Meet Me at Dawn

Chapter Twenty-Three (partial)

Sorry y'all I've been playing "catch-up" in pretty much all my classes as well as taking on some leadership roles lately. I'm also on Tumblr now if you want to read up on what I've been up to and look at animal pictures ;P). I'll post the link on my profile page. Here's what I have done for this chapter. It's not a lot, but I'll try and write more over the next week.

I spent the following morning fending off the gossips as I endeavored to seek out Sutherland. However, it was soon apparent that my efforts were no match for the decidedly hateful declarations made by Abigail. As I sat quietly alone in the morning room, I heard faint whispers amongst the passersby of my deceitful and coquettish behavior that led to the seduction of her betrothed.

Allegedly, I had planned this all from the start, entering his home with the intention to seduce him, knowing that she was his betrothed. I had schemed for three years, waiting for this culmination and carried out spiteful acts against her while I resided with him and his mother. Intuitively, Abigail knew my secret identity and treated me kindly to earn my trust so that she may assist me in returning to my own family. I scoffed silently as I heard numerous stories from the unreserved whispers of the gossipmongers around me. I wondered briefly how long she sat thinking of such things to say.

Though I was sorely tempted to confront her, I knew that her malevolent words and mindless chatter was unimportant at this moment. What I required, was Sutherland to cry off from this purported engagement and provide me with the funds necessary to disappear to America.   

Rather than sit for tedious hours waiting for the men to return from their morning hunt, I set out to find them instead. Thankfully, I did not have to go traipsing through the brush. Just as I had set out along the path, I saw the group returning to the house. I noticed Sutherland straight away. He was among the head of the group, his stature quite different from those around him, for as soon as his gaze fell upon me his gait faltered and the relaxed line of his mouth hardened into a slight grimace. It was sorely apparent that he had been avoiding me all morning.

I could understand his hesitance, as any meeting between us would ultimately result in a heated confrontation, as it did previously. Still, this matter was not one that could be ignored, nor could it be brushed aside.

His pace slowed as the group continued toward the house and he came to stand before me. Neither of us spoke, but exchanged a nod of acknowledgment and the silent agreement to conduct our conversation away from the prying ears of the gossips, who gathered eagerly on the terrace. Silently, I followed him back to the house and to one of the private salons, waiting for him to speak. He poured himself a glass of scotch, took a sip, and began swirling it in his glass. He did not spare me a glance, and I remained waiting, however growing impatient. When he did not, I did.

"I can only assume that your acquiescence to Lady Wilmington's outlandish request last evening was due to shock. I will not hold you to it of course, as I am firm in my plan to sail to America." He looked up from his glass and blinked in multitude as he stared at me, as if striving to comprehend my meaning.

"I take it you are telling me to cry off," he said finally, in a tone, which I could only describe as distant and oddly calm. He took another drink from his glass, walking over to lean against the mantle of the fireplace.

I nodded. "That would be the obvious solution," I concluded as I glanced at him quizzically. It would have no effect on my grandmother if I cried off, for she knew that I did not want to marry and did not have a better reason not to. "You do not care for me, nor I you. One of us must, and it would be most convincing if it were you." Why was he not more amenable to my suggestion? He was after all betrothed to another.

He stared at me once more, but this time, I stared back, daring him to say something contrary. "I would imagine your betrothed, Miss Harding, is none too happy about last evening's spectacle. Should you not be considering her feelings in this matter?" For a brief moment, he looked positively malevolent, then all at once he assumed stolid, unreadable mask, yet I knew his anger thundered just below the surface. His hand gripped the glass so tightly I could see a slight tremble in the liquid and believed him capable of shattering it in his hand.