Page 74 of No Place in Time

She needed to escape.

The thought came clear and sharp, despite the fog that had taken hold of her thoughts. Just take a horse and ride away. Disappear into the countryside. She had no money of her own—Julian saw to that—no family except Uncle Stephen, who’d arranged the marriage in the first place. But maybe she could find work somewhere as a servant. She’d done it before. Anything but this.

This life as a figure woven into a tapestry—beautiful, watched, unable to step out of the frame.

But even as Cecily thought it, she knew she couldn’t escape. She could barely make it down the stairs some days. How would she ride for hours to get away from Veyron? Where would she go?

Tomorrow, maybe. When she felt stronger.

Her thoughts drifted to the widow’s cottage, and with it, to Finn. Nearly a year. He had sworn at the chapel ruins that he would come for her. Now, only silence. Had he forgotten her, or had he been silenced somehow? The not knowing was a constant, dull ache, worse than the spinning in her head.

The memory of his kiss was the only thing that wasn’t melancholy in this place, and it was the one thing that could give her strength.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Enter.”

It was Isabel, carrying her embroidery. “May I sit with you?”

“Please.”

Isabel settled into the chair opposite her and took up her needle. They worked in companionable silence. She was the only person in this place who felt like a friend.

After a while, Isabel put her embroidery down and said quietly, “The new tapestries are lovely.”

Her tone seemed careful. Neutral.

“Yes,” Cecily said. “It seems Julian has been fortunate lately.”

“Has he?”

“His investments, I suppose. The estate is doing better.”

Silence. Isabel took up her needle and pushed it through the cloth.

“Strange how quickly fortune can change,” Isabel said.

Something in her voice made Cecily look up. “What do you mean?”

Isabel met her eyes. “Nothing. Only that months ago, Julian was worried about debt. Now he buys rare imports from France.” She paused. “It’s… unusual.”

“You think something is wrong?”

“I think many things are wrong.” Isabel’s voice dropped. “But I don’t know what.”

They sat for a moment. Then Cecily asked, “Do you remember that man at the widow’s cottage? The soldier.”

Isabel’s hands stilled. “I remember.” She looked down at the embroidery in her lap.

“Do you know what happened to him?”

The silence stretched too long.

“I don’t know,” Isabel said finally. “He disappeared.”

“Disappeared how?”

“I…” Isabel looked uncomfortable. “I heard Julian and Benedict talking once. About someone they’d dealt with. I didn’t hear clearly.”