“Tell me, … aren’t you afraid of strange men, alone in strange houses?”
The carriage groaned as it pressed forward, its wheels rattling over ruts on the path. Damp air and a thick fog blanketed the moors, like a shroud. The driver slowed the carriage, pulling the horses to a halt with a sharp tug on the reins. Then rapped his knuckles on the glass, his voice thick with irritation.
“It’s no use, miss. I canna see a thing, and the horses are blind as bats. We’ll have to stop.”
As he spoke, I leaned forward, straining to make out any shape that might serve as a landmark, but the fog swallowed the world around us. So this is what it feels like to stand inside a cloud. The outline of iron gates materialized out of the haze, dark and imposing, nothing visible beyond. Had I died somewhere along the road? Was this the threshold of the afterlife? I’d always imagined heaven’s gates to be white, gleaming with welcome—not so black and ominous.
“Perhaps we could take shelter there?” I suggested. “Who owns those gates?”
The driver’s lips twisted in an expression of wariness. “Och, I think not, miss. That’s Lord Heyworth’s estate.”
“And you doubt his hospitality?”
The driver’s eyes darted nervously as he spoke, his voice lower now. “I’m no’ sure he’s the sort to take in strangers. Some say he’s no’ altogether right in the head.”
I frowned at his words, unable to hide my skepticism. “Nonsense. What gentleman would leave a woman stranded on the moors? Surely, he would offer shelter for the night.” I motioned toward the gates, barely visible in the mist. “We have no other choice. We must try.”
The driver let out a long, indignant sigh, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. He gave the horses a sharp nudge and set them back to their slow trot, the coach lurching forward into the gloom. I lowered the window, squinting through the murk in an effort to see more. The fog seemed to pour into the carriage, swirling around me, creeping over my shoes and into the very air I breathed.
After several minutes, the wheels of the carriage crunched onto a gravel path. Then, as if the fog had parted just for us, a stone facade appeared. At first, it was a mere shadow, but then it became clearer, the dark outline of a grand house. The driver stopped the carriage with a sharp jolt and, muttering a curse, opened the door. He offered me his hand, his features pinched with unease.
“Heyworth Manor, miss,” he said.
I stepped out, hesitating at first as the chill air nipped at my skin and the mist began to soak my hair. A sense of unease stirred in me, but the manor was the only refuge in sight. I walked toward the imposing front doors. The sound of my footsteps crunching softly on the gravel was swallowed by the fog, and just as I reached for the brass knocker, the door creaked open. Silhouetted against the dim light inside, a figure stood shadowed in the doorway. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were dark and unreadable. He appeared to take in the sight of me, now drenched from the mist.
“Out in the middle of nowhere at this hour?” he muttered, his tone more gruff than welcoming. “One would think a lady such as yourself might know better than to wander in weather such as this.” He stepped aside, his face obscured in shadow. “Come in, before you freeze to death on my doorstep,” he added. The words were sharp, as if every second were an inconvenience. I crossed the threshold into the vestibule. As he closed the door behind me, its sound echoed in the cavernous hall beyond. His voice muttered behind me. “Did your wits vanish with the mist, or have you some other excuse for your poor judgment?”
I ignored his lack of propriety. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, sir. I don’t wish to intrude on it longer than necessary, I assure you.” He lit a lantern and extended his arm to illuminate the space between us. It was then that I noticed how handsome he was, despite his frown, but I tried not to let my bewilderment show. I suppose I expected someone with such rough manners to resemble them.
“I’m traveling from London. I was on my way to a teaching position at a country school in Bradwell. The fog just became too thick, and my coachman had to seek shelter.”
“And so, instead of a respectable schoolhouse, you’ve found yourself at the doorstep of a man who despises interruptions.” He said. His features were sharp, well-defined, and undeniably aristocratic.
I admired the house as I followed him to the sitting room. The flickering glow of the lantern revealed intricate wood paneling on the walls. They bore the weight of years, their once-polished surfaces dulled, their edges softened by neglect. Dust clung to the carved flourishes, and the air carried the faint scent of aged wood and faded linen. There was a stillness, as though the house had long been waiting for someone to stir it from its quiet slumber. I could almost imagine myself belonging to its secrets and shadows.
He closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion and stepped past me, boots sounding heavy against the floor as he moved toward the fire. He seemed to avoid looking at me, pouring himself a glass of brandy instead. “It would seem you’ve inherited my misfortune for the evening. You’re here, and it cannot be helped now. Sit,” he said, nodding toward a chair near the fire. “Or stand there and shiver like a lost fawn, if you prefer.”
I quickly obeyed, and sat down across from him. My damp clothes clung to me. I shivered from the cold, and the fire was very welcome. At last, he looked at me, his expression unreadable. “A teacher, then. A respectable lady, well-versed in books and discipline. Tell me,” He took a slow sip of brandy, pausing to watch the firelight catch in his glass, “aren’t you afraid of strange men, alone in strange houses?”
“I’m more afraid of freezing to death on the moors.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and began to directly observe me then, as I let down my hair. His gaze carried a touch of knowing mischief, as if he was used to being in command of any room he entered. Water dripped onto my dress, as I attempted to run my fingers through it. He’d offered no towel or blanket, obviously lacking any regard for my comfort or his furniture, which I was definitely ruining. I wiped water from my face with the back of my hand. Then leaned closer to the fire. After a few minutes, steam began to rise from my skirts. I noticed him studying me.
“You’re staring, sir.”
He swirled the brandy in his glass, unhurried and unembarrassed. “I beg your pardon, miss –?”
“Ashmore. Margaret Ashmore. That’s my name. And yours, sir?”
“Margaret,” He said slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. “Pearl. Isn’t that what it means? Fitting for one so iridescent.” His gaze flickered to the firelight casting warm hues against my skin. “Though I suspect you’re not quite so delicate as you appear. Traveling all this way alone.”
He swirled the last of his brandy before setting the glass aside, studying me a moment longer before he spoke. “Richard Heyworth. Lord Heyworth, or my lord, to you, Miss Ashmore.” I blushed violently, never having met an aristocrat before. I was unaware that ‘sir’ wasn’t the proper way to address him. He stood then, stretching to his full height, which was substantial, and loomed over me with an air of casual arrogance, his boots brushing the edge of my skirts.
“Well, you appear to be a gentleman, my lord, but now I’m not so sure. Do you mean to frighten me?”
“Frighten you? Now, why would I want that, Miss Ashmore? What possible delight could I take in seeing you tremble?”
As if on his command I began to shiver. An inward vibration most definitely prompted by his words. A smirk curved at the corners of his mouth as the silence stretched between us. He seemed to know the effect he was having, and I wasn’t going to allow him to intimidate me. I’d braved this journey from London on my own, and I wasn’t going to allow one man to unnerve me, no matter how imperious. I took a deep breath and straightened in my chair, meeting his eyes with a directness that only increased his amusement.
“You are rather bold, aren’t you? Setting out on your own, braving the wild moors, seeking employment far from all that is safe and familiar. Some might call that foolishness.” He reached for a decanter on the end table beside me and poured another glass of brandy, then extended it toward me, watching to see if I’d take it. “I, however, might call it something else entirely. Tell me Miss Ashmore… do you crave adventure or is it escape you seek?”
I took the brandy he offered and placed the glass to my lips. Merely letting the warm liquid touch them without actually taking any into my mouth. “What I do is simply survival. I seek an escape from destitution. If adventure or danger find me as a consequence, well, I’d face them equally, as it is necessary to face all things in life.” I then took the glass, and swallowed its contents whole. Perhaps thinking a show of such bravado might repel the nobleman, who still stood over me, eyes flickering to my throat.
“You certainly aren’t lacking in spirit, Miss Ashmore,” he exhaled a soft chuckle. “Tell me, what would a gentleman do in this situation? I’m out of practice.”
“Well, at the risk of sounding presumptuous, I think he might offer me a spare room, something hot to eat, and then leave me to spend a peaceful night alone.”
Without another word he took my glass, set it on the side table beside his, and offered me his hand. It was warm and steady around mine as he escorted me through the hall and up a large staircase.
“I trust you’ll be comfortable here, Miss Ashmore,” he said softly as we reached the door to a private room. His hand rested on the doorknob for a moment, lingering just long enough to make me aware of his proximity. “I’ll leave you to change, but do call if you need anything. I’m just a few doors away.” He left me his candle, and glanced over his shoulder before turning to leave. “Sleep well. You’ll need your strength for the rest of your journey.” I watched him disappear into the inky blackness of the hallway.
Leave a Reply