Lady Griffith's Second Chance

Chapter Fifteen

Had she really gone to Thomas's room in the middle of the night, like some daring, wanton thing? A part of her still could not believe it, as if it were merely a dream, a fantasy, and she would dress and take herself downstairs and still be the same quiet widow she had been for so many years.

She bathed and dressed and sat in front of the mirror while Molly took pains to brush the myriad tangles from her hair. It crossed Regan's mind that her maid might suspect something, but she trusted the woman to never breathe a word of it to anyone, nor to broach the subject with her mistress unless Regan were to mention it first.

"Thank you, Molly." There. She told herself she looked just the same as ever. No one would be able to survey her appearance and suspect she was having an affair with a younger man. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she adjusted the fine netting of her fichu. But she would have to face Thomas again, in the presence of the guests. And without a blush rising to her cheeks, without a look, a whispered word, a stolen touch that could be seen and turned into fodder for gossip by those around them.

Regan walked downstairs with her head held high, her breathing even, all while her heart danced a jig inside her chest. She doubted Thomas would be in the breakfast room, unless he had slept in as well. But she searched the room for him regardless, though it was clear from the first step she took into the room that he was not there.

The food was still warm, and so she fetched a plate and filled it with eggs and ham and mushrooms. She did not realize how hungry she was until the aromas from the various dishes reached her. If she had been at home with her children, she would have tossed etiquette out the nearest window and eaten as much as her ravenous appetite demanded. But in front of the handful of guests scattered about the room, she took care to eat slowly, to push her food about her plate and make it seem as if she would not possibly be able to consume it all.

No one sought to relieve her of her solitary place near the end of the table, for which she was silently grateful. Once she was finished, she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and went upstairs to pick out a bonnet before walking out to the garden to find Katharine and Lady Polmerol.

It was another beautiful day, the storm from the previous evening having succeeded in clearing out all of the stultifying humidity. White clouds like puffs of cotton dotted the remarkable blue of the sky. A light breeze shifted the ribbon of her straw bonnet, and she looked around for any sign of her daughter or Lady Polmerol.

And Thomas, she admitted to herself.

Perhaps he had yet to come down from his room. Or perhaps he was out riding. She gave her head a small shake. Here she was, giving too much concern to the whereabouts of a young man as if she were still a young woman and it was her first infatuation. Enough of that.

Katharine. She would find Katharine and work through the rest of her day from there.

The paths through the rose garden were made of fine white gravel that crunched beneath the soles of her shoes. She lowered her head, allowing the sun to warm the back of her neck, to ignite a prickle of heat and perspiration between her shoulder blades. When she raised her gaze again, it was to see a pair of well-polished boots walking towards her.

"Lady Griffith." Lord Hays greeted her with a bow.

She nodded her head in return, her mouth attempting to shape into a polite smile that never quite materialized. "My lord."

Without a word, she continued walking. Instead of allowing their greeting to be a passing thing, Lord Hays turned around and fell into step beside her. Regan glanced away towards the edge of the garden, to the sloping lawn beyond, and imagined herself running away from him.