Mara walked briskly, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face and the breeze in her hair. Untethered by ribbon or pin, her curls swung down her back in a runaway waterfall of sun-streaked copper beneath a straw bonnet. She had a lady’s maid to help her dress and fashion a tidy coiffure, but with no visitors and no husband to admonish her untidy appearance, she preferred stealing the time traditionally used on readying herself for the day and spending it on something else. Like bringing food to a family with another mouth to feed.
The door to the sagging cottage sprang open before Mara could knock, and three children popped out, their eyes widening with delight at the sight of the treats that she’d brought.
“Hello,” she said politely, resting the basket on her hip. “Is your mother or father at home?”
“Papa went into town,” said the tallest child, a lanky boy with a shock of white-blond hair sticking out of a plain brown cap. “But Mama is here. She’s in bed with the baby.”
“We have a sister!” chimed the middle child, a girl with round cheeks and braids.
“New sissy,” said the third, another boy who couldn’t have been older than two. Sticking his thumb in his mouth, he began to suck noisily.
“How wonderful! Congratulations.” Smiling, Mara knelt to their level and held out the basket. “Would you mind taking this to her? There’s bread and cheese, and I think if you dig around a little bit, you may even find a peppermint or three.”
Giving a loud whoop of excitement, the oldest boy grabbed the basket and loped off with the smallest toddling behind. But the girl remained, her head tilting to the side as she studied Mara with a child’s somber intensity.
“Yes?” Mara asked, sensing the girl had a question. “What is it?”
If her wedding night hadn’t been such a complete and utter disaster, she liked to think thatshemight have a little girl by now. A little girl to nurture and teach. A little girl to love. A little girl to raise the way she wished she and Kitty had been raised. With patience, understanding, and a parent’s unwavering devotion.
Tentatively, the girl reached out and patted one of Mara’s loose curls. “Are you a princess?” she whispered.
“A princess?” Mara repeated with a startled laugh. “What makes you say that?”
“Youlooklike a princess.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m not a princess. But you could be.”
The girl gasped. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. But there are three rules you must follow.”
She nodded solemnly. “I’m good at following rules. Mama says so. But my brothers aren’t. They don’teverlisten.”
Mara bit back a grin. “First, a princess is always kind and helps those in need. Can you be kind and helpful, especially for your mother and new sissy?”
Still holding onto a strand of Mara’s hair, the girl bounced excitedly up and down. “Yes, yes, I can!”
“Excellent. Secondly, a princess must love animals.”
“Ilove animals!”
“Very good. And thirdly, and this is the most important... a princess must always believe in herself, no matter what.” Gently extricating her hair from the girl’s grasp, Mara tapped her on the nose and then stood. “If you can do those three things, then you, my lady, are a princess. Now why don’t you go inside before your mother begins to wonder where you are and your brothers eat your peppermint.”
Beaming from ear to ear, the girl scampered away into the house and Mara set out for Southwick Castle. It would have been far quicker to take a carriage, but she didn’t mind walking. At least not until it started to rain.
The weather between the end of winter and the beginning of spring was unpredictable at best and tumultuous at worst, the sky blue one minute and black the next, the air calm and then wild as a tempest. When she’d left the castle, it had been warm. Hot, even. That was why she’d left her pelisse at home, exposing her arms to the sunlight. Somewhere along the way she’d even lost her bonnet, leaving her wearing nothing more than her undergarments and a faded beige dress with short sleeves and a shortened hem for easier range of movement.
A spattering of raindrops came first. Big, fat plops of water that had her increasing her step to a half walk, half run. But before she’d gone more than a handful of yards, the heavens parted and a deluge sprang forth.
With a shriek, Mara took off toward the closest natural shelter she could spy through the sheets of rain: a towering oak tree with limbs so large they stretched across the entire lane. Pressing her back flat against the trunk, she hugged herself for warmth while berating her foolishness for not being better prepared. She’d lived in this rolling stretch of countryside for more than a year and a half and knew how fast the weather was capable of changing. She should have worn a Spencer jacket, or at very least a shawl. And where was her hat? In a puddle now, most likely, and her throat clogged with fear as she imagined how she would explain away the waste.
“What do you mean, you’ve lost a glove?” Eriam Holden’s face contorted in rage as he advanced on his daughter, the flat of his palm already raised.
“I’m... I’m sorry, Papa.” Tearfully apologetic, Mara willed her feet to remain rooted to the creaking floorboards. It was worse when she ran. It was always worse when she ran. “I’m not sure what happened to it. I’ll—I’ll go search again, in the morn—”
“You ungrateful little brat. Do you’ve any idea how much those gloves cost?” Eriam’s hand flew through the air.
Shuddering, Mara pulled herself from the memory—but one of a hundred exactly like it—and forced herself to return to the present where money was no object and her father no longer loomed in the shadows, the stench of gin staining his breath, waiting for an excuse to release his vile hatred for himself onto his two defenseless children.
