Page 32 of How to Court a Rake
Reality—not regret—she wouldnotuse that word—was starting to settle in as Mary strolled the gardens at Sandmore. She did not regret coming here or her choice last night. She had only to touch her cheek or to look at her face in a mirror to know that the regret would have been in staying behind. Caine had offered her a way out—a way out of a dangerous marriage, a way out from a life that had lost its lustre for her. But now that she had achieved a way out, where did she go from here? Where did the way out lead? There was freedom in the thought of remaking herself in her own image, but there was fear, too.
She had no money. The clothes on her back were borrowed, she was in residence at a stranger’s home with nothing to call her own. The only items of value she possessed were the pieces of jewellery she’d worn last night. Not even her name would stand her in good stead. By now, rumours would be circulating about last night, the gossip pages would have reported the incident, every drawing room in London would be speculating.
She could imagine the sordid cast the story would take. No one would focus on how Amesbury had struck her or on her father’s marriage deal with him. The focus would all be on how she had run out in the middle of her mother’s musicale with Caine Parkhurst, the rakish Marquess of Barrow. It was further proof as to how unfair life was for a woman. She was ruined because she’d stood up for herself, because she had claimed her freedom, because she had protected herself the only way she knew how. And for that, society had thrown her out. There was no going back.
No going back to a closet full of more dresses than she could wear.
No going back to the well-appointed estates that were her luxurious prisons.
No going back to the pressures of the marriage mart.
But that also meant no going back to other things, too.
No going back to summer house parties with archery competitions and picnics by lakes.
No going back to Christmas parties in evergreen-strewn manor houses, tables groaning with food and tradition.
No more taking hedges in the field on the back of her mare, Mathilda. She would miss that the most. She hoped Mathilda would understand, that she would go on and bring joy to someone else. Her eyes stung at the thought of her horse.
All those things were lost to her now as well as those things she wanted to be so desperately rid of. To give up a life meant to give up all of it. It could not be done half-heartedly and she grieved for those losses as she walked the pretty gardens. The Earl of Sandmore had a good eye for Italian topiary. There was a giraffe, a lion and a stag among the menagerie of shapes interspersed with soothing water features, all of which held her interest and helped keep the grief at bay.
She reached the edge of the garden where the Earl’s dominance over nature ended. The manicured verge giving on to the green of untamed grass running down to a lake. Un-curated, raw and natural, like her life now. Mary closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, letting its warmth bathe her as she put her sadness aside. The future was hers to chart. She was starting from scratch.
She laughed out loud to the sky and held her arms out wide. She was indeed starting from scratch. One did not get any more ‘from scratch’ than she. Once, she’d dreamed of doing such a thing and now she’d done it. Finally. After years of trying to make others happy, she’d done something for herself.
‘Mary!’
She turned at the familiar shout to see Caine crossing the garden, a basket on his arm. He was without his coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the summer breeze playing with the waves of his hair. ‘Your grandfather has released you.’ She wondered what they’d discussed for hours behind closed doors. Surely it hadn’t all been about her.
‘Yes.’ He was smiling and the sight of that smile made her thoughts grow bold. Here was something else she might claim for herself before she went out into the world. She wanted Caine to finish the lesson he’d started in the coach—was that only yesterday? ‘I thought we might picnic down by the lake and take a quiet moment.’ He held up the basket in illustration and offered his free arm as they left the garden. ‘What were you laughing at, just then?’
‘Not at, in. I was laughingincelebration of my freedom.’ She smiled up at him, letting a moment’s euphoria spill out. It was better than crying. ‘I might go anywhere, be anyone, do anything.’
He answered with a grin, ‘That sounds ambitious, Mary. But you needn’t go tomorrow. Or the next day, or even next week. Take your time, stay a while. There is no hurry.’ It was kind of him not remind her she had nowhere to go, or that she needed to wait until it was safe to leave. Therewereloose ends to settle. ‘How are you otherwise, Mary? I am sorry I could not come to you sooner. Grandfather and I had much to discuss.’
They reached the edge of the lake and they shook out the blanket, laying it on the ground. ‘I am well,’ she said sombrely, sitting down. ‘I am coming to grips with last night. It’s a lot. Just when I think I have an understanding that makes sense to me, there’s something more, like ripples on a pond.’ She reached for the basket and began to help lay out the food. ‘The worst should have been Amesbury’s…attack.’ The word was still hard to say. ‘But as awful as it was, it isn’t the worst thing about last night.’
She set down a loaf of bread and held Caine’s gaze. ‘The worst was that my parents simply didn’t care, not about what he did and not about what I wanted, and it wasn’t the first time. They’ve never cared about what I’ve wanted. I was to accept the proposal and move on to be a dutiful wife, a dutiful duchess just as I’ve been a dutiful daughter. Dutiful and beautiful, that’s what they say about me behind my back, isn’t it?’
She laughed at the uncertain expression on his face. ‘Did you think I didn’t know? It’s all right. It’s true and it’s not the worst thing to be called.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘Oh, my, look at all this food. How long did you think we’d be out here?’
Caine stretched out beside her, his head propped in his hand. ‘I don’t know. Grandfather has guests for supper tonight.’
‘So, we should make ourselves scarce? Is that it?’ Mary laughed. Being with him, here, out of doors, focused on the moment, she could forget all her other cares. ‘Won’t they see us from the garden?’ She glanced back over her shoulder at the house in the distance.
‘No, Grandfather’s guests aren’t the garden strolling type.’ Caine assured her. ‘Although they’ll miss a spectacular sunset. We have the best view of it from right here. The sun goes down over the rim of the lake.’ He pointed to the horizon. ‘When we were boys and we’d come for summers, we’d camp out here and sleep beneath the stars. Sometimes we’d have a bonfire, but most of the time, we’d just stay awake, looking up at the sky. Grandfather taught us our constellations that way.’
She studied him, trying to imagine him as a young boy. ‘I bet you were precocious.’
Caine laughed. ‘I was, but so were my brothers,’ he said as if that excused their antics. He plucked a strawberry from its bowl. ‘Here, eat. Grandfather’s gardener grows the best strawberries. It’s something to do with the soil he uses.’ He popped it in her mouth and she bit into the most delicious berry she’d ever tasted.
‘You’re still precocious. And you’re trying to distract me with berries.’ She chose a berry for herself. ‘Tell me a story from your childhood.’
‘All right.’ Caine grinned and shifted on the blanket, settling in. ‘Do you see that little island in the middle of the lake? We would have swim races out to it. Last one out there had to do the other’s school lessons for a whole week.’
Mary squinted, gauging the distance. ‘That’s a long way.’
‘It is and that’s why Lucien is by far the best of us at Latin.’ Caine laughed.
