‘Miss Josephine Fairfax!’
A ripple of gasps reached through the crowd as the crisp utterance rang out from the shadows inside the main doors. There was a hushed pause and then, slowly, the swathes of guests parted to let a lone figure through. He was tall, with wild and tousled hair and a riding cape streaked with mud as though he’d just jumped down from his horse. Yet, to Josephine, he was the only gentleman in the room.
Speechlessly, she watched him make his way through the crowd towards her brother at the bottom of the stairwell, where he executed a short bow.
‘My apologies for the interruption, Sir Fairfax, but, as your friends and family are already aware, I am known to be rather impetuous.’ He turned to look back at the crowd, who chuckled uncertainly. ‘In truth, I have never concerned myself too greatly with the opinion of the ton,’ he continued. ‘My father taught me long ago that idle tongues will always make mischief and the only control we have is our response.’ He paused as the crowd muttered, before continuing. ‘So, I ignored the whispers aboutmy past and remained silent, because of my grief, because of my scars… and because of my guilt.’ At this, a fresh mutter reached through the guests, many of whom were looking increasingly suspicious. ‘But, in recent months, I have become acquainted with someone who was willing to look past it all for entirely selfless reasons… And when I gave her even further reason to suspect the worst, she didn’t run, she looked for the truth– with more courage than I’ve seen in a very long time.’
Josephine caught her breath, barely aware as Matilda pulled her towards the balustrade, prompting those nearest to glance up, including Lord Huntingly. His face softened instantly while his amber flares burned, and in that moment, Josephine felt as though they exchanged a thousand words.
Before he turned to Thomas with renewed purpose. ‘That willingness was one of the truest acts of selflessness I’ve ever known, but you see, we are talking of Miss Fairfax…’
Thomas cleared his throat noisily as though he might reclaim the floor, but Huntingly only held up his hand while Josephine watched as though caught in some intoxicated fever dream that took the world and inverted it, until it became a fictional version of itself.
‘MissJosephineFairfax,’ he clarified, turning back to smile in a way that made Matilda squeeze her sister’s hand all the harder. ‘Yet, despite my deepest… respect and admiration, I’ve realised that, in allowing such a sacrifice, the whispers would claim someone new… someone who possesses one of the truest minds, keenest wits and kindest hearts I’ve ever known, someone I… care about immensely– and I cannot allow that.’ He paused as a fresh mutter of understanding rippled through the crowd. ‘You see, the truth is I cannot tell you when I began to love Miss Fairfax, only that I refuse to hurt her, now or ever.’
Josephine felt the hall begin to spin as Huntingly gazed up with an expression that took her back to the wooded trail at Ebcott in a heartbeat.
‘Which is why I have returned tonight, not with hope or expectation that my hand will ever be enough, but rather to say that among us there is a rare and modest jewel who deserves this celebration more than any other. She has won my heart.’ He paused as the crowd murmured again. ‘And, while I might not yet have her hand, I will spend every minute of every day of the rest of my life endeavouring to deserve it.’
Then, tearing his gaze away, he nodded at an open-mouthed Thomas before making his way back through the crowd.
‘Jo… Jo… breathe… Jo!’ Matilda hissed as the main doors opened and Lord Huntingly exited. There was a moment’s silence when the air seemed to still, and then Matilda’s glare finally stirred Josephine from her frozen state. Picking up her skirts, she bolted down the staircase, past Thomas, through the stunned crowd, and out of the main doors into the cool night air.
‘Lord Huntingly has just left, Miss Josephine,’ Benson offered as though a declaration of undying love was a most regular occurrence at a Grand Knightswood Ball. ‘He had a horse waiting.’
Josephine nodded as she gazed down the pathway, fighting to steady her whirling thoughts and conscious some of the crowd had spilled out behind her. She’d only ever dreamed of such a protestation and had no idea how to think normally, let alone return to the evening. She swallowed, her chest burning and her thoughts scattered, but her feelings never so clear. Yet he’d already slipped away into the darkness without her.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ called a familiar voice through the gloom.
Startled, she glanced up to see Matilda astride a horse she’d loosened from one of the waiting carriages and extending her arm. ‘You don’t get to cry, Jo, not tonight, not on my watch. Come on!’
Without hesitation, Josephine gripped her younger sister’s outstretched hand and swung herself up behind. There was no saddle, but the horse felt steady and Matilda appeared to have breeches on beneath her ballgown.
‘I was planning on my own dawn steeplechase anyway!’ she grinned as a shout went up from the doorway. It was Thomas, and by his tone it sounded as though the shock of Lord Huntingly’s proclamation was beginning to wane.
‘Won’t be long!’ Matilda called cheerfully, seemingly delighted by the turn of events. Then she guided the horse around and set off into the darkness.
If there was anyone who knew Knightswood blindfolded, it was Matilda, yet Josephine hardly dared breathe as they navigated the rolling lawns and shrubbery by moonlight. She leaned closer to her sister, listening to the shallow thump of her heart, until they emerged near Knightswood Lodge. Then, finally, she exhaled a long shuddering breath for there was a lone figure just ahead, passing through the estate gate. And whether it was the sound of another rider, or simply the velvet beauty of the night, he glanced back.
‘Thank you, Matty,’ Josephine whispered as she slipped down, never more aware of the scent of the moor.
He dismounted in a heartbeat, and suddenly nothing was as important as reaching him, as telling him he’d won her heart and soul, that to her he was the most noble of gentlemen. But as he strode to meet her, his eyes afire with the last of the titian sun, there was no time for words before he caught her to him and kissed her with a fever that stole the world away.
‘I thought I was a monster to you,’ he whispered, when they finally drew breath, ‘that you no longer wished to marry me.’
‘There is nothing I want more!’ Josephine breathed, the tightness in her chest suddenly easing. ‘I was wrong about everything… about George… Eliza… Sir Francis, most certainly. I know he started everything.’
‘You know?’ Huntingly swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Then you must tell me how? In Italy, George only said that Dashton caused my father’s accident, that he himself had tried to protect his sister, which sounded so very… George, but he didn’t say how, and I had no way of proving anything. And then, when I learned he’d… died in some street brawl… I felt I’d run a sword through him myself…’ He ran his fingers through his wild locks, the extent of his inner scars clearer than they’d ever been.
Her heart burned protectively. ‘Sir Francis terrified Eliza, she ran out into the path of your father’s horse and… you know the rest,’ she whispered gently. ‘Then George heard Eliza had died from the typhoid and, I believe, lost the will to live. His own mother said they were extraordinarily close…’ He nodded, swallowing. ‘But from what I’ve learned of his nature, he would not wish you to suffer for something Dashton started… And that’s where a few Fairfaxes can help,’ she added in a steelier tone. ‘In fact, they’re already hard at work.’
‘A whole pack of Fairfaxes?’ Huntingly whispered in wonder. ‘What chance does anyone stand against such a force? You are truly unique, Josephine Fairfax,’ he said softly, ‘and I’m not sure if it is your formidable wit, your moorland eyes or your ferocious heart that I love most… but I intend to spend the rest of my life trying to find out.’
At this, Josephine blushed so furiously that a tender smile crept across his strained face. ‘I know I should apologise for making you blush, but in truth I adore it, so I won’t,’ he whispered, trailing kisses down her neck that somehow pooled in the pit of her stomach.
She fought to marshal her thoughts. ‘It’s just… no one has… ever thought…’ She stumbled: there was good reason why she had never been admired above her sisters.
Huntingly captured her hand and brought it to his lips. ‘You, Miss Josephine Fairfax, have eyes that take me to a moorland glade every time I look into them,’ he murmured intently. ‘And the very first day I saw you, I knew I belonged there.’
