Chapter Nine #4
Her guardian held out his arm, as if escorting her to Harbury’s stables in the middle of the night was the most unexceptional thing in the world.
“If you’ll excuse me…” Millie rose on unsteady feet and then sent what she hoped was a regal nod to the rest. Then, gratefully, she took Asquith’s arm.
“Breathe,” he directed once they were out of hearing. “You look as if you’re about to faint straightaway.”
She inhaled deeply. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I’m aware how much the family cares for me, but I can’t believe so much fuss is necessary simply because I made one bad decision.”
Asquith sent her a sidelong glance. “We’ve all failed you, I think.”
“No! Not in the least. I should apologize to you. I should never have pressed for permission to go with Lord Willard without talking to you first.”
“Perhaps not. But I should have been honest enough to warn you away from him, especially after he prevented Neville from asking you to dance at Almack’s.”
“There’s more to this than I know, isn’t there?”
He acknowledged her with a wince. “Yes.”
“Did you really buy a horse this afternoon?”
“I did.” His gaze was utterly unreadable.
“Was that the only reason you couldn’t be found?”
“I would like you to see the horse.” Asquith avoided the question.
They walked out in the darkness, heading for the lamplight shining out from within the stables. The horse was handsome, indeed. A stallion aware of his worth, too. But with some coaxing, he condescended to permit Millie to stroke his face.
Already she felt better. More herself.
Why couldn’t she understand people the way she understood horses? Horses were…honest.
“Everyone has pulled together to help me.” She ran her hand along the curve of the stallion’s cheek. His nostrils twitched. “I feel that weight.”
“Yes, but only you can decide what happens next.”
“Oh, really?” Next was a massive iron door stubbornly sealed. “Then, I’d like to go back to yesterday, please.”
“Would you?” Asquith asked.
“I thought I would.” She’d thought going back to yesterday would be an obvious wish after so terrible a series of mistakes. But would she go back if she could?
Earlier tonight, for one blessed moment in Neville’s firm embrace, she had felt as if everything were finally right. The exhilaration of escape had brought her back from a long, dark slumber. Neville’s tenderness had felt like a reward.
“Neville is going to propose,” Asquith blithely tossed, a metaphoric pebble sending her pleasant mirage a-ripple.
“So I supposed.”
“Do you know how you will answer?”
She shook her head. “I’m scared. I want—” Her mind went blank. The horse nestled into her hand. “I don’t know what I want. I only know what I don’t want.”
“What don’t you want?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.
“I don’t want to wind up like my mother. I don’t—I can’t—live in a world like that. A world where every breath is taken by permission. A world where I can’t think, can’t laugh, can’t move, can’t read without a man’s permission.”
He was silent for a long time. “Was growing up at Willowhurst as bad as all that?”
Her lips twisted bitterly. “Only when my father was at home.”
“How bad?” he asked softly.
Millie sighed. “My father was prone to snide insults. He was constantly exasperated by everything and everyone—especially his daughters. Eliza challenged him most often, but when Eliza misbehaved, many times she did not suffer because he couldn’t tell the difference between Cassie and Eliza.”
“So you bore the brunt.”
Millie nodded.
“I didn’t know,” Asquith said. He looked away, then swallowed. “I’m sorry. I should have known. Or at least guessed.”
“Should you?” She raised her brows. “What could you possibly know about tyrannical males?”
He swiveled back. She’d meant the comment as a compliment, but something in his suddenly fierce expression left her chilled.
“Was your father—?”
“No,” he cut her off. “My father was a prince. A gentleman through and through. I—I had no idea men could be any other way. Not, at least, until…”
She waited for him to continue. He only flushed and, again, looked away.
She gave the horse another pat and then placed a hand against Asquith’s arm. “Until what, Simon?” she urged, forgetting her present distress, calling him as she had when they had been children.
Asquith chuckled without mirth. “Unintentionally, you’ve cut to the matter’s heart.” He held her gaze. “I’ve known the cruelty of boys, and of men. I’ve experience enough to understand your reluctance to place yourself entirely in one’s keeping.”
She studied him, still skeptical.
He looked away. “At school, they used to call me Scared Simon. Lily-Livered Landon.”
“What? But you’re fearless,” she exclaimed. “With the right horse, you can jump any hurdle.”
“As can you, but that hasn’t kept you out of trouble.”
“No,” she reluctantly agreed.
“And, no matter what you think of my equestrian skills, even you told me you could not believe I had put a gun to Harbury’s head.”
She had said that, hadn’t she? “Because Harbury is a duke, not because I thought you were a coward.”
His eyes went soft with gratitude, but they were still heavy with doubt. He couldn’t really think himself weak, could he?
“I wasn’t a coward, but neither was I prepared for conflict.” He snorted. “If anything my parents loved me too much. The first time I confronted true malice, I simply froze.”
She understood. Earlier tonight, she’d frozen herself. “Well, I trust you and I don’t trust any other man.” Not just because Lenora thought him worthy of monuments to his likeness…and so much more. “Neville holds you in esteem, too. The bond between you is clear.”
He lifted her hand off his arm. “And I no longer need reassurance, much as yours is appreciated.” He closed his fingers over her own. “I just want you to know that I know what it’s like to be tormented.”
She frowned. “You’ve just given me a whole new reason to distrust men.”
He groaned as he rubbed his forehead. “That was the opposite of my intention.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
He placed his hand over his mouth and drew his finger down his face, as if he were smoothing an invisible beard. He dropped her hand, turned away, and picked up the lantern. Seemingly reluctant to meet her eyes, he adjusted its wick.
“Does this have something to do with Neville?”
Asquith turned to the horse. He gave the horse’s neck a long stroke. Then, he sighed.
“Neville and I were in school together.” He glanced over his shoulder. “He and Willard were of age and had been there longer.”
She saw the shadow in his eyes—the slight hesitation before he’d said Willard and gathered that Willard hadn’t been kind.
“Neville didn’t… Please say he wasn’t among those who tormented you.”
He half-smiled. “Not as indifferent to him as you’d like me to believe, are you?”
She scowled. “Go on.”
“No, it wasn’t Neville.” He gripped his shoulder and stretched his neck. “Oh, Nev did the usual things—forcing the younger ones to carry books and such.”
“I don’t find that usual.”
Asquith shrugged. “What is school without such intentional “toughening?” But Willard… Willard was truly cruel. When Neville got wind of what was going on, he marched me and a few other boys with him into the woods on a regular basis.”
She turned away. All this time she’d bemoaned her lot as a lady. She’d never considered what kind of pressures the men around her might face. “I thought you said Neville wasn’t your tormentor.”
“The exercise’s purpose was not to torment, but to teach us how to fight back. He ran us through courses. He made us lift logs. And when we were strong enough, he had us practice our punches in pairs.”
“But that’s barbaric!”
“Painful, perhaps, but, because of Neville, we learned how to stand our ground. I learned to stand my ground. Willard never forgave Neville for teaching me that lesson. I think he hates Neville more than he hates me.”
“Oh, I think Willard has enough hate inside of him to go around.” She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking of how Willard had ordered her ‘never to mention that name.’
“I just want you to know how good a man Neville is. Earlier tonight, I gave him permission to ask for your hand, but—shh, shh, listen, would you? You will have the final word, I promise. Nothing you don’t wish to happen will come to pass.”
“But if I refuse him…”
“You will need to spend time away. At least until…” he hesitated.
She turned back, reading the truth in his face. She would need to spend time away, and she might never be able to come back.
“Until Lenora and Nettie are settled.”
Banished to the country. Able to ride whenever she wished. Hunt if she so chose. Unencumbered by menacing males.
Exactly the fate she’d wanted.
Then why did she feel exactly as she did when hiding in the gamekeeper’s cottage to escape from her father—desperate to avoid a fate she knew was inevitable?