Star's Crossing

34: The World a World Away

Midweek called for an afternoon picnic on the beach, and Mare strolled the surf before she was to meet Meredith and the girls. It'd been a truly wonderful few days in the sea brine and sunshine, all thought of men and lies and courtship swept out to open water by the welcome blue waves.

Mare had explored the little wood beyond Thatcher Place, travelled the craggy paths along the cliffs, and sat in the sun on the beach, reading every novel her fingers crossed in Meredith's vast library. She thought not of her mother, and rarely of her father. Matilde and the drama of her sisters dared not trespass in her mind. And only once or twice did her notions stray toward her letters; dearly missed, like her heart outside of her body and locked in a chest many miles away.

Now as she gathered her skirts in one hand and held aloft Emma, traipsing through the creamy foamed surf, she thought of her requested letter from Camden.

He'd been quick to accept the challenge, yet nothing had posted. Mare was beginning to suspect that game again, its rules and players dark blots on her horizon, faceless, daunting. She couldn't help but remember red roses in lapels, and the black sweep of fear that had risen within her in answer the night of the ball. That betrayal still felt present, a poison in her blood. It gave her the same sense as missing a stair on the way down; a moment of question, a moment of fear.

But there had been no resolution insofar as the letters or their appearance in the Gazette. Alison had had earned herself a bit of trouble after the group's night of debauchery, and had yet to steal a moment to investigate her mother's involvement. It was beginning to feel that every force in nature stood against Mare.

So she welcomed this respite, with its sandy shores and balmy breezes. She chose to forget that she was the victim or reluctant participant in some odd game, and that someone pursued her downfall with cloak-and-dagger interest. Here Mare was simply a girl with a book, as she was that day on the road in the rain.

"There she is."

Mare froze.

To her right stood a small sweep of fluffy white beach, capped by a steep pale cliff and a sheaf of whispering sea grass. Beyond lie Thatcher Place and the cottages, and the wood and the road. To her left murmured the infinite, twinkling sea. Ahead stood a crooked arch of stone, upholding a narrow, dangerous widow's walk of earth that was sure to crumble.

And at her back...

Mare turned. Theodore Bridge stood, hat in hand, polished shoes half-sunk in the sand. He looked troubled despite the beauty surrounding them, brow furrowed, dark curls loose over his forehead. His hands were gloved, and he traced his hat repeatedly.

Mare was rendered momentarily speechless. A dozen questions rose in her mind, faster than propriety, and she made the mistake of dropping her skirts as the tide swelled.

"Oh. Here." Teddy stepped into the water, offering his arm, heedless of the foam coursing over his shoes and soaking the hem of his pants. "You were bright to abandon your shoes. I've never cared much for sand, however."

Mare hesitated but took his arm, grateful for his balance as he led her up the beach and into the cool shadow of the cliffs. From here, no one would be able to see them. The thought was oddly comforting.

"What are you doing here?" Mare asked, tucking her windblown hair behind her ears and crossing her arms. She was all too aware of her bare toes in the sand, and the wet chafe of her skirts against her shins was tremendous agony.

Teddy seemed unaware of her discomfort. He stared at the water, pensively stroking his hat. An expression of contentedness blossomed over his face as the breezy moments passed. The lines around his mouth vanished; his eyes brightened.