She turned once more to the window. They thought they had her trapped, her father and her aunt. Trapped into marrying the anonymous lackwit. She huffed out a snort. It would come as no surprise to her to learn he’d been paid to take her off their hands and thus relieve the family of their “embarrassment”.
Well, they might think she was trapped. But hadn’t been sewing samplers in the past three years. She’d bred horses. She knew horses. And she’d befriended a traveling band of people who knew as much, if not more, than she did.
Of course, they were completely unacceptable to the gentry, since they were gypsies. But Charis hadn’t cared a whit. When it came to her little stable, Charis was focused and desperate to learn all she could. And, truthfully, the friendship of the Romany, especially Jenny, had helped the summers pass more happily for the lonely woman Charis was becoming.
Neither her father nor Aunt Margaret knew that Jenny and her family were traveling to Hampshire right now. They might already be camped somewhere in the New Forest. All Charis had to do was follow the signs, the subtle indicators that one band of gypsies left for another.
A twig bent a certain way meant that food could be purchased at a fair cost in the village ahead. A grouping of stones told followers that gypsies weren’t welcome and they should detour another way on their journey.
Charis knew what to look for. She might not be familiar with the roads, but north was north no matter where you were standing. A small valise, her carefully hoarded purse full of coins—Charis nodded. It would work.
Early in the morning, before her Aunt left her room for breakfast. That would be the best time. The servants wouldn’t stop her, they were scared of their own shadows. There was no laughter in this house, no joking in the kitchen as meals were prepared.
She could easily come up with a solid reason to leave—a walk to the vicarage with some clothes perhaps? A trip to the village for ribbons?
Once she was gone, who would really care? They’d simply heave a sigh of relief and go on with their petty little socially conscious lives.
Yes. Itwouldwork.
It had to, because there was no way Charis Forbes-Wilkinson wouldeverwed a lackwit.
*~~*~~*
Thoughts of any kind of marriage at all faded rapidly as Charis’ footsteps took her away from Aunt Margaret’s on the following morning. All had gone as planned—she’d evaded notice by keeping her gaze downcast, muttering inanities at the few servants she’d passed and given up on the notion of “borrowing” a mount.
Besides the fact that her aunt’s idea of a stable was two broken down nags and a donkey, if she’d taken a horse she wouldn’t put it past them to have her arrested for thievery and brought back in evenmoredisgrace than she was in already.
Anyway, it was a lovely morning for a walk. A long walk, admittedly, but Charis’ years in Bridlington had taught her the value of sturdy shoes and her time spent roaming the moors now paid off with what she considered healthy endurance. She was certainly up to several miles of country lanes and brisk breezes.
Wiping her face and spitting out a few dusty particles, Charis looked around and nodded, confident she was on the right road to Lark’s Cross. Once she was there, she knew she’d find gypsy signs, since that was a central location in this area and one frequented by many a Romany traveler.
Charis’ cloak was tossed back from her shoulders, her dress simple and relatively comfortable although snug in a few places thanks to a late development of her feminine assets. Not that those assets had done her much good.
She trudged along, eating up the miles with her long stride, enjoying the blue sky with its scudding puffy clouds and the songs of the birds as they busied themselves with their day’s work. Her thoughts drifted to her past, now intermingled with her future. Charles had been—well, yes. A mistake. There was no other way of looking at it.
But Charis had fancied herself deeply in love with him. She’d wanted all those things she apparently wasn’t supposed to want. She was well past nineteen, fully intended to marry Charles—what was the harm in anticipating their vows?
And it had beenexciting, the touch of naked flesh against hers. She’d liked it and hadn’t felt the least bit embarrassed or damaged. There’d been a slight sting when he’d finally entered her, but he’d been gentle, she’d been aroused and all things considered, Charis came to the conclusion she definitely enjoyed the sexual act.
Unfortunately, it was while she was enjoying it with Charles that they’d been discovered.
Pushing those memories aside, Charis concentrated on where she was going instead of where she’d been. Nothing was to be gained by rehashing what had gone before, to her way of thinking. Charles was dead and buried, along with Charis’ reputation.
She missed the first but didn’t give a fig for the second. And, in one or two moments of brutal honesty, found herself hard pressed to remember what Charles had looked like. He’d introduced her to the world of sensual pleasures, but oddly enough all she could remember was the blinding surprise of her own release, not much of anything about the man who’d given it to her.
Since then, buried in the wilderness that was Northumberland, Charis had passed the nights in her darkened room, experimenting, touching, teaching herself about her own body since there was no one around to do it for her. She could now bring herself pleasure if she chose. It was quite a heady experience the first time it had happened. Now, it was all part and parcel of who Charis Forbes-Wilkinson was. A woman unafraid of her physical desires. A woman determined to live her life the wayshewanted, rather than follow the dictates of others.
And a woman with a stone in her shoe.
Cursing beneath her breath, Charis moved off the road to a convenient stile and sat down, struggling with the laces and wondering how on earth anything had managed to drop into the shoe itself.
The sound of horses and carriage wheels didn’t make her look up, in fact she kept her head tucked down, just in case Aunt Margaret had sent up the alarm and someone was out looking for her.
The hoof beats stopped and a harness jangled.
“Good morning.”
Charis risked a glance upward, beneath the rim of her serviceable bonnet. Not that it helped much since the sun was still in the morning sky and right behind whoever sat in the driver’s seat of the curricle now halted on the road in front of her.
