The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter twenty-five - Assignation at dawn

Mountford rose to pace in front of the fireplace. "Your friends are the only ones you can rely on to provide impartial advice. Was that not what you once said to me?"

"And I meant every word, but the object of your interest then was, I believe, a tailor's daughter. Not an appropriate connection for a man of your fortune."

"Yet you are certain that a young woman who mistook you for my steward would make you a suitable wife?"

Fielding stamped his feet into his riding boots, using rather more force than necessary. "I appreciate, as my friend, that you may have the right to advise me. However, the final decision is mine to make, and in this particular circumstance I am resolved to act in a way that will best constitute my own happiness."

"Really, Fielding, I was only—"

"Enough! I have neither the time nor the desire to discuss this with you. There is nothing you could possibly say that will dissuade me."

As he opened the door he heard Mountford chuckle. "Well, you cannot say I didn't try to make you see sense!"

~<>~@~<>~

The sun hung a mere quarter of an inch above the horizon when Anabelle slipped out of the house, before her mother had risen from her bed, and while her still sleeping sisters were dreaming about the upcoming dance. She made her way over field and stile until she reached the remains of the old barn, and the familiar clearing beyond. It was empty. As she paced across the grass, the anticipation twisted her stomach into knots.

Accompanying her step-mother to Blackwood Hall had been every bit as uncomfortable as she had feared, but during their short conversation in the library Mr. Fielding made his feelings clear enough. Or had he? Lying in bed she had churned the memory around in her head, disturbing the silt at the bottom until his meanings were opaque and confused.

Even if he did repeat his offer of marriage, to accept him now would surely smack of the most grasping avarice. She could not wonder if he questioned her motives for accepting him, for she might easily have suspected herself, had she not experienced the odd twinges in her heart, the loss of breath and the strange bursts of pleasure whenever she was in his presence. Yet his status, fine house and his fortune meant nothing to her. All she desired from this life was his respect and love.

The rhythmic beats of hooves on turf caught her ear before Mr. Fielding rode into the clearing. He sat tall on the back of the animal, and Anabelle took a moment to admire his seat before he swung himself out of the saddle and slid to the ground. This morning he was once again formally attired, as befitted a gentleman; the snowy white linen nestled beneath a striped waistcoat and buckskin breeches. His blue coat was mostly hidden beneath a long drab riding coat, which swirled around his ankles as he walked towards her.

Although Anabelle had dreamed of him taking her into his arms, as he once had in this very spot, the Mr. Fielding of reality was neither so obliging nor so impulsive. He stopped five feet from her, as though unsure of his welcome. "You came," he said, in a voice tinged with surprise.

"Did you think I might not?"

"The possibility had crossed my mind."

"And what would you have done if I was not waiting here when you arrived?"

He paused to consider his response. "I would have come to Woodside to reassure myself that you had not been delayed by something untoward. I was not in a humour this morning to put off our conversation."