Page 1 of A Fearless Heart
Chapter 1
1812
A raw wind whipped overthe bare meadows and gardens, chilling the woman who walked through them. Her gloved fist clutched the top of her black cape to keep the wind from ripping the garment open. Even so, the gust pushed her hood off, revealing dark curls that instantly tangled in the rough air. She pulled the hood back up and knelt on the garden path, reaching out to press her hand into the frost-rimed soil of a garden bed.
Despite the dour, cloudy sky and the cruel weather, Arcadia Osbourne smiled to herself. Though winter seemed to have a deadly grasp on the land, spring lurked underneath, ready to surge forth. She could feel the soil’s softness, and almost hear the awakening of the still-subterranean seeds. One warm, gentle sunny day should do it.
Then she lost her smile. This spring would be different from all the rest. She was alone now, and there were precious few hands to tend the extensive grounds and give her the necessary time to care for the truly rare specimens that were her responsibility to maintain.
No, she wasn’t alone, she quickly reminded herself. Though her brother lived in London, Cady knew that she could reach out to him at any time. Their relationship was the sort that didn’t require constant attention. A quiet yet bone-deep love had grown up amid some harsh times and intense scrutiny from their very demanding father. If Cady ever needed Trevor, he’d be there in a twinkling.
She noticed a spot of color against the dark soil. A plant was just pushing through the earth—a mere speck with two minuscule leaves. She put her finger under one leaf, though she knew that these first leaves, called cotyledons, did not resemble the identifying shape that all future leaves on this planet would share.
“What are you?” she asked the seedling. “A violet? A moonflower? Or something a little different? I’ll just have to keep an eye on you and see, hmm?”
As she regarded the tiny sprout, she was startled by an unexpected movement. A gray spider jumped from the mound of earth to the back of her gloved hand. She shook it off, standing up so quickly that she nearly overbalanced. The pleasure of seeing the new plant evaporated in the aftermath of the spider’s arrival.
Did it bite her? No, it couldn’t have. She was wearing thick cotton gloves. But what if it had bitten through the fabric? No, she’d have felt it. She would havehadto have felt it, wouldn’t she?
She looked back at the house, feeling that it was too far away now. How had she been so silly as to walk so far from the safety of the buildings? She’d been blithely confident earlier, sure that nothing could happen on a simple walk.
“I’ll go back and wash my hands and apply alcohol to the spot,” she muttered to herself. “No, take the gloves off first, and check for a hole in the fabric on the right hand. No need to fret over nothing. It’s nothing.”
Walking briskly back toward the house, she shook her head in disgust. She told herselfit’s nothinga hundred times a day, and the words always failed to reassure her. She knew exactly where the spider had landed, and she focused on the sensations there. Did her skin feel warmer? Was there pain?
No, but there might be soon. She had to stay alert, examine her skin for changes, be very, very careful to not get herself into a situation like this again, and also careful to not worry the servants or let her concern show, because there was very likely nothing to worry about. And she could hardly maintain order over the house and the estate if she were considered touched in the head, could she? The worries piled upon themselves, making it hard to breathe.
Inside the house, the footman Vernon greeted her. “Ah, back already, Lady Arcadia? You must be chilled to the bone.” Vernon had served her family for decades, starting out as a scullery lad. He was really too old to serve as a footman now, but who else was available?
“It was brisk,” Cady admitted, unclasping her long cape.
Vernon took the proffered cape and stood uncertainly for a moment, until she realized he was also waiting for the gloves.
“Oh, I’ll just keep these,” she said quickly. “I wanted to look at the stitching before I forget.”
“Yes, my lady.” The slight crease of his forehead betrayed that he wanted to askwhy, but he was far too well trained to do so. Still, his gaze was a little reproving, as if Cady had been found wanting in some way. It was a look rather like her father’s…and considering that Vernon had worked in the house under her father’s rule, the similarity in expression made sense. This whole house was a reflection of her father’s ideals.
“I’m going to my room,” she said. “Will you tell Cook to have some hot tea and some of those scones sent up?”
She ascended the stone staircase to the upper floor, conscious of how odd it was to wear the long, heavy, outdoor gloves while parading down the hall. Once in her room, she sagged against the door. Here she was safe. No one to watch her peel off the gloves and stare intently at the right-hand one, stretching and pulling the fabric to ascertain if a spider had nibbled through the layer. Nothing.
“There’s nothing. It’s a spider, not a pair of scissors.” Annoyed at herself, she flung the gloves onto the back of a chair, then raised her hand to the light from the window, tilting it to see if any bump was rising, or the skin was reddening, or she was showing imminent signs of falling prey to the first arachnid of the season.
Nothing.
“Of course there’s nothing, Cady. It’salwaysnothing.”
Bold talk, but her heart was still beating a pattern ofwhat-if, what-if, what-ifinside her rib cage.
A meow interrupted her worries, and a circle of tabby stretched and stood up on the cushion of a chair near the fireplace. The cat blinked slowly, meowing again.
“Oscar, you have a cat bed of your very own not five steps away. Why must you insist on sleeping on people’s furniture?”
She moved to the fireplace and bent to pet the cat. Oscar started purring immediately and pushed his head up to receive firmer pettings and scratches. Cady always admired the cat for his ability to not worry about anything. He’d been discovered years ago as a stray, hiding in one of the sheds. A groundskeeper had been about to drown him, the common practice for stray kittens. But Cady and Trevor had come upon the scene just in time and begged and pleaded for the cat’s life to be spared.
In repayment for this mercy, Oscar did practically nothing. He slept all day and most of the night, and he tended to meow loudly at shadows for no particular reason. He sometimes decided to curl up on Cady’s own pillow, shoving her to the side in the middle of the night. He occasionally left dead mice inside her slippers.
But Cady loved him all the same. Love is a gift to given, not a prize to be earned.
