With more questions than she had answers, she wasn’t altogether sure that she shouldn’t just go back to Yorkshire. If she absolutely refused to marry anyone and stood her ground against her father, maybe he would eventually give up on his quest to marry her off. Unfortunately, there was a very strong possibility that he wouldn’t surrender his determination that she marry, and she would be left with her life in tatters.
Once in her room, she settled down at her writing desk, drew out some parchment, and dipped her quill into the ink pot. Unfortunately, the words wouldn’t flow. There was nothing she wanted to say right now that felt right. She stared blankly down at the parchment for several moments, but couldn’t find a way to even begin her letter home. With a sigh, she lay her quill down and sat on the window seat so she could overlook the gardens.
She immediately began to think about Trenton and his kisses. While she was inwardly thrilled that he had kissed her, she was a little perturbed at the thought that her father had asked him to watch over her. It was humiliating to think that neither man considered her able to look after herself, even with her Aunt Adelaide as chaperone. After all, what did they expect her to do?
Answer a request for a secret assignation in a dark corner of someone’s house, that’s what, an inner voice reminded her pertly.
What should she do the next time she saw him? She couldn’t exactly blank him per se, but neither could she engage in casual conversation as though nothing had happened between them. Not after what they had shared the other night. However, she knew it would be better for both of them if she found the strength to at least appear as unperturbed by the encounter as he had apparently been.
When she realised she wasn’t going to settle her mind to deciding what to do about him, she turned her attention to the flowers. She should focus on discovering the identity of her secret admirer so she could ask him to stop sending them. How though? How did one go about identifying a secret admirer who seemingly didn’t wish to be known?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the bedroom door. She turned around in time to watch her maid enter the room with yet another arrangement of flowers.
“Another one has arrived, miss,” the maid murmured as she slid the posies onto the dresser. “Where shall I put it?”
Ursula studied it in dismay. “The dresser should be fine, thank you.” She studied the arrangement once the maid had turned to leave. “Was there no note with it?”
“Nothing, miss,” the maid replied quietly. “Will that be all, miss?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ursula replied vaguely.
At the tea tomorrow she must remember to ask Brampton if he liked flowers. Maybe, with some discrete questioning, she could find out if he was her mysterious admirer. However, given that several of the arrangements had been in the morning room when he had called by, and he hadn’t even glanced at them, she suspected that he wasn’t the sender either.
That left her with the continued problem of who continued to send her the flowers and why they didn’t tell her who they were? More importantly, how did she go about finding out who it was without directly asking people?
She was still considering that problem later that night when she rolled over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I hate London,” she grumbled as she listened to what she now knew was constant noise.
The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder with each passing minute and added to the headache that had started to form behind her eyes. Outside, the rumble of carriage wheels outside seemed to go on and on, even though the hour was well past midnight. It was impossible to get any peace whatsoever because there was always something that interrupted the silence, and rendered sleep impossible, like now.
Taking an early night had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, she wished she had done some sewing, or read for a while until she was sleepy enough to fall asleep.
“It was my only evening at home by myself as well,” she groused aloud.
She wished now that she had asked the maid to put several more logs onto the fire. Goose bumps stood out on her arm. Although she tucked it beneath the covers she was still cold. She wondered if she should get up and put some more logs on, but the thought of leaving the meagre warmth between the sheets made her tug them up to her chin instead.
A frown swept over her face when the soft tickle of a gentle breeze swept over her cheeks. She had closed the shutters herself so knew she couldn’t possibly have left a window open. Where was the breeze coming from then? Even through the darkness, she could see that her bedroom door was closed so it couldn’t be coming from the hallway.
She rolled over in bed and sighed deeply in an effort to will her mind to settle. When another breeze swept over her; she sniffed and knew it was going to be impossible to fall asleep until she warmed up a little. Suddenly, the atmosphere within the room shifted and became dark and almost expectant.
Although she couldn’t see much, something was decidedly different. The shadows at the far end of the room seemed darker somehow. It was ridiculous really; they couldn’t possibly be. Could they?
She studied the darkness a little more closely. She was positive she had been able to see the pictures that hung on the wall moments earlier. Now, she could see nothing but darkness.
All thoughts of going to sleep vanished. Something, some inner instinct for self-preservation, warned her not to close her eyes. Instead, she remained motionless and stared at the same spot of darkness that appeared to be moving. Were her eyes deceiving her? Her heart leapt into her throat when the shadow slowly became more defined. She watched in horror as it moved away from the wall and crept silently toward her. Fear knotted in her stomach.
There was an intruder in her bedroom.
She began to tremble with the need to run, but her limbs wouldn’t work. When the shadow began to change shape and the outline of a man became visible, she realised that one of the shutters now stood open. That was where the breeze was coming from, and how the intruder had gained entrance. Her eyes snapped back to the dark shadow that continued to glide ever closer. A scream locked in her throat when she realised he had reached the end of the bed.
Without further thought, she threw the covers off and threw herself out of bed and raced toward the be
droom door. The skirts of her night-dress got tangled in her legs slowing her pace a little as she raced across the room, but she didn’t stop. Once at the door, she had no sooner placed her hands on the brass knob when cold hands grabbed her waist and began to tug her backward.
“Get off me!” she screamed as loudly while clinging desperately to the door knob. With her free hand she thumped heavily on the door and tried to get the door open.
Sucking in a huge breath, she screamed again, and increased the volume the more the man tightened his hold on her waist. In spite of his desperate attempts to get her to let go of the knob, she eventually managed to yank the door open. When her eyes landed on the familiar sight of the hallway, she grabbed hold of the door jamb and screamed for help.