What was she doing? Trying to distract me with poor jokes?
But the look of pity did not leave her face. “I hadn’t wanted that sort of pressure dictating your marriage, so we decided not to tell you, and I apologize for that.”
My mind was a blur. “What—how is that relevant?” I asked.
“There’s no money for your dowries. All we have to offer is our reputation, and if word about Rosamund gets out, we’ll have nothing.”
I took in their grave faces. “How . . . did this even . . . happen?”
My father struggled to look me in the eye. He took a sip of tea and spoke into the cup. “I’m—I’m sorry, Evelyn.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Please,” my mother cut in. “You’ve been through much today. Perhaps you need some rest.”
“You want me to take a nap?” I yelled. Hang it all, she was infuriating! I looked to my father, whose eyes were now aimed downward at a Turkish rug. “Father, you actually agree with this?”
“About the nap or—?” He cleared his throat and caught my mother’s eye before responding. “Yes, your mother is right. It would be wise to be prudent,” he said.
“Ha! Like you were prudent in handling our money?” I asked, rising from my seat. I tried to be respectful, but it had come to this. “Thank you for all the help. I will see you both when I find Rose.”
I stormed out of the parlor and bounded up the staircase. My mother’s footsteps followed. “You are not going to London!” she called from the foot of the stairs.
“I believe I am.”
“No. I won’t have you running around there and jeopardizing everything for us.”
“Then I won’t run around. I’ll walk.”
She was silent. I never stopped. There was no need to look at her. I knew the expression of suppressed ire well. Just before I slammed my bedroom door shut, her voice rang out once more.
“If you leave this house, do not plan to return!”
Very well. If bearing the Wyndham name meant caring more for the name than the actual people who bore it, I’d rather not be associated with it.
Furious, I rummaged through my closet, unearthed a trunk, and started packing it. I had not planned to leave so abruptly. Now I had to determine everything about my trip in a matter of minutes.
The first issue was lodgings. I would have to try to beat my mother’s letter to my aunt and uncle. They would surely take me in, even if I appeared on their doorstep without warning. Once they heard that I had left home without permission . . . well, that was a problem to be dealt with later. After finding Rose.
Within ten minutes, my trunk was packed with an assortment of clothing, some jewelry to sell, and Rose’s medicine bag. All that was left to do was ride to the train station. But when I called for our butler, Pretton, to have my trunk sent down and the carriage readied, he met my request with a stony face. “I apologize, Miss Wyndham, but your mother has halted all carriage use.”
“Is there a messenger available? I’ll hire one from town, then.”
His lips tightened. “No messages are to come in or leave without her knowledge.”
So she was truly making matters difficult. Well, then. It was close to noon and a three-mile walk to town. I could make it by the afternoon, hire a carriage to take me to the station, and reach London by evening.
Already regretting the amount I’d packed, I slid my trunk down the stairs myself and heaved it out the front door. Slowly but surely, I trudged out of our estate, dragging the great wooden burden and crushing assorted plant life along my path, with no stops to wish good-bye to anyone.
As I passed through meadows and over hills, the house gradually receded into the distance. I took a moment for one last look back, wondering if this would truly be my final glimpse of the place. Had Mother watched me leave? Did she even expect me to go this far? A twinge of guilt for disobeying sparked in my stomach, but I knew it was nothing compared with what I would have felt staying trapped in that prison. Really, I was better off.
Onward I trekked, and my home shrank to a distant speck before disappearing behind the hill. After the first awful hour of the exodus, I stopped to catch my breath on a grassy field and consider how much farther I could realistically walk. It would only get more difficult, and my blind rage was turning into a frustrated self-doubt, which was not as great a source of energy.
While I rested, a low trotting sound slowly rumbled in from the west, and a rider emerged over a distant ridge. The gallops grew louder and closer, and a jolt of dread wriggled through me. It was either someone calling on my family, or the only other nearby estate, Feydon Hall. Oh, please, not Mr. Braddock. I couldn’t deal with him now. Anyone but him.