Chapter 20
The hum of laughter and music receded into a distant, indistinct murmur, and every movement slowed—the children weaving ribbons, the flutter of skirts, even the flicker of sunlight across the tables—and blurred at the edges, leaving only him.
Thea’s breath caught, shallow and uncertain, as though her body resisted believing it.
Somewhere beneath the shock, her heart began to pound, an unsteady rhythm that made the ground feel less sure beneath her feet.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” whispered Mina. “He loves you.”
Yet for all of those hurried assurances, Thea couldn’t deny the evidence before her eyes. Frederick strolled across the green with Sally Jenkins’s arm threaded through his. Of course, one could dismiss it as a bit of gentlemanly gallantry, but the close manner in which they stood spoke volumes.
As did Sally’s triumphant grin when her eyes fell to Thea’s.
*
The world liked to dress virtue in soft colors and gentle smiles, as though goodness were a garment easily slipped on and off.
But more often than not, it was a hard, unyielding road—cold beneath the feet and steep enough to leave one gasping for breath.
It required strength of purpose and an unwavering resolve, else everyone would choose that path, and Frederick wouldn’t allow himself to turn back now.
It would help if Miss Sally Jenkins weren’t so blasted silly.
Every word that came from her mouth proved her to be witless.
Not a moral failing, to be certain, and it could be easily overlooked if she possessed even a speck of kindness, but then, that self-serving quality had drawn Frederick to her in the first place.
No other young lady would’ve accepted his overtures, for they had sense and feeling enough not to play a part in Thea’s heartbreak, yet Miss Jenkins had readily accepted his invitation without hesitation.
The young lady’s head swung this way and that, dispensing nods of gracious acknowledgment as though she were a queen amongst the peasants.
And with every turn, the ridiculous plume jutting from the bonnet’s nether regions like a sickly peacock struck Frederick square in the face.
He did not care for the taste of feathers.
This was for the best.
Clinging to that assurance, Frederick led Miss Jenkins through the gathering, ignoring the eyes pointed at them (both the narrowed and wide varieties) as they threw themselves into the festivities.
Frederick felt Thea’s attention on him, and he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.
Yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling, either.
This was his last connection to her. After today, she would never speak or look at him again. Never think of him, if there was any mercy in the universe. Though he knew that was a vain hope. This wound would linger for far too long, but it was necessary.
It was for the best.
Forcing himself to engage with the few villagers willing to join them in conversation, Frederick tried to keep his thoughts on his companions, but he hadn’t a spare thought for pleasantries when each necessary and unbearable plan circled endlessly in his head.
Mr. Moulton had already identified two serious buyers (both new money yearning to establish themselves amongst the landed gentry and eager to agree to Frederick’s terms), and the ever-pragmatic Mr. Gleason had begun drafting the terms of the auction for the furnishings and remaining stock.
By the end of August, the sale would be complete, the house emptied, and Dunsby Hall would belong to someone else.
The family’s dignity would be first to go, long before the silver or the house itself.
Once his resignation as churchwarden was made public and the notices for the auction posted, there would be no containing the gossip.
The Voss name would be on every tongue, passed about over shop counters and across pews as their ruin was picked apart and every morsel relished whilst his family railed against each of his decisions.
All of which he could’ve borne if Thea were by his side.
Yet her absence was also his single comfort as the world crumbled.
Whatever befell him, Thea would be spared, and that thought steadied him, even as the noise of the festival swelled like the tide.
He had protected her. Whatever else might be said of him, Frederick could take pride in that.
Thea may despise him now, but one day she would marry a man worthy of her, and in time, she would forget Frederick Voss entirely.
Clinging to that, Frederick threw himself into the pantomime he was providing for the afternoon’s entertainment.
It was a fine line to walk—both making it clear that he was no longer courting Thea whilst not raising Miss Jenkins’s expectations—but compared to all the other troubles of late, fending off her advances as she draped herself over him was simple.
And he counted down the minutes until he was free to leave.
Frederick dodged another smack of the feather and spied Timothy by the cider stand, leaning far too close to Miss Hawksworth.
Her hands waved as she spoke animatedly to him, and his eyes gleamed as he watched her, like a thirsty man finding an oasis in the desert; Miss Hawksworth laughed, the sound light and eager, her lashes fluttering as though caught by a breeze, and a cold unease crept through Frederick’s chest.
Ought he to intervene? Warn her? It wasn’t as though he could threaten Timothy away from every lady in the village, yet watching his brother’s hand brush Miss Hawksworth’s sleeve made his stomach twist. The question gnawed at him, its teeth sinking deeper with every laugh that passed between the pair.
A pulsing pain drove itself into Frederick’s temple, and he couldn’t bear this any longer. Turning to his companion, he gave her that smile that so easily graced his lips.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Jenkins, but I must depart.”
Giving him an affected pout, the lady frowned. “It cannot be. Not so soon. When you said you wouldn’t be able to remain for the whole afternoon, I hadn’t thought you would leave only a couple of hours into the festivities.”
“I know, and it breaks my heart, but I must away.”
With a sigh worthy of an actress, Miss Jenkins nodded. “Yes, I understand you have much serious business to attend to.”
Frederick took her hand in his and bowed low over it, making enough of a show that quite a few were bound to notice. “I do hope you will forgive me.”
“I suppose. If you promise to take me on a drive tomorrow.”
Wincing, he placed a hand over his heart. “I fear I am not available tomorrow or the rest of the week.”
“Then the next?” she asked with an upward quirk of her brow.
Frederick gave a show of considering it, though his pulse quickened at the thought of being trapped in her company again. “Perhaps in a fortnight.”
“And perhaps I will be available,” she said in a manner that was likely intended to be coy, but such attempts were only successful when the lady hadn’t made her desperation clear.
But it mattered not. In a fortnight, tongues would be wagging enough that she would be glad to be rid of him. Just as Miss Hawksworth would cut ties with Timothy.
Straightening, Frederick escaped while he could, turning on his heel and striding quickly across the green and down the lane.
He walked quickly, head down, and the clamor of the festival faded behind him until only the faint strains of a fiddle reached his ears, but his thoughts churned louder than the noise he’d left behind as thoughts of his future and Dunsby Hall circled about his head.
The narrow lane curved between the backs of cottages, their gardens spilling over low stone walls full of wild roses and foxglove, and Frederick barely noticed the path turning toward the edge of the village, where a line of elm trees cast long shadows across the worn footpath leading through the meadows.
And when the lane curved around a blind corner, Frederick nearly collided with Thea, standing half in sunlight, half in shade, her hands clasped before her as though holding herself together.
The sounds of the festival were well behind them, and there wasn’t another soul in any direction.
Here, only the wind and birds would bear witness.
There was nowhere to flee.
“Frederick.” Though the name might have been taken for a greeting, Thea’s tone was anything but.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The faint rustle of leaves filled the space between them, the sound sharper than it had any right to be. Frederick’s throat tightened, squeezing shut as though his cravat were a noose, strangling the air from his lungs.
Thea didn’t fidget or glance away as most might’ve done.
Those clear, deep eyes fixed upon him without flinching, and that composure only made matters worse.
He wanted to look anywhere else—at the trees, the grass, the cottage wall—but Frederick was trapped in her gaze as the silence stretched, thinning until it was liable to snap.
Or perhaps it was simply him: Thea looked entirely unaffected. And the longer she held her peace, the more he unraveled.
If she would only speak! Scold him. Anything would be better than this unbearable quiet as Thea watched him with eyes that saw too much. Frederick shifted his weight, his fingers fiddling with the seam of his trousers as his arms hung uselessly at his side.
The sunlight caught in the loose curls at her temple, bringing out shimmers of gold, and if Frederick had any air left in his lungs, it would’ve fled him at the sight of a lady who put Aphrodite to shame.
“Are you truly going to stand there, pretending you do not know precisely why I am here?” asked Thea, her voice leached of all inflection.
Drawing in a breath (as though that would do anything for his equilibrium), Frederick forced out the words. “I suppose you are quite vexed with me. What with the note, and now, Miss Jenkins—”
But Frederick stopped short when Thea’s brows rose at that. Not out of surprise but challenge. And the faintest of scoffs escaped her lips.
Those lips…
Shaking free of that thought, Frederick’s brow furrowed as he stared at her. “You aren’t angry about Miss Jenkins?”
Another huff, and Thea crossed her arms as she stared at him.
“You are angry about her?” Though he’d meant it as a statement, the tone was clearly questioning, and Frederick wondered how he’d lost all ability to discern Thea’s moods. At present, the lady was quite perplexing.
“Did you think a simple note would suffice?” asked Thea, her arms dropping to her sides as her hands fisted.
“And that I would see you with Sally Jenkins—of all people—and be so furious that I would dismiss you from my thoughts without further explanation? That I would ignore everything I know about you—about us—and let you slip away? That I wouldn’t sense that you, in all your blind glory, are doing your utmost to avoid the issues plaguing you? ”
Frederick scowled. “I do not avoid my troubles.”
“Which is why you’ve never spoken about your father’s passing. At least not in any meaningful manner,” said Thea, pointing a sharp, accusatory finger in his direction. “And any time I broach the subject, you make a jest and laugh my concern away.”
“And because I do not wish to dwell on unhappy subjects, you think I am avoiding them altogether?” he challenged, a thread of steel weaving its way into his tone.
“Yes—because they continue to pain you, and you refuse to acknowledge it,” said Thea, lifting her chin.
“I do not know if all this is related to your father or not, but I am done waiting patiently for you to speak, Frederick Voss. I demand answers, and I will not leave until you explain yourself. In detail.”