Once upon a Town...
Tommy said she changed ever since she came to Madam Pearson's.
'Of course, I did not.'
'You make friends with those twins. They're insufferable.'
'No, Tommy. They're just ignorant.'
That night, she wondered if Tommy was right. Had she changed?
*****
One could have heard a feather land on the carpet of the drawing room. Even the servants who served them were careful not to make a sound as Cressida and Belinda stared at each other.
This was the first she had to face someone she truly knew since her return. Dealing with McKenzie Haverston, Belinda could say, was far better than facing Cressida. The woman knew her too well. She had seen Belinda in her best gowns, in her radiance when they debuted. Cressida was there when Belinda was first presented to the ton, witnessed how she enthralled every man in the room.
The things she had said to Cressida rang back to her in soft, mocking tunes. Oh, how it had been fun then, to find someone who was a match to her wit.
Cressida was the first to break her silence. Sipping her tea, she gracefully smiled across from Belinda. There was no mockery in the way she stared, but as always, Cressida was filled with pride, a thing they shared in common. "You never changed, Belinda."
She cocked a brow. "Do not lie, Cressida. We both know I look hideous."
Well, of course, you do. What I meant is your... haughty air." Cressida put down her tea. "I must admit, I quite missed it. The ballrooms have been quite a bore without you."
Belinda smiled. Cressida had always evoked such a unique mixture of vile and amusement in her. The lady had always been too carefree, acting freely without truly gaining the ire of society. She was not even punished for dripping pond water in this very estate when they were young.
Cressida had been on the Herald too many times before, but no one truly hated her as much as they were amused by her. She had been a walking scandal, yet she survived the disapproval of the Town.
And her strong will to fight back, to protect Mary Featherton, the outcast of polite society, had always confused Belinda. What was there in Mary Featherton that Cressida could not find in the other ladies?
Belinda had to admit that the spark of anger in Cressida's eyes whenever they battled in ballrooms or the corridors of Madam Pearson's had always been an amusement. It always felt like a reward whenever the woman would fight back, when she would spare Belinda her precious time.
But things were different now. The years had changed them, she thought. There was nothing left but a bitter feeling of envy. And Belinda hated it. She hated feeling it, because it meant she was lacking. She had nothing, while Cressida had... Cressida had this. A husband and a child.
A home.
She shook the thoughts that ate at her and sustained the little pride she had left, reminding herself that some were born lucky to be hated and loved all the same, while others were merely hated.
"Is that why you're here?" she asked, gesturing toward the window. "Here in Easton because the ballrooms are a bore?"
"Oh, no, of course not. I'm here because Peyton shall not grow up surrounded by the damaging opinions of polite society. She shall have to face many of them in the future, of course." Cressida waved her hand dismissively. "And Peyton loves the pond."
"I remember the pond," Belinda said. "I was here when we were children."
Cressida nodded. "Calan's birthday party."
"You caused quite a scene."
Cressida shrugged. "Well, as children often do."
"You distracted the guests."
The woman scoffed. "I gave them entertainment. My mother was so embarrassed, she tells me, but now we only laugh about it." Cressida scoffed. "I soaked the carpet. Perhaps this is the same one," she said examining the carpet. Then she stared at Belinda with a smile. "No matter, you can go to the pond if you wish. It is better than the gardens."
"I do not swim."
"Good. I may not have the time to save you if you drown. I would have to weigh the advantages, you see." Belinda scoffed, shaking her head. She sipped, feeling the steam of the hot tea touch her face. "But should you risk it, do not strip to the skin. The guards may be watching."
She swallowed. "Guards?"
"Passage guards." Cressida waved her hand. "We have a known passage beyond the pond. But you did not hear that from me, of course. That was a slip. Forget I said it."
Belinda stiffened, suddenly feeling cold despite the hot drink in her hand.
*****
Belinda found McKenzie in the stables later that afternoon, grooming his own horse. "Don't you have someone to do that for you?" she asked. He did not seem startled. In fact, he continued brushing his black gelding without sparing her a look.
"I prefer to do it on my own," he replied, voice mild.
He was not wearing his Guard coat. His fawn dress shirt was pulled up to his elbows, unbuttoned all the way down the middle of his chest. He looked especially rugged with his dark hair, slightly longer than that of his brother.
They made one stop at Cromwell yesterday evening, but it seemed he did not bother to care for himself at the tavern. His stubbles shadowed his jaw.
"I want to leave," she said.
"This is the safest you can be at the moment."
No, this is the worst place for me. There are passage guards here. "No. Let us stay elsewhere."
He stepped away from his horse and backed out of the stall. She restlessly waited while he picked up a bucket, carried it to a corner, then returned to her.
"I do not want your brother to know why I'm here. I cannot let them know—"
"My brother will not say a word, nor will his wife."
"I know Cressida. She will gossip about me the very moment she can."
"She will not."
"You do not know her—"
"She will not talk about you because I told her not to."
Belinda frowned at him. Cressida just blurted out about the passage guards, an information that should have been a secret. "And that is supposed to make me feel better?"
He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "Why are you desperate to leave?"
"Because I do not feel safe here."
"Why? Because you are not with friends?"
"I have no friends, Mr Haverston," she snapped. Lifting her chin, she added, "Very well, if you cannot escort me back to Willowfair, I wish to have my money. Let us go to a room now and I will give you the names I promised."
He studied her for a while, his blue eyes almost dark in the scant light of the stables. "I cannot give you money." And before Belinda could erupt, he quickly added, "But I will give you want you want."
"You made me think you can give me money," she said through her teeth. She fisted her hands against her trembling flesh. The panic was becoming too real, the fear creeping back in as she realized he lied to her.
"Surely, you are going to use that money for something," he said. He stepped closer, she stepped back.
"As you said, you want dresses. A villa," he said. "I will give them."
"I'd rather have money."
"The Guards cannot hand you townsends, but we will provide you with things that you want," he continued.
I want many things you cannot afford.
Belinda shook her head. Then she paused. She nodded, looking at him as she stuck her chin out. "Very well. I will make a list of everything that I need."
He looked satisfied. He must think she was too easy. "While doing so, you might also start penning those names."
Belinda nodded and stiffly left the stables.
All these people did was lie to her. What would he tell her next? That they needed the names first before they could give her anything? And then after—what then? Would he tell her they were working on her requests? And she would have to wait? For how long?
They would never give her anything.
She should not have come here. Belinda could not let the passage guards across the pond know she was here. She could not risk it. It was bad enough that she would not get a townsend from McKenzie Haverston.
But what about protection? She scoffed. His protection could go to hell.
With purposeful steps, she stormed back inside the estate and into the bedchamber assigned to her. In the center of the bed were her trousers and dress shirt, all freshly washed. Her rucksack was on the floor, leaning against the bedpost. Even the maid was afraid it would stain all furniture in the room save for the floor.
Fine. If she could not get her money and if no one would let her leave, then she would have to steal a horse. Again.
*****
McKenzie was in the library with his brother, a glass of brandy in one hand.
"By clearing her name, do you mean helping us catch her father, whom she says is responsible for her banishment?" Calan asked McKenzie. "Her scandal is fresher in everyone's mind than my wife's last one."
McKenzie sighed. "I believe she plans something more."
"Such as?"
"She feels she has been wronged, Calan."
Calan shook his head. "Her banishment should have made her at least repentant. To some, it does not change their past, but it most certainly changes their future."
"That is precisely my point, brother. I do not think she believes she did something wrong."
"She was the one who placed herself in that bedchamber."
McKenzie sighed. "Women could be so vile when scorned. She had been pampered with the shallow things her whole life and suddenly they were snatched away."
"You sound like you are defending the woman."
The image of Belinda leaving the stables earlier crossed his mind. Pride. She had too much pride.
"You think she is out for revenge?" Calan asked.
"All I'm saying is that I understand why she is feeling this way. It does not mean I agree." When Calan slowly shook his head, McKenzie added, "They kept her chained and captive for years, Calan. I do not know about you, but I think that even a pampered, selfish lass like Belinda Carrington does not deserve the experience. We are doing this for all victims of the slavery trade. Are we starting to judge who we should consider a victim now?"
Calan was silent for a moment, and McKenzie's thoughts fleeted back to dinner earlier. Belinda had joined them in the same hideous dress he bought in Oakley. She sat eating in the same graceful manner inculcated by her childhood, but he could tell she wanted to be elsewhere.
Peyton had always been permitted to join everyone during meals, and the child practiced freedom around the table as the adults did, conversing with them as if she was in her playroom with her make-believe friends. Most families of the ton did not permit their children around the table until they could maintain proper manners, but that was not how Calan and his wife were raising their child.
McKenzie saw Belinda regard the child with curiosity and noted the judging glance she threw Cressida. But it was not her place to remind the masters of the manor how they ought to practice decorum in the dining room.
Peyton had climbed off her chair and squirmed her way onto her father's lap while he ate. The act was too natural even for McKenzie, who had witnessed it not only with Peyton but also with Adrien's son. He saw the scandalized look in Belinda's eyes earlier. The look turned into something similar to longing, softening her face, giving him a glimpse of the beauty that was once there. And, as if by some magic, it disappeared as Cressida said something along the lines of, "I did not poison your food, Belinda. You should eat." The haughtiness returned in a flash and it remained there until she finally excused herself to retire to her room.
Blinking away the scene of her rigid retreat from the dining room earlier, McKenzie tauntingly smiled at his brother. "Are you glad you landed a wife who would rather wear your trousers than buy new gowns?"
"My wife is different."
"Cressida is rare, brother," he agreed. "Or mayhap only Belinda is different. Not all women would be foolish to get caught with a dead lover."
"You think she killed old Godfrey?"
"She expressed he was never her lover."
Doubt clouded Calan's feature. McKenzie could not blame him, for he, too, had trouble believing Belinda.
"She was in the room with him—with barely anything on," Calan said.
He nodded. "She may be his lover, but I do not think she killed him."
Calan scoffed. "Of course not. Fool or not, no killer would shout and announce her crime for everyone to witness."
Nigel Godfrey's death was of natural cause, a weak heart, the doctor had said, but not everyone believed that. "But then, it could still be true that she caused his death," Calan added.
"The bastard's heart must have stopped when he saw her naked, for the lady is undeniably stunning." The words came out of his stupid mouth before he could stop them. "Was," he corrected almost instantly.
Calan looked at him with renewed curiosity. But before his brother could comment on his statement, the door of the study flung open, and a footman barged in breathlessly.
"My lord...s-she stole the horse and drove off!"
Before the servant could finish his statement, McKenzie was already at the door, shouting for his horse.
"But she stole your horse, Master Mac!" he heard the footman shout behind him.
"Bloody tarnation! I'm going to kill that wench!" Felton met him in the hall and he growled, "Get me a horse at once!"