Page 32 of The Baroness of Sin
Her aunt waved a dismissive hand, her other hand going back to pick up her book. “That’s the easy answer, my dear niece. Your heart will know the right thing to do then; I can assure you of that.”
Martha nodded, repeatedly and with increasing excitement. “Yes, yes, of course, you are right Aunt Barbara.”
“I know, dear,” Barbara said, nose back in her book.
“I have to go back to Mayfield. I have to find out what My Lord thinks of me, once and for all,” she said excitedly and rushed out of the room before she was excused by the matron.
“Safe travels,” Aunt Barbara called out, grateful for the return of the silence. Though, secretly, she was happy to know that Martha would soon have another husband.
* * *
“You can’t just leave,” Emma insisted.
“And why not?” Martha asked for the fifth time, still packing her bag.
“Because,” Emma huffed, “it's not safe. I keep telling you. It's been raining for days and days. You know the roads around here aren’t as well kept here as they are in London. You won’t make it to London. In the best of circumstances, you’ll end up stuck and soaking on the side of the road. Why risk it? You can stay here until the road dries.” Emma paced with Martha as she packed, following closely as she moved between the armoire, the wardrobe, and the bed.
Martha couldn’t debate with Emma. Mostly because she was right, but also because Martha couldn’t explain to Emma why it had to be now. Maybe she was being impatient, but something urged her on. The sooner she got her answer, the sooner her world would right itself. Sitting and waiting for the sun to come out seemed a fruitless effort, like waiting for water to boil in a pot. As long as one is looking, it will never happen.
“If I get stuck, then I get stuck,” Martha told her sister. “I can either be stuck here for certain or run the chance of getting stuck out there. But out there is also the chance I will make it back.”
“Listen,” Emma placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders, “I understand that Lord Barristen is important. Even if I haven’t been married, I still understand that he means a lot to you. But do you think he would want you to endanger yourself to get to him?” She looked her firmly in Martha’s eyes while she asked, and the normally shy eldest sister spoke with grim sincerity.
Martha’s own tone was equally serious. “I don’t know. I can’t answer that question. As much as I want to wish and hope I know the answer, I don’t know for sure. That’s why I need to go back to Mayfair, to London.”
Emma looked at her form a moment longer, then she released her sister from her grip. “Okay, if you need to go, then you need to. Just please be careful.”
“Of course,” Martha assured Emma, patting her arm.
Martha had to send a footman out to the stables, as they weren’t attached to the house, in order for the stable master to prep the carriage and the horses. Martha felt a little bad for the footman; chances were the stable master would give the young man an earful about traveling in this weather. Martha wouldn’t dare go out in the rainy weather, though. Traveling again so soon was going to be hard enough as it was, and she didn’t need to soak herself before she left.
With surprising speed, the family carriage was prepared and waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the front door. The driver was heavily clothed, his outer layer slick oiled leather to keep him as dry as possible through the hours they would be on the road.
Martha turned to hug her sister Emma tightly.
“I’ll catch up as soon as the roads are dry. Promise me you’ll send word if you need me to come sooner?” Emma insisted.
“I promise.” Martha nodded. She turned, took a deep breath, and ran out into the rain, trying to get into the cab of the carriage as fast as she could.
Chapter Twenty-Three
James refused to reenter the mood he had been in before when he thought his lady had left him on such a sour note. Despite having a lot on his mind, he made a large effort to remain in strong spirits.
His daughter, much happier now that her father had left the self-imposed exile to the confines of his study, was constantly by his side.
“Papa this has been so much fun! I didn’t know how much you liked playing with me!” Amanda said after a particularly spirited game of knights, where the Lord and young Lady pretended to be knights of Camelot in the copse of trees behind the manor.
“Well of course, my dearest. You are what’s most important to me,” he assured her.
“Certainly, your most important daughter,” she nodded knowingly.
He laughed and shook his head at her silliness. “You are my only daughter.”
He had done the foolish thing of falling in love. He couldn’t deny that to himself any longer. He was in love with Martha, and she loved him too. She loved him so much that the strain of knowing it happened forced her to run away from him. He wanted her back, wanted to tell her that it was all right, and that he felt the same way.
And that was the answer wasn’t it?
It was an easy conclusion to come to, and he did it over and over again. But each time he was swarmed with doubts and fears. What would happen if they were together? What could happen? Would she hurt him? Would she hurt Amanda? He would push these thoughts away; Martha would never do anything like that. But as soon as he would free his mind of that clutter, then the truly awful thoughts would grip his heart. What if something were to happen to Martha? What if something horrible happened again?
