They stared at each other before he turned back to the girl. “This is absurd. We’re leaving. Now.”
The young woman, taking advantage of the man’s break in concentration, ripped her arm free and stumbled toward Cassandra.
Cassandra lunged forward, putting herself between them. “She’s made her decision. Now you leave, or I’ll scream and waken every single person in this boardinghouse. Then how will you answer for it?”
The inn’s light and moonlight flooded onto every hard edge of the man’s enraged expression. He sucked in a sharp breath and then pointed his forefinger at the girl and emphasized each syllable. “I’ve had enough! You’ve made your decision and it will not be undone. Oh, the wasted time and effort! Go then, return to your prison. I’ll not extend another opportunity.”
Cassandra stiffened and relaxed the grip on her knife ever so slightly. This was not an abduction or some sort of attack, as she had initially assumed.
This was a lovers’ quarrel.
Cassandra waited for the girl’s response, but she made none.
The man turned, and within moments his pounding footsteps and grumbling faded and were absorbed by the sounds from the inn.
Once they were alone, Cassandra glanced around to ensure privacy. She did not know the particulars, but she did know what wasat stake if a young woman was discovered in such a situation. She placed her arm around the girl’s shivering shoulders to guide her away. “Let’s go, Rachel.”
“H-how do you know my name?”
“I heard him say it.”
“Where are we going?” A sob shook the girl’s shoulders.
“Your home. Briarton Park, isn’t it? We must hurry.”
“We?” Rachel’s steps stopped short. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
Cassandra huffed. “I’m not about to let you walk alone in the dark of night, especially after what’s transpired. Let’s be quick.”
They reentered the boardinghouse long enough for Cassandra to grab her own cloak and extinguish her candle before they were back outside. Fortunately, the path to Briarton Park was fresh in Cassandra’s mind, and the shadowy darkness lent privacy. They crossed the high street undetected, crossed the arched stone bridge, and were on the road leading to Briarton Park within minutes.
Intermittent clouds floated in front of a large moon, shedding just enough light on the surroundings to make them vaguely familiar. Night sounds of wind whistling through the last dry leaves clinging to branches mingled with an owl’s distant mournful cry. They kept to the side of the road, taking full advantage of the tree line to hide themselves, lest anyone should happen by.
“You’re the woman who was at Briarton Park this morning,” Rachel said once they were under the protection of the forest.
Cassandra nodded. “Yes. I’m Cassandra Hale.”
“Are you acquainted with my brother then?”
The memory of the handsome, amenable man with dark blond hair flashed in her mind. “I only met him today.”
They walked in silence, and then Rachel asked, “Why did you help me just now?”
“I heard you from my chamber and thought you needed assistance. Did you?”
“I—I did.” She heaved a sigh and tightened her cloak around her. “I wonder if James knows I am gone. He’ll never understand this.”
When it was clear Rachel was going to say no more, Cassandra spoke. “It’s none of my business, of course, but I can only assume that you had some sort of agreement with the young man.”
Rachel sniffed. “There is no sense in trying to hide it from you, especially after what you witnessed. We were to be married. In Gretna Green. He’d made all the arrangements. None of my family knew. We’d planned to meet this night and depart. But—but just hours ago I changed my mind.”
Cassandra had suspected something of the sort, but the similarities of this story to her own at this age were poignant—and heartachingly familiar. “And I take it your brother did not approve of this young man.”
“No. Not in the least.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Cassandra had to choose her words with care. She did not know this girl or her family situation, but she did know how strong the attachment of the heart could be and how damaging others’ opinions could be. At such a moment this girl might just need a friend. “How old are you, Rachel?”
“Sixteen.”
