Page 53 of Winterset

Kate

It took me less than thirty minutes to change out of my ball gown and pull the pearls from my hair. Nora packed my belongings and set the small satchel on the edge of the bed. I stared at it and marveled that my necessary belongings could fit inside one tiny bundle.

“You’re sure you want to do this, miss?” Nora chewed her lower lip.

“I am. Do you have a piece of paper?” I wanted to write Hannah to thank her and tell her what Oliver and I had decided.

Oliver was downstairs even now telling his brother our plans, but after everything Hannah had done for me, I thought she deserved to hear the details from me.

It was the least I could do for the kindness she’d shown me.

Nora handed me a paper and pencil, and I moved to the vanity table. It took me only a moment to write the note. I didn’t worry about my words; I just wrote. When I was finished, I folded the paper in half and wrote Hannah’s name on the front.

“See that she receives this tonight.” I handed Nora the note.

“Of course, miss.”

“Thank you for your help, Nora.”

She nodded again, and I could tell from the way she rubbed her lips that she wanted to say something.

“What is it?” I said.

“There are other ways to marry Mr. Jennings. If you wait until morning, I’m sure Lord Jennings could procure a special license. Waiting would protect your reputation and Mr. Jennings’s too.”

I didn’t explain that I had no reputation to protect—dead ladies don’t—but I did worry about Oliver’s. I knew how much this marriage would cost him.

“Does your father disapprove of the marriage?” Nora asked.

“It’s not that,” I said but did not elaborate. Had Father been alive, he would have given us his blessing. “Running away, marrying in secret is the only way Oliver and I can be together.”

I could tell Nora didn’t understand, and she definitely disapproved, but she nodded.

“Thank you,” I told her again as I lifted the small satchel and left the room. It took only moments for me to descend the stairs and walk out the front door.

A single carriage waited on the drive.

My stomach fluttered with excitement. Oliver was waiting for me inside that carriage.

I lifted the hem of my skirt and ran down the stone steps. I couldn’t make my feet move fast enough.

The carriage door opened from the inside as I neared. There was no footman to help me inside, but the step was down, and Oliver reached out his gloved hand.

I slipped my hand into his, and he effortlessly pulled me up.

He was sitting in the rear-facing seat, so I sat in the forward-facing one across from him.

The carriage was dark inside, and Oliver wore a black hooded cloak, hiding his face, making this moment feel every bit the clandestine arrangement that it was.

Perhaps I, too, should have taken more care to conceal my appearance.

Before I could worry too much, Oliver knocked his knuckles to the carriage ceiling, and it jolted into motion down the long drive.

Oliver relaxed back into his seat, and although I couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel the intensity of his stare. I’d imagined that when I climbed into the carriage, he’d pull me into his arms and whisper words of love.

But he said nothing.

Not as we drove down the long drive or when the carriage swayed onto the main lane nor even after we’d traveled that road for a few minutes. And as I stared at him in the darkness, my delight was overshadowed by uncertainty.

Did Oliver doubt our decision?

And if he did, did I have the strength to tell him to turn back?

“Will you not say anything to me?” I asked him.

Oliver tilted his head stiffly to the side. And there was something in that small motion that didn’t feel right. That didn’t feel like Oliver.

But no.

I was sure I must be imagining it—worrying about what we were doing and creating doubts where none existed—but I wouldn’t be able to calm down until I saw his face and looked into his eyes. Then I would know for certain that he still wanted to marry me.

“Remove your hood,” I said.

He reached both hands up and gripped the sides of the hood and slowly pulled it back. But he was sitting too far back in his seat, and his face was still obscured by shadow.

“Lean forward,” I said.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slowly did what I said.

My gasp filled the carriage.

Not Oliver.

It was the stranger I’d danced with earlier.

Then with a swift motion, almost gloating, he removed his mask, and I wasn’t surprised to see that he was no stranger at all.

It was Lord Markham.

I threw myself at the door and fumbled for the handle. I found it and opened the door. Despite the fast speed of the carriage, I would have leaped, but Markham stepped on my hem, preventing my escape.

He grabbed my hair and dragged me back inside the carriage, then tossed me into my seat. Towering over me, he used his weight to pin me in place and held my wrists in one hand.

I tried to free myself from his grasp, but I was no match for his strength.

He worked to untie his cravat and then ripped it from his neck. I worried he was going to put it around my neck, but he tied it tightly around my wrists. Then he tugged the cloth, and seeming satisfied that it was secure, he sat in the seat opposite me again and smiled .

“Hello, Miss Lockwood. It’s been too long.”