The Voyage (On Hold)

Chapter Four

The next day arrived far too quickly. The sun rose in the morning like it always did, but today it seemed so awfully dull in it's lackluster color and brightness. Even the flowers appeared more wilted than normal. This was a day of ill-fated tragedy, when Winifred would stare her dictated future in the face and pretend she wasn't loathing it with all her heart.

She felt great nervousness and anticipation, yet Thomas's words from the day before gave her courage and hope. Facing her intended would not be so truly daunting. After all, she would never be his, so it was rather like she wasn't engaged to the tyrant at all anymore.

Yes, she would simply tell herself that. Again and again. And again.

She stood at her balcony with her elbows propped on the stone railing. Her eyes skimmed over the carriages and people passing on the street below. Would she recognize the man? She supposed she must simply watch out for the oldest windbag she saw.

She tried to remember all that her parents had told her about her intended. He was old. He was a Marquess. He never attended social gatherings of any kind.

He sounded positively radiant.

Winifred sighed heavily and dropped her head dejectedly. The sound of a carriage rolling to a stop in front of the townhouse grabbed her attention. Looking up, she caught sight of an incredibly embellished carriage. Two footmen in expensive livery hopped down from the back step and proceeded to open the carriage door.

Winifred craned her neck to catch a glimpse, but the side of the house blocked her vision. She didn't need to see who had arrived, however, for she was already quite certain.

She heard the butler announce his arrival loudly from below and she ran back into her room to open her bedroom door just a sliver. The voices from below were muffled, although she could make out her mother and father's. Footsteps started up the stairs and Winifred swallowed down her nerves as her mother appeared.

Walking towards her, her mother smiled and extended a hand. "Lord Fenwick is here to see you, dear." She murmured, "Straighten your dress and hair a bit before you go down. He's waiting in the gardens."

Winifred frowned before glancing down at her blue and lace day dress. She had made sure to wear something especially unattractive and more modest than any of her other gowns.
With puffed sleeves and a high stiff-neck collar, she felt good about her appearance. She had even tied her pale hair into a tightly coiled bun at the back of her head.

The old letcher would find nothing interesting about her.

Walking down the stairs with her skirts in her hand, she turned round the corner to head for the gardens through the opened back French doors. Her father and mother remained at the stairwell watching her every move with expectant eyes.

When she entered the gardens, a man was standing on the path up ahead with his back turned to her. At first, she halted. He wasn't...quite what she expected. Firstly, he was tall. And second, he was gangly. Good lord, he was scrawny! She nearly laughed aloud. Thomas could easily overshadow him.

His brown coat seemed to practically hang off his shoulders and his legs...his skinny, gangly legs! How did his boots even stay on? Aside from his odd stature, she also noticed that his hair was jet black beneath the badly worn hat he wore...not white and gray like she imagined.

She walked closer, ever so quietly so as to not disturb his deep, innate focus on a...bee? He was presently bent over with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at a bee resting on a pink petunia petal. It was a most strange spectacle.

Hesitantly, she cleared her throat. Lord Fenwick snapped up and pivoted around.

"My apologies! You seemed to have caught me admiring your garden pets." He exclaimed, adjusting his glass spectacles higher up the bridge of his narrow nose.