She stopped, squinting into the darkness, ignoring the biting wind on her cheeks. Perhaps she’d imagined it. Perhaps it had been the moon glinting off the snow.
A reasonable possibility, if not for the falling snow blocking the moon from view.
The light flickered again, and Penelope gasped, taking one step back, eyes going wide as it moved quickly through the trees.
She squinted into the darkness leaning forward without moving her feet, fixated on the place where a faint yellow light flickered in the woods, as though the inch or two would make it easier to see the source of the light.
“There’s someone . . .” she whispered, the words trailing off in the cold silence.
Someone was there.
It could have been a servant, but it seemed unlikely. Needham servants had no reason to be by the lake in the dead of night, and it had been years since the last of the servants had left Falconwell. After they’d gone, the contents of the estate had been collected and the enormous stone structure had been left empty and unloved. No one had been to the house in years.
She had to do something.
It could be anything. A fire. A trespasser. A ghost.
Well, likely not the latter.
But it was quite possible that it was a trespasser—soon to be intruder—ready to lay siege to Falconwell. If it was, someone had to do something. After all, intruders simply could not be allowed to take up residence inside the estate of the Marquess of Bourne.
If the man himself was not going to secure his estate, it seemed the task fell to Penelope. She had an equal investment in Falconwell at this point, did she not? If the manor house was taken over by pirates or brigands, that would certainly impact the value of her dowry, would it not?
Not that she had been excited about the prospect of using her dowry.
Nonetheless, it was a matter of principle.
The light flickered again.
It did not seem that there were very many brigands out there, unless they had come ill equipped with light sources.
Come to think of it, it was unlikely that either pirates or brigands were planning to take up residence in Falconwell, what with the ocean being rather far away.
Nevertheless.
Someone was there.
The question remained as to who.
And why.
But there was one thing of which Penelope was certain. Eldest daughters of good breeding did not inspect strange lights in the middle of the night.
That would be decidedly too adventurous.
It would be more.
And that made the decision for her, really.
She’d said she wanted more, and more had come.
The universe worked in marvelous ways, did it not?
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and moved forward, excitement propelling her to a large cluster of holly bushes at the edge of the lake before she registered the stupidity of her actions.
She was outside.
In the middle of the night.
In the bitter cold.
Headed toward any number of nefarious, questionable creatures.
And no one knew where she was.
Suddenly, marriage to Tommy did not seem so very bad.
Not when it was very possible that she was about to be murdered by inland pirates.
She heard the crunch of snow nearby, and she stopped short, lifting her lantern high and peering into the darkness beyond the holly, toward the woods where she’d seen the earlier light.
Now, she saw nothing.
Nothing but falling snow and a shadow that could easily have been that of a rabid bear.
“What nonsense,” she whispered to herself, the sound of her voice in the darkness a comfort. “There are no bears in Surrey.”
She remained unconvinced, and she did not linger to discover if that black shadow was, in fact, a bear. She had things to do back at home. First among them, accepting Tommy’s proposal.
And spending some careful time with her needlepoint.
Except, at the precise moment that she’d decided to turn tail and head back, a man came through the trees, lantern in hand.
Chapter Three
Dear M—
A gift! How extravagant. School is certainly turning you into a fine man; last year, you gave me a half-eaten piece of gingerbread. I shall be very excited to see what you’ve planned.
I suppose this means I shall have to find a gift for you as well.
Soonest—P
Needham Manor, November 1813
*
Dear P—
That was excellent gingerbread. I should have known that you wouldn’t appreciate my generosity in the slightest. Whatever happened to the thought and how well it counts?
It will be good to be home. I’ve missed Surrey. And you, Sixpence (though it pains me to admit it).
—M
Eton College, November 1813
Flee!
The word echoed through her as though it had been shouted through the night, but Penelope’s limbs seemed unable to follow the command. Instead, she crouched low, hiding behind the bushes and hoping wildly that the man would not see her. Hearing his footsteps in the snow nearby, she crept along the hedge toward the lake, preparing to make a mad dash away from him when she stepped on the edge of her cloak, toppled off-balance, and landed, squarely, in the holly bush.