Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

14. The Quail's Flight

Mabel thought she would die. Astoundingly, her heart kept on beating and her chest drew in a shuddering breath.  

Pebbles dug into her knees, returning her to reality. As soon as she could breathe again, an invisible hand lifted her to her feet. Blood pounded in her ears, cutting off the familiar sounds of the pine boughs and the reeds. 

Everett was close. He was coming closer. He'd see her, recognize her—

It's me! she wanted to shout, dash to him, and cover his wet cheeks with kisses. You were coming for me.

Her feet disobeyed, despite the broiling in her veins.

A panicked quail, flushed by the hunters, flees like she fled, blinded by the terror of being found out. Everett's shouts chased her, tripping her on even ground long after she should have ceased to hear him. Imaginary or real, his words rang in her ears.

"Leaving so soon? O, please, return and show thy face, fair maid!"

The familiar trail blurred around her. Wet branches slapped her legs, burrs caught the streaming flaps of her cloak, and the berry-laden shrubs ambushed her at every turn. She flapped her arms in the air whenever her shoes slipped on muddy patches, increasing her resemblance to a fowl.

She must have breathed through it all, but she didn't remember doing it until she plopped on the bench in the safety of her garden. There, she wheezed for air that her chest burned for. Each breath stabbed her with an invisible dagger through her side, a trifle pain, compared to shame.

Minutes passed, maybe hours... she cared not.

The discomforts of exertion ebbed away, but she didn't move from her spot, except to pick off the burrs, leaves, cobwebs and drying patches of dirt from her skirts. The cloak she folded craftily to hide the ratty hem. She'd have to have it cleaned and mended in secret before replacing it in her closet.

What if Everett recognized her? What would he do? He was not a subtle man.

Finally, Mrs. Walton appeared before her with an exclamation of, "There you are!"

Her heart stopped, for all her mother had to do was to grab the cloak or take a good look at her shoes, and she would be discovered.

"You have given me quite a fright, my dear!"

She almost laughed at the absurdity of her mother complaining about being frightened, but stifled the hysterical giggles.

"Go to breakfast before you catch a chill," Mrs. Walton demanded.

"Yes, Mother. At once." Mabel launched to her feet, gathering the cloak, and dashed inside. 

She spent the night rubbing the dirt off the cloak and mending the tears in it. Good thing she had secreted away a candle for reading, back when reading well into the night was her only trespass.

The next day, she moved as if in a dream, incapable of finding a place to rest her aching limbs. Incapable of soothing her aching heart. More night excursions were out of the question. Yet, a listlessness descended on her besides losing that thrill. She stayed to her room or the garden with a book. She did the same on the following Thursday and Friday, but read not a single page.

She was poised to make no further progress on Saturday either, when Mrs. Walton announced herself with a thunderous knock.

"Mabel! Mabel! Stop sulking this minute. You must dress for dinner."

"I am not hungry."

"Horse feathers! We have a visitor, my dear, so I will not suffer you putting up the airs."