She was free.
Mary felt the spirit of adventure pouring through her like her very own blood. She hadn't done anything so reckless and wonderful in years. This childlike spirit of wonder poured through her as her horse carried her off.
It was wonderful to ride alone at night. Mary felt in control of herself. In control of her destiny. She had no escort, no one telling her what to do. She was absolutely free.
And she was absolutely intent on her endeavor.
Mary arrived at his house swiftly, and was quite surprised to find him on his porch. She almost thought he'd been expecting her until she took off her hat, her light curls tumbling down around her, and saw the dumbstruck look upon his face.
"Mary," he breathed as she dismounted her horse. As he walked nearer, Mary tied the beast to a post. "What are you doing here?"
She turned to him, "You have to tell me."
There was something oddly sensual about his casual attire. It reminded her of the Dickon she knew before, but now grown into a handsome man. His shirt was unbuttoned some and not properly tucked into his brown pants. His hair was messy and curly.
It made her whole body feel wonderfully warm.
He squinted, "Tell you what?"
"I want to know," she continued, "why you didn't write. I want to know why you didn't tell me right away who you were."
This adventure had breathed new life into her. She was confident. She was powerful.
He paused. Mary watched as his hands went to his hips, and his mouth tried to find the words to say.
"You're silent for five years and then you appear and ruin everything!" Mary spat the words at him.
He jerked up, "Did you come here to attack me? Because it's very late, Mary, and I don't need to hear this from you-"
"Yes, you do need to hear it!" She was growing impassioned. She was free and she was fiery. She was the girl she was when she had come from India: wild and passionate. Not a lady at all.
She wasn't even wearing lady's clothing.
His anger stunned her and intrigued her all at once. No one in society was angry. No one showed any bit of emotion. Mary had missed her wild past of tantrums and outbursts. She'd missed wild people like him as well.
Something in her felt new though. This anger was driven by some new beast she hadn't yet tamed. A new hunger was burning inside of her, but for what she was not certain.
Mary raised her left hand, showing the ring. "I am to be married, Dickon. It's all been planned."
"Marrying a man you don't love, what a martyr you are." His words burned like fire.
"Do not mock me, Dickon Sowerby," her voice was loud enough to wake the servants. "You've been gone for five years. You don't even know me!"
Dickon threw his arms out, "Then why are you here? Why come to me in the middle of the night? To yell at me? To torment me? Why!"
Mary's heart raced like the beating of a drum. It was dancing like the Indian women of her childhood. All these feelings she didn't know we're filling her up and very close to drowning her brain with them.
The way Dickon was looking at her was terrifying and intriguing. Everything about him was exciting and scary.
"Why did you even talk to me that day at the benefit?" Mary asked quietly. "Why didn't you let me go?"
Dickon took a step forward and then another. Mary nearly pulled back for fear he would strike her. But the hand that reached for her face was gentle. A gentler touch than she'd ever known. A hand on her hip pulled her closer to him.
His breath was warm on her face.
He kissed her.
No, he did not kiss her: he consumed her. Mary felt every bit of her being sucked into him while she inhaled all of him as well. Those five years were gone. Everything was gone. There was only them. There was only now.
She did not want to stop. She wanted to be in this moment forever.
Dickon's lips broke from hers, but only so he could lead her through the door and into his home. Everything was dreamlike to Mary. She wasn't herself. She was a new, primal version of herself with only one thought: him. She must be connected with him.
Her vision was hazy and tinted in warm hues as he came to kiss her again. She felt the wall behind her back that he had set her on. Without even thinking about it, Mary's hands made for his shirt and began undoing the buttons. Dickon pulled away from her lips to unbutton her shirt as well.
He stopped midway when the garden's key caught his eye.
Mary saw a faint smile on his face as he leaned forward and kissed her neck and then her collar bone.
She realized she was making noises. How long had she been doing that?
He is mine, she thought. I am his.
It sent shockwaves through her.
Dickon's kisses came back to her lips.
And then the doorbell rang.
Mary woke from her dream.
She was out of bed in the middle of the night at the home of a man who was certainly not her fiancé kissing him in a very unladylike manner.
Her face was flushing.
Dickon grabbed her shoulders, "Go to the study." He instructed her.
Mary nodded, flustered and very embarrassed. With swift and light feet, she raced off to his study and shut the door behind her.
She fell onto his couch, furiously buttoning her blouse. Her hand ran across her collar bone. Only moments ago it had been warm from his kisses.
The flush in her cheeks rose.
That was most uncalled for, she scolded herself.
And wonderful, a different part said.
He's not your husband. He's not your lover.
Lover. The words made her insides twist and turn.
His lips had been so perfect against hers. So fitting.
Mary had felt more passion in that brief moment than she had in her entire courtship of Lord Navarlen.
The ring on her finger felt heavier than ever.
A thunder clap outside shook her to the core, bringing her off of her cloud.
Felicity! She thought of her house caught in the rainstorm. She'd have to move her.
You will be leaving soon, she reminded herself.
The fire across the room cackled, laughing at her situation.
A light knock sounded and soon entered a brow-furrowed Dickon.
Followed by Annie.
Mary stood, "Annie?"
Annie was soaked in rain. The maid's hands were clutched to her chest. Terrified eyes darted around the room. The poor lamb was obviously nervous as she fiddled with the small ring on her slender finger. She was shaking as well, but from nerves or rain Mary could not tell.
"I...I saw you leave, Miss Mary," Annie started without looking in Mary's direction. "I thought maybe you'd gone to the hospital, but you would've alerted people if that were the case."
Dickon stared very intently at the little maid, as if daring her to speak.
Annie looked at the rug, "So I went to the room and found the letter and I followed you here." She finally met her mistress's eyes, "I just wanted to make sure you were safe," Annie leaned on the word, locking eyes with Annie.
Mary knew immediately what the maid meant by safe.
Annie looked down again, "It was foolish of me. Forgive me. I'll leave in the morning. I resign. I-"
"Nonsense," Mary said. Her eyes searched the room for a throw of some sort and she found a pile atop a cedar chest. Mary grabbed a maroon one and wrapped over the maid's shoulder. "You poor think, riding here in this weather."
Annie smiled a bit, "It only started raining when I was nearly here."
Mary looked to Dickon. He seemed more confused than the maid. She gave him a look to say 'I'll handle this.'
"Please, sit," Mary gestured to a chair by the fire. Annie did just that, clutching the blanket tightly. "You must be so bewildered." Mary said as smoothly as she could. She gracefully sat on the seat apostle Annie. "Mr. Dowers and I were very good friends as children, though I just made the correlation very recently."
Annie's eyes revealed nothing.
Mary's voice was as gentle flowing as a brook, "You know how Lord Navarlen can be, Annie. My meeting with Mr. Dowers during the day and in public would be seen as scandalous so Mr. Dowers and I arranged to meet this night and simply catch up." Annie said nothing.
"The war separated us." Mary continued. "Mr. Dowers grew up near my childhood home. We were great friends."
Annie blinked, his eyes flitting to Dickon then back to Mary.
She nodded, "Yes, of course. I understand."
Mary smiled as gently as she could, "Thank you, Annie. I knew you would." She dropped the smile, "It would be very bad if anyone found out about this, Annie. Please, as a friend, keep this quiet."
Annie nodded.
Dickon cleared his throat, "I'll get you some tea…my lady." He said to Annie. He promptly left the room.
Annie tugged the blanket, "No one's ever called me 'my lady' before." She leaned forward, pushing her brow down, "Mary, I'm sorry I worried. I just...I know the things that men do."
Mary leaned closer, "What do you mean?"
Annie sat back against her chair and suddenly her face was very grim. Dark storm clouds covered her usual sunny disposition. Mary suddenly wondered how she never saw the clouds around Annie before. She wondered how she'd been so selfish to never notice that sliver or darkness about her maid.
Annie shut her eyes, "I had a friend named Steven when I was eleven. Steven was fifteen but we were the best of friends." Mary knew were this story was headed but didn't want to believe it.
Not Annie. Who could've ever harmed, Annie? Poor, sweet, innocent, Annie.
Annie's eyes met Mary's, "He used me, Mary. I think you know what I mean."
Mary simply nodded.
"He said it was okay because we were friends but I knew it was wrong." Annie pulled at the blanket again. Thunder clapped and the lighting lit the study. "My mother found out and quickly sent me away. She tried to get Steven punished but nothing came of it." Thunder once more. "That's why I came after you, Miss Mary. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
Mary just stared at the maid. Before her eyes Annie had grown in years and maturity. Her nerves and hirers were not a side effect of naïvety, but a side effect of maturity.
The thought of Dickon ever abusing or disrespecting Mary never crossed her mind. He simply was not like that. She couldn't believe that anyone was like that.
Mary felt vile. All the times she'd complained about her nervous little maid seemed foolish. Mary never knew. She could never have imagined such a fate upon anyone.
Here I complain about marriage. Something so trivial and stupid as marriage. I am selfish. I am vain.
Mary leaned forward and took Annie's hand.
"You are a far better lady's maid and friend than I deserve," Mary said. "You are kind and compassionate and wonderful. I'm sorry such a horrific thing happened to you."
Then the study's door opened and Dickon came in with a tea tray. He'd brought cups for himself and Mary as well.
"As soon as the storm passes I will escort you two home," Dickon said as he poured the tea. "Discreetly, of course." He added with a grin, "Until then, you are welcome to a guest room."
"You are very kind, sir," Annie cupped her tea like it was a thing of beauty.
Dickon gave her a light smile, "It is no problem. I have five guest rooms and no guests to put in them."
Annie sipped her tea once more, "I think I may lie down for a bit. The rain has got me feeling a bit ill, sir."
"Of course," Dickon nodded. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll show you to a room."
Mary watched as they left the room.
She exhaled for the first time in minutes.
Suddenly realizing just how exhausted she was, she let her head drop into her hands.
The coolness of the ring on her forehead reminded her of the other stress in her life.
What am I to do?
"How are you, Mary?" Dickon asked. She hadn't even heard him come in.
Mary looked up to see he was seated in the chair Annie had just vacated.
My mind is reeling. I can't breathe. I just found out something about my maid that I had never imagined. I feel so awful that I knew so little of her.
I'm engaged to man I do not love. The man I do love is sitting right across from me and feels as though he is leagues away from me. He kissed me earlier and I'm very interested in kissing him again.
But it is wrong. I am wrong.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.
She settled on: "I don't know. I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep."
"I understand," he said.
You do not.
Mary remembered the impassioned moment they shared just minutes ago. She wanted to return to it.
She wondered how far she would've let him go.
Mary knew she wouldn't have stopped.
Perhaps it was best we were stopped.
She couldn't imagine why though.
Her eyelids were heavy and threatened to block out her vision.
"Go to sleep, Mary," he said with a small laugh. "I won't mind, honestly. I'll wait for the rain to stop and wake you when it does."
She nodded dreamily, letting her head nod to the side. She didn't want to go up to a guest room. She wanted to lie here with him near her.
Mary drifted off to sleep quickly with the rain singing her a lullaby.
She did not dream.