“Wait a minute…” The old man narrowed his eyes on her. “Under that coat. What’s that you’ve got there – wait!”
Ophelia heard the old man’s words and let them steel her.I am close… so close.Head down, she stepped around the old man and his horse, Betsy, hurrying down the road because she had no choice.
Also, she did not want him to know what she carried. If he found out, she doubted that he would let her leave so easily. Nor should he.
“Wait!” the old man cried out again. “Come back here! This ain’t no place for…” His voice died in the wind and the rain.
Each step taken was a struggle. Wet. Cold. Her limbs numb so that she could not feel them. But Ophelia looked ahead as she followed the road, determination flooding her bones because she was close… almost there… she had to make it.
How had it come to this? Ophelia’s life had not been an easy one, but these last few years had changed that perception, and she dared to believe that finally things were turning around. Sadly, as she had long since come to learn, so often in this world, fate was not something one had control of. If the worst were to happen, then it would do, and there was nothing that could stop it.
Ophelia was always the type to look on the bright side of life. That was how she had been raised. But these last few years… thisnight, especially… it made such a sunny disposition difficult to maintain.
As to Vermont Estate, the Duke’s manor, when she reached it…will anything change for me? Or will my woes only worsen? Especially if what that old man said is true…
But she could not think about that now – positivity was what she needed most. She had one task before her, a promise made, and the reminder of that promise sat heavy in her arms so that she would not forget.
Finally, after what felt like hours more of walking, Ophelia saw Vermont Manor appear on the horizon like a mirage. She might have said like a dream, but that felt wildly optimistic.
It was a castle built of gray stone, leering towers, paired with a sense of dread that made the darkness of night almost seem like a sunny day by comparison. It loomed in the night, standing tall and warning her against her approach. The wind howled. The rain fell. And when lightning lit the sky and shone over the manor, Ophelia wanted to cry out in fear.
She knew now that her salvation would not be found in that manor, but this was not about her. Again, a promise had been made, and the life which relied on her was far more important than her own.
Her legs were weak. Her body was dead tired. Her arms… she struggled to hold that which was clutched to her chest. But sheremembered her promise, and with that in mind, she started up the driveway and toward the leering manor.
What would come next, she could not say. All she knew was that she had done as promised, and that needed to be enough.
“Your Grace…” The voice came softly from the doorway. “Is something the matter?”
Adrian Loxley, the Duke of Vermont, sat alone in the drawing room as he stared at the roaring fire of the stone-built hearth. He had a glass of brandy in his hand, and he sipped it as he watched the flames lick the stones and blacken them.
Beyond the drawing room, he heard the storm rage as if it were trying to match his mood. The wind whipped at the stone of the walls. The rain lashed wickedly. And the rumbling of thunder made the entire manor shake as if it were about to be brought down.
If only it might do. How much easier that might be…
Not that Adrian had a particular reason to feel this way. Nothing tragic had occurred lately in his life; no great sorrow brought onto him that was out of the ordinary. To put it simply, the way he felt on that night was just him, and it would continue to be until the day that he died.
“Your Grace,” the voice spoke again, barely heard over the storm. “Is there anything else you need?”
“I am quite fine, thank you,” Adrian said without turning around.
“The staff, Your Grace…” The speaker crept deeper into the room, but was hesitant as even he feared coming too close. “They have begun the celebrations, as you allowed. Until the morrow, most will be quite unreachable.”
“I am aware.”
“I mean to join them shortly…” Closer still, but not too close. “Before I do, I wish to check that you have everything you require for this night.”
Adrian sighed as if with frustration.
The man who spoke was his personal steward, Mr. Watley, the same who had attended Adrian for most of his life. He was, in some ways, like a father figure, and possibly the only person in this world who fully understood Adrian and why he was this way.
Even still, the two were not close. Always, there was an underlying sense of fear in the man, a precaution taken because look given was enough to scare most people away. Not that such a reaction was entirely justified… not that Adrian cared to change it.
“There is no need to pander to me, Mr. Watley,” Adrian sighed.
“I am not, Your Grace. I am merely checking –”
“Which you have done,” he said and turned sharply in his chair to look pointedly at the steward. “Now that you have, you are dismissed. Do not let me see you again until the morrow.”
