What Happened at Midnight(28)

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you both, for everything.” He tipped his hat at them, retrieved his coat, and set off across the field.

Chapter Eleven

MARY WAS FREE.

Just two weeks ago, the thought of getting sacked had filled her with dread. But now, she could walk away from Sir Walter and not only remain standing, but feel that she’d had the better of him.

Months had passed while she told herself she wasn’t a lady any more, that she scarcely deserved common courtesy. And yet being a lady had not brought Lady Patsworth any real respect. A thousand rules of etiquette, drummed into her head—and in the end, it was her piano lessons that she’d drawn on.

She could remember Herr Rieger standing over her and scowling. Why did you stop playing?

Because I made a mistake.

Don’t stop. Never stop. They’ll never respect you if you stop and cry like a girl.

But—

He’d frowned at her and made a motion with his hand. Weep later. Play now.

Mary had pushed all her emotions away—grief, anger, guilt. But she’d not realized that she’d condemned herself to avoid the good ones, too. Pride. Happiness. Love. She deserved to experience those as well.

She’d stopped for too long. But now she was free, free to take a running start once again. The sharp smell of the oncoming storm only made her feel giddier.

Giddy was the least of the things that she felt. Relief, that things had not been so bad as they could have been. Pride, in a job well done. And a subtle sense of satisfaction—one that she would never have found if she’d stayed a genteel young lady all her life. She would have married John and disappeared into being his wife, putting all her own dreams away just to be with him.

Once, that had seemed worth the price.

But now, she was no sheltered lady who needed to be protected from the world. No; the big bad world needed protection from her. Bad things had happened to her, yes, but she had prevailed.

She felt daring with her victory. A bubble of laughter rose up in her.

On the horizon, summer thunder rumbled. It was dark enough that she could only tell there were clouds by the lack of stars. She’d left with scarcely a hand towel to her name. She should have been frightened. Instead, she felt recklessness rise up in her. She was free. She was free. She had bills folded in one skirt-pocket, a towel in the other, and her entire future ahead of her.

Nothing could stop her.

Mary knew it was an illusion, just as she knew that the heavy, humid heat that hung around her was about to give way to cold rain. Sixty pounds was no real security—just enough money to get her into trouble and not enough to buy her way out. But it wasn’t the money that made her heart sing. It was the proof she’d received: that she could trust to her own competence. That, ultimately, she had been the instrument of her own deliverance.

Tomorrow would be enough time for reality. When dawn came, she’d take stock of her resources, make decisions for the future.

But tonight…

Lightning sparked on the horizon, a great blinding tree of electricity stretching from the clouds to the skies. Mary held her breath at the wonder of it all and counted. Five, six, seven—on the count of eight, thunder growled around her. The very ground rumbled beneath her feet, and the air shivered with the power of the storm. Her hairs stood on edge.

Ladies did not run off into storms. But then, ladies didn’t sneak out of their windows and kiss gentlemen, no matter how handsome that gentleman was. She was damned glad not to be a lady any longer.

Tonight felt wild—a night that belonged to some other woman. Tonight, she would celebrate the rediscovery of herself. It seemed a night for dancing barefoot across the fields, or, perhaps, for making her way to the village a few miles distant for some good brandy.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the stone wall along the road, half a mile in the distance. Sharp stones had been set at an angle in the mortar on top; they made a jagged row of teeth, stretching off into the distance. Darkness returned as swiftly as it had fled; then thunder rumbled. A droplet of water landed on her nose.

Rain was coming, and soon. If the lightning came any closer, it wouldn’t do to be standing out in the field. Luckily, she had a destination in mind, and one that was just beyond the curve of the hill.

“Mary!” someone called behind her. She turned around. The figure was still far behind her, but she recognized him.

John. Precisely the man she’d been hoping to find.

“Mary,” he said. “You’ve got to come in from this before the storm starts in earnest.”

It was a night for wildness, a night for celebration. It was a night for pagan acts, for leaving behind all that held her back. She didn’t just want John; she yearned for him with an ache that went all the way through to her heart.

He wasn’t just the man she loved, the one she’d once agreed to marry. He was everything that had been wrested from her—her innocence, her childhood, her foolish belief that so long as she was good that nothing bad could transpire. He was the only thing that joined the person she was now—this reckless, uncageable creature—with the quiet girl she had once been.

And she had, after all, wanted to celebrate.

He caught up to her. He was carrying a shawl, which he dumped unceremoniously over her shoulders—as if he hadn’t realized how hot it was.

“Mary,” he repeated. “Thank God I found you. You’ve no idea how worried I have been these last ten minutes.”