Page 52 of Hooked

Falstone’s words and smile drifted into my mind, but I immediately pushed them aside. I could not think on him. Being in this house was awful enough without dwelling on all that I had lost.

When the lunch hour arrived, I barely managed a few bites of my meal. Even though Huckley’s hasty departure had lifted some of my mental burden, the rest continued to press down on me with such force that I was ready to bend.

Still, I put on my mental armor, tried to arrange my face into an expression of something other than horror, and continued my examination of the house. The drawing room was sparsely furnished and looked neglected, which struck me as odd after all the captain’s talk about making a fine house for me.

I found myself sinking down into a dusty chair, somehow more comfortable in this room than the others, likely because it didn’t feel like Captain Huckley had been here recently. I allowed myself to sit and breathe for a few minutes, until the door creaked open and Mr. Smeed entered.

My limbs stiffened.

He bowed. “Lady Wendolyn. Can I get anything for you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Very good. Then might I show you to a different room more suited to you?”

I swallowed my scoff. This was the most comfortable room I had found, but of course none of the staff would see it that way. So I stood. “Yes, thank you.”

He gestured for me to precede him out the door and then led me to the parlor. I sat and thanked him, but instead of leaving straight away, he gave me a haughty lift of his brow. “Perhaps I could ask the housekeeper to join you so that you might start familiarizing yourself with the house and its running.” His tone wreaked of condescension. “After all, you will be the lady of the house very soon.”

I felt the blood drain from my face, but managed a nod. “Yes, of course, that’s an excellent suggestion.”

“Very good, my lady.” He bowed his head and left.

I did my best to brace myself for the task of conversing with someone who expected me to act as though I had any sort of vested interest in the running of this household.

***

The housekeeper wasn’t a terror, but she didn’t offer any sympathy either. She was cold, aloof and efficient. She would be no help to me, which was unsurprising. I suspected the warning of the footman was the extent of the help I would receive from the staff. I couldn’t very well go around asking for help without knowing who to trust. No doubt such action would result in the captain insisting we be married the moment he arrived home.

By the time I was expected in the dining room for dinner, the knot in my stomach was so tight that I felt ill. It could have been hunger, but I suspected it had much more to do with dread. Still, I sat politely by myself at the table and did my best to observe all the social niceties. If the servants could report back to the captain that I was docile and cooperative, then perhaps he would stop forcing them to dog my heels.

After dinner, I was so wrung out from pretending that I claimed a headache and went to bed early.

But I couldn’t sleep. How could anyone be expected to sleep under such circumstances? I gave up after a time, realizing that the walls felt as though they were pressing in on me, shrinking my space and stealing my air. I had to get outside.

I left my room, swathed in a blue nightdress that had been laid out for me by Helen. I was halfway to the stairs when I realized I should have put on a dressing gown. Such things simply weren’t second nature anymore. I’d been a servant for too long, and I decided I didn’t care.

Even when one of the guards fell into step behind me, I couldn’t find the energy to care. Perhaps such dishabille would even make him believe I was comfortable here, that I was ready to be loyal to the captain.

I could hope.

My foot was just touching the bottom step when the guard finally spoke. “Can I be of assistance, my lady?”

I almost said no, before remembering that I was trying to act resigned. So I turned and faced him. “Yes. I need some fresh air. Perhaps you might show me the best view of the sea?”

The guard studied me silently for several heartbeats before nodding his head. “Of course, my lady. This way.”

The feeling of being a prisoner increased as he took hold of my elbow, leading me to the doors at the back of the house, nodding to the guard stationed beside the exit.

The second guard opened the door to allow us through and then fell into step on my other side.

“Thank you,” I said, gently pulling my arm from the man’s grip. Fortunately, he let me go.

My steps were quick as I stepped through a small garden and then out into the long, wild grass that stretched out to the cliff’s edge. The sound of the waves beckoned me forward and the wind increased with each step I took. Even with the captain’s guards following behind me, the cleansing effect of the breeze pushing at my hair and whipping through my nightdress was profound. I didn’t go all the way out to the edge, but stopped close enough to admire the great expanse of the Alayan Sea resting beneath the bright moon. I breathed and I closed my eyes, and I let my imagination run free. I held my arms out to my sides, raised my face to the wind and rose up on my toes, imagining that I was a bird in flight, using the harsh breeze to carry me away. A bird could not be forced to marry.

A bird had a beak that could peck and claws that could scratch.

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