ESP 11

chapter 11

Leaving miner Henry’s house, Briony and Myrtle decided to return to Arlington Street. The woman’s terrifying warning still echoed in their minds.

And in Briony’s mind lingered another thought—if they encountered more children like Amber in other houses, she could not afford to pay child support for all of them. Charity could not be sustained on goodwill alone.

The two walked arm in arm through the streets of Shawbury. Since they had not come in the Arlington carriage, they planned to take a shared carriage running through town as far as Tierney Haven. But Briony’s spirit had been dampened by the earlier encounter. What if someone recognized her in the street or in the shared carriage and treated her with hostility? Would they have to walk an hour back home instead? She was mulling over these worries when—

“Miss, isn’t that carriage headed to Tierney Haven?”

Myrtle was pointing at a splendid four-wheeled carriage descending rapidly down Shawbury Hill.

It was approaching from the northwest, the route one had to take when entering Shawbury by land. The carriage, pulled at full speed down the rough, sloping road by four glossy black horses, was an impressive sight. Even from afar, one could tell they were of excellent breeding and training.

Briony narrowed her eyes. The white carriage, trimmed with gold at every corner, clearly did not belong to Arlington Street. But who else in Shawbury could afford such grandeur except Gideon? Myrtle’s guess—that it was a visitor come to Tierney Haven—was not unreasonable.

“Surely… that can’t be a royal carriage…”

Startled by her own thought, Myrtle cut herself short. Briony shook her head.

“Royal carriages are bigger and even more lavish. And they always use white horses.”

That was one of the few bits of social knowledge she had picked up when she debuted in society to marry.

And really, what reason would the royal family have to come all the way here?

Briony swallowed the thought.

So the two women headed for the shared carriage stop. If the magnificent carriage belonged to someone visiting Gideon for business, it was nothing to worry about. But if the matter was urgent enough to require coming in person instead of sending a letter, then it might be serious. And if it was not business at all, the news was likely even more unwelcome.

“Is Father at home right now?”

“He left early this morning. By now he may have returned.”

They whispered together inside the shared carriage.

By luck, their carriage reached the foot of Tierney Haven Hill before the splendid one. With a growing sense of unease, the women quickened their steps. But no matter how fast they walked, they could not outrun a galloping carriage. They were overtaken before even reaching the steepest part of the hill.

They had no choice but to step aside.

Briony expected that if the carriage’s master were merely Gideon’s guest, they would pass them by. But as soon as the driver saw them, he slowed, calling out, “Ladies!” in a polite but not urgent tone. Briony silently watched as the carriage door swung open.

Out stepped a tall, striking young man radiating refinement. His ivory silk shirt, matching cravat, and navy velvet coat with gleaming gold buttons looked not garish but perfectly natural on him. Briony thought even her wedding dress had not been as splendid.

The blond youth bowed gracefully.

“Mistress Arlington, I presume?”

His flawless aristocratic diction and decorum left no doubt—he was nobility. No mere baronet could carry himself like this. Whatever his exact rank, he clearly outranked her.

Briony bent her knees in a polite curtsy.

“It is an honor. May I ask who you are?”

Myrtle belatedly bowed her head. Briony could hardly scold her servant’s lapse; the young man’s dazzling beauty and brilliance felt entirely out of place in gloomy Shawbury.

He smiled faintly.

“I am Lord Theodore Byron of Weardale. If it pleases you, may I have the honor of offering you both a seat in my carriage?”

* * *

Lord of Weardale.

The Kingdom of Algonquin was made up of fifteen great provinces. Nine had been part of the kingdom since its founding, while the rest had been annexed through wars or royal marriages with neighboring regions. The newly absorbed lands were given unified names—Weargale, Wearnail, Weardale, Wearvale, Wearjaile.

These regions differed somewhat in dialect, customs, and governance from the original six provinces. Thus, whenever one was annexed, the kings of Algonquin appointed their most trusted nobles as lords to firmly establish Algonquin’s laws and traditions there.

Among these, Weardale was the largest and most fertile.

Even if Briony had never heard the name Theodore Byron, no one in the kingdom—servant or noble alike—could fail to know the weight carried by the title Lord of Weardale.

His carriage was as spacious and comfortable inside as it appeared outside. Even the seats were upholstered in velvet, making Briony feel uneasy about sitting too comfortably. If she felt this way, how much more awkward must Myrtle feel? Perhaps sensing it, Lord Weardale—likely a duke, though Briony dared not assume without certainty—spoke gently.

“Please, make yourselves at ease.”

“What brings you to Shawbury, my lord?”

At her blunt question, his composure faltered slightly.

“I came from Penshaw to see you, Mistress Arlington.”

She blinked in confusion. She had never laid eyes on this man before today. She had not frequented society, so the chance of him glimpsing her even in passing was slim.

“May I ask why you seek me out?”

The golden-haired, blue-eyed man seemed well aware of his own charm. His eyes shone with a feigned innocence that only confirmed it.

“Ah, do not be so wary. This is not the sort of matter to be discussed inside a carriage.”

Briony lifted her chin firmly.

“I would prefer to hear it here.”

Her father had always scolded her, from the age of ten, for lacking charm—too stiff, especially around men. But that was simply her nature. In Shawbury, the only men she saw were her father, the old butler, and a few servants. Why bother cultivating coquettish airs before them?

When she married, she had briefly worried that charm and flirtation were expected of a countess. But Keith had never forced her to smile, never asked her to speak in a childish, coy voice. On the contrary, he had advised that maintaining a certain dignity befitted her station and served her well before employees and tenants alike.

Now, facing the Lord of Weardale, that dignity was more necessary than ever.

Indeed, he seemed impressed.

“As I thought, the Earl of Dalmore could never hope to manage a lady such as you.”

The mention of that name from his lips caught her off guard. And he spoke as though well aware of her divorce from Keith.

Quickly she counted the days. A week’s journey from Ebony, three days bedridden with illness, then four more days since—barely two weeks had passed since she had left Ebony as Briony Arlington, no longer Dalmore’s wife.

And already the news has spread…!

Perhaps this Lord Weardale even knew of Keith’s current circumstances.

“…Are you well acquainted with Lord Ebony?” she asked carefully.

“Well enough, I suppose, to say that I am.”

“But I never once saw Lord Weardale in Ebony during my three years there.”

Even as she spoke, she realized—Keith would not have liked a man this flamboyant, self-aware, and fond of evasive words. Dmitri sometimes spoke circuitously, but he was neither flashy nor vain. Keith preferred people more reserved, direct, and thoughtful.

Lord Weardale only shrugged.

“My estate lies far from Ebony. Very far.”

“Then why travel equally far to Shawbury just to see me?”

He gave a helpless smile. It was sly, but Briony could not deny its charm.

At last, he answered.

“I came, Mistress Arlington, to ask for your hand in marriage.”