Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

The Lord and Lady of the Lake (2 of 2)

Sneaking the cloak and hiding it in her closet underneath a dress was easier than it should have been. The maid was either blind or wished to stay away from the young mistress' business.

At night, their house turned into a castle with its sighing steps, shadows and the hiding spots behind the couches and curtains... but navigating it in the dark proved simple enough.

Out of doors, it wasn't even all that spooky.

About the only thing that took Mabel by surprise was that even with the pale pre-dawn light to see by, it took her longer to reach the lake than in the daytime. It didn't matter, though, because she stood on the bluff when the sun pushed through the clouds. She clutching her stolen cloak closer to ward off the rising breeze. The tilted rays gilded the underbellies of the clouds. She bit her lips. The stormy morning mirrored her restlessness with the lapping of water.

Why did she take it into her head that Everett would be swimming precisely at sunrise, while Miss Carter said nothing of the kind? What a fool had she been! No sane man jumped into a lake in October, unless they caught on fire. Maybe in the middle of a battle, with roaring cannons exploding and swords whistling, maybe then an embrace of icy water would be welcome. But the countryside mocked her with gentle gurgles and rustling, until the quivering bird song broke it. A wayward lark rose into the sky.

This mad escapade was fruitless. Now, right now, she should run and never come back, particularly at this hour. She could daydream in the afternoons all she wanted, or in the safety of her parent's garden.

Mabel made a few shuffling steps, but the lonely song from up high arrested her. She took a lungful of the morning air and tilted her head back. Which shadow in the sky was her morning singer?

The pine's boughs swung lightly, whispered to the wind and imbued it with the scent of sap. It bled down the trunks, the amber tears, almost the same colour as the cliffs that the lake water carved out of rock. They weren't imposing hundred feet drops. Their tops didn't touch the clouds, no matter how low they descended from Heavens, yet she loved it. The rocks invited her to climb down the natural steps and touch the blue waters. A stream running into the lake to her right tumbled in over a stone in a miniature waterfall, filling the air with a wistful accompaniment to the songbird's efforts.

Her tormented heart revelled in peace. She leaned against a slender pine tree and waited for the sun to crest the line of the hills. Above her, more birds fluttered out of hiding and tried out their voices. The lightest mist lifted from the surface of the water leaving it to mirror every leaf and every stone.

The natural scene was so dreamlike, that when Mabel spotted the tall, broad-shouldered figure on the other shore, she had to pinch herself. For without such a homey test, she wasn't quite sure that she hadn't somehow succumbed to Morpehus' seductive whisperings and he showed her exactly what she longed to see.

Except sleep didn't descend on her eyelashes. Either she was dreaming with her eyes open or this was Everett in the flesh. And Miss Carter was right—there was no mistaking him for any other man in Lancashire. Or any other man in England. And for her, for her, there would never be mistaking him for any other man in the whole wide world.

Like her, Everett arrived on foot instead of galloping on his horse. She imagined he didn't dash from shadow to shadow or glanced about like a frightened hare.

She couldn't see his smaller movements over the distance that separated them, but she modestly averted her eyes when his dark jacket dropped to the ground, exposing the crisp white of his shirt.

Even if all she was looking at was the toes of her shoes twisting into grass, even when she stepped behind her pine tree, her face burned. Her knees would have given out if she didn't grasp the sticky trunk for support. Clutching it, she still shook worse than an aspen leaf, intoxicated by the notion that he was near, yet out of reach, and she could see him and remain unseen. And that she was doing something excitingly, patently wrong.