“Come, I am in dire need of a stroll,” said Phoebe, nudging the gentleman along.
“As my lady commands,” said Mr. Winwood with a tip of his hat.
“Good man…” But Phoebe’s playful words faltered as her gaze turned to the distance, her brows twisting together as she stared off at some sight. Thea tried to see what it was, though her gaze drew back to her friend when Phoebe spoke.
“I am so very sorry.” Those few words were filled with the lady’s whole heart, and Phoebe hurried to add, “I warned him not to do it, and I wanted to warn you, but he swore me to secrecy. And the family… I am trying my best… I do not know what…”
Thea reached for her friend’s hand, taking hold of it. “Calm yourself, Phoebe.”
But Mina’s gasp drew her attention, and Thea turned to see what had surprised her. It took some searching, but then she saw it.
Sawhim.
Frederick Voss had arrived at the Solstice Festival. And he hadn’t come alone.
Chapter 20
The hum of laughter and music receded into a distant, indistinct murmur, and every movement slowed—the children weaving ribbons, the flutter of skirts, even the flicker of sunlight across the tables—and blurred at the edges, leaving only him. Thea’s breath caught, shallow and uncertain, as though her body resisted believing it. Somewhere beneath the shock, her heart began to pound, an unsteady rhythm that made the ground feel less sure beneath her feet.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” whispered Mina. “He loves you.”
Yet for all of those hurried assurances, Thea couldn’t deny the evidence before her eyes. Frederick strolled across the green with Sally Jenkins’s arm threaded through his. Of course, one could dismiss it as a bit of gentlemanly gallantry, but the close manner in which they stood spoke volumes.
As did Sally’s triumphant grin when her eyes fell to Thea’s.
*
The world liked to dress virtue in soft colors and gentle smiles, as though goodness were a garment easily slipped on and off. But more often than not, it was a hard, unyielding road—cold beneath the feet and steep enough to leave one gasping for breath. It required strength of purpose and an unwaveringresolve, else everyone would choose that path, and Frederick wouldn’t allow himself to turn back now.
It would help if Miss Sally Jenkins weren’t so blasted silly. Every word that came from her mouth proved her to be witless. Not a moral failing, to be certain, and it could be easily overlooked if she possessed even a speck of kindness, but then, that self-serving quality had drawn Frederick to her in the first place. No other young lady would’ve accepted his overtures, for they had sense and feeling enough not to play a part in Thea’s heartbreak, yet Miss Jenkins had readily accepted his invitation without hesitation.
The young lady’s head swung this way and that, dispensing nods of gracious acknowledgment as though she were a queen amongst the peasants. And with every turn, the ridiculous plume jutting from the bonnet’s nether regions like a sickly peacock struck Frederick square in the face. He did not care for the taste of feathers.
This was for the best.
Clinging to that assurance, Frederick led Miss Jenkins through the gathering, ignoring the eyes pointed at them (both the narrowed and wide varieties) as they threw themselves into the festivities. Frederick felt Thea’s attention on him, and he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. Yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling, either.
This was his last connection to her. After today, she would never speak or look at him again. Never think of him, if there was any mercy in the universe. Though he knew that was a vain hope. This wound would linger for far too long, but it was necessary.
It was for the best.
Forcing himself to engage with the few villagers willing to join them in conversation, Frederick tried to keep his thoughts on his companions, but he hadn’t a spare thought forpleasantries when each necessary and unbearable plan circled endlessly in his head.
Mr. Moulton had already identified two serious buyers (both new money yearning to establish themselves amongst the landed gentry and eager to agree to Frederick’s terms), and the ever-pragmatic Mr. Gleason had begun drafting the terms of the auction for the furnishings and remaining stock. By the end of August, the sale would be complete, the house emptied, and Dunsby Hall would belong to someone else.
The family’s dignity would be first to go, long before the silver or the house itself. Once his resignation as churchwarden was made public and the notices for the auction posted, there would be no containing the gossip. The Voss name would be on every tongue, passed about over shop counters and across pews as their ruin was picked apart and every morsel relished whilst his family railed against each of his decisions.
All of which he could’ve borne if Thea were by his side.
Yet her absence was also his single comfort as the world crumbled. Whatever befell him, Thea would be spared, and that thought steadied him, even as the noise of the festival swelled like the tide. He had protected her. Whatever else might be said of him, Frederick could take pride in that. Thea may despise him now, but one day she would marry a man worthy of her, and in time, she would forget Frederick Voss entirely.
Clinging to that, Frederick threw himself into the pantomime he was providing for the afternoon’s entertainment. It was a fine line to walk—both making it clear that he was no longer courting Thea whilst not raising Miss Jenkins’s expectations—but compared to all the other troubles of late, fending off her advances as she draped herself over him was simple.
And he counted down the minutes until he was free to leave.
Frederick dodged another smack of the feather and spied Timothy by the cider stand, leaning far too close to MissHawksworth. Her hands waved as she spoke animatedly to him, and his eyes gleamed as he watched her, like a thirsty man finding an oasis in the desert; Miss Hawksworth laughed, the sound light and eager, her lashes fluttering as though caught by a breeze, and a cold unease crept through Frederick’s chest.
Ought he to intervene? Warn her? It wasn’t as though he could threaten Timothy away from every lady in the village, yet watching his brother’s hand brush Miss Hawksworth’s sleeve made his stomach twist. The question gnawed at him, its teeth sinking deeper with every laugh that passed between the pair.
