull?
She didn’t have time to think of an answer, whirling around at the muffled sound of wheels and hooves coming from the direction of the driveway. Catching up her skirts, she ran back out of the grotto just in time to see the last of the carriages roll away from the house.
‘Wait!’
She started to run and then stopped. Even without the snow slowing her down she doubted she’d be able to catch it. Obviously her mother had thought that she’d left with the others and taken the carriage by herself. Which was a reasonable assumption, given the weather and the fact that, foolishly, she hadn’t told anyone except Alexandra that she was waiting behind. It was her own fault for straying so far from the house, but surely once her mother got back to the village and discovered her mistake, she’d send the carriage back? Unless her mother assumed that she’d gone straight to bed…and if Alexandra assumed the same thing…and she’d told the maid not to wait up for her… Well, then there was a very real chance that no one would realise she was missing until morning.
Millie closed her eyes in mortification, weighing up the choices before her. The thought of throwing herself on the mercy of Lady Fentree and begging a room for the night made her shudder, as did that of admitting her mistake and asking for another carriage. No, those alternatives didn’t bear thinking about, which meant the only other thing she could do was walk. Which, since she was wearing practical boots, didn’t seem like too much of a hardship. It was only a couple of miles to the village, after all—three at most—and the snow wasn’t so heavy, nothing to worry about anyway.
She turned her feet in the direction of the gate and started purposely towards it. The more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea of a walk became. It wasn’t what sensible and boring Miss Amelia Fairclough would do, but it was right up the alley of her previous incarnation, Millie Fairclough, intrepid twin and plucky explorer.
She loosened the strings of her bonnet and tugged at the pins of her bun underneath, letting the auburn tresses unravel about her shoulders. There, she didn’t have to be so strait-laced all of the time. Alexandra was right, there was no need for her to think about the future just yet. Tonight, she wouldn’t think about the future at all. Tonight she would forget the rest of the world even existed, stick her tongue out at the Fentree mansion and be Millie again.
And a moonlit walk in the snow sounded like a perfectly wonderful idea.
Cassius Whitlock, the thirteenth Marquess of Falconmore, stretched his legs out in front of the fire and refused to open his eyes. It was the only way to pretend that the knocking he could hear on his front door was a figment of his imagination and not what—or more precisely who—he suspected it was.
The blasted woman had followed him.
After half a minute or so the knocking stopped and he slid deeper into the comfort of his armchair, breathing a sigh of relief and ruthlessly suppressing any feeling of guilt. There was no need to feel guilty, after all. The chances of Sylvia walking any distance on foot were about equal to those of her flying. She could simply take the carriage she’d doubtless commandeered back to the hall. And who was to say that he hadn’t dreamed the knocking sound anyway? He’d been dozing beforehand so perhaps it really had been a figment of his imagination, although what that implied about his current mental state he didn’t want to consider, not tonight anyway. He’d already drunk far too much port to come up with anything coherent, let alone helpful. No, overall it was far better to leave thinking until tomorrow and then find another reason not to.
Delaying, deferring, dragging his heels—those were the things he’d become good at over the past year. Avoiding subjects he didn’t want to think about had become his speciality. Why else would he be hiding away like some frightened schoolboy in an empty property on the edge of his estate rather than confronting his problems face to face?
At least the gatehouse was warm and dry, two of the most important considerations on a foul night like this one. The temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees just in the half-hour it had taken him to walk up the drive. Now that he was firmly