Shielding my head, I ran toward the parked carriages just to realize they had left without me. The ever-mounting wind violently slapped my disheveled damp hair against my face, soaking my new dress with mud and dirt. The abandonment hurt badly, causing me to lose the battle against the treacherous prickling tears. How could my aunt forget about me? Or maybe this wasn’t just some innocent mistake. Maybe she knew exactly what was she doing.

“L-lady Ashlyn!” The familiar voice caused me to twirl around. Baxter Read stood not far away from me, his appearance similar to mine - wet to the bone. His honey-colored hair was plastered against his forehead, the cold drops of rain trickling down to his mouth.

Foolishly, right now I saw him as an answer to all of my troubles. Angry as I was I raised my skirts and stormed toward him. I halted right in front him and stubbornly lifted my chin. I had to tilt my head back as he was at least a head taller than me.

“Your Grace! Why on earth are you following me?” I yelled through the heavy rain.

“F-following you?” He answered in confusion.

I unleashed the devil inside me, as I stabbed my finger into his hard chest. “Yes! Suddenly you are everywhere! Here, Kensington Gardens and then the... The Covent Garden? Are you stalking me, Your Grace?” I pressed my mouth into a hard line before throwing him a dirty glare. I tried hard to appear intimidating, however my drenched appearance was hardly angst provoking.

“I w-was simply l-leaving, Lady A-Ashlyn. And I ride t-to Kensington G-Gardens every S-Saturday. I already s-sat by the lake, y-you just failed to n-notice me,” he shook his head with droplets of water flying from his soaked hair.

“Oh, I…” I didn’t know what to say to that. I felt like a dimwit. Was I so full of myself that I automatically assumed he was there because of me?

“I o-only wanted to offer y-you a r-ride, My Lady. I n-noticed your aunt and L-Lord Sutton h-had left a w-while ago,” he explained quietly.

I hung my head low, like a regretful child caught stealing candy. “I am so sorry, Your Grace… Thank you for the kind offer, I’d be very grateful if you’d take me home. If your proposal still stands that is…” I murmured with shame.

“P-Please, if you’ll f-follow me,” he motioned for me to go after him. I noticed him turning his head every few seconds, almost as if he was making sure I won’t stumble and fall. We finally reached his carriage which was far humbler than Richard’s. He opened the doors and stepped aside for me to enter. I lifted my skirts to prop myself onto the elevated platform, but in that moment the wet fabric got caught underneath my slipper. Wobbling dangerously, I was certain I’d have fallen if he didn’t prevent it. I found myself plastered against his chest with his hands wrapped around my waist to help me regain my balance. I grasped his lower arms to gain support.

“M-My Lady! Your h-hands are l-like ice! You a-are f-freezing!”

With that I realized I could barely feel my numb limbs. My teeth chattered so violently I couldn’t even give him a proper answer. I felt his hands tightening around me, before he lifted me inside the carriage. As I shrank in the far corner, I watched him search the seats.

“I h-have a b-blanked stashed s-somewhere. Oh, h-here it i-is!” He unfolded it and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Are y-you f-feeling well, M-My Lady? I d-don’t want for y-you to get s-sick.”

The puffy, warm blanket was already taking an affect as I felt myself warming up. “Thank you, Your Grace. You’ve already saved me twice and I was nothing but rude to you in return,” I said with utter shame.

“You w-were n-never r-rude to me,” he buried his hands inside his pockets. “A-Are you s-still cold? I can g-give you m-my coat, but I am a-afraid it w-won’t b-be much o-of help,” he looked down at his dripping-wet clothing.

“You’ve already given me your blanket Your Grace, it’s you who will catch a cold.”

“I-It’s quite a-all right,” he shook his head and glanced outside. “H-Horrible weather,” suddenly he looked deeply embarrassed again. He kept clearing his throat and twisting in his seat as if he simply wished to jump out of the vehicle.

We fell into a very uncomfortable and excruciatingly painful silence. He seemed awfully busy studying the lines on his palms. I really didn’t know what and how to talk to him, even if I’d really wanted to find a mutual subject we could discuss. But for some reason my mind was blank and my lips sealed.

“D-Did you k-know Friesian h-horses w-were widely u-used during M-Middle Ages?” He blurted out.

“No, I-“

“-B-Because of t-their muscular p-physique they w-were breed a-as war h-horses. Their size and s-strength enabled t-them to c-carry a heavy w-weight – a knight in a-armor and the a-arms,” he once again ignored my attempt to communicate and blabbered on.

“Your Grace, I didn’t know-”

“-They a-are a remarkable b-breed. But b-buying the right h-horse is b-becoming a great d-difficulty, because o-of close i-inbreeding. Quite h-horrible, you s-see. Many h-horses have genetic weaknesses a-and defections, l-like dwarfism and w-weakened immune s-system,” he kept talking over me.

“That is-”

“-I h-hear the c-chronic dermatitis c-can also be a p-problem, it causes t-thickened and itchy s-skin.”

“Really? I-”

“-But I-I can assure you m-my horses a-are in e-excellent c-condition. A single s-stallion costs a-around 50 pounds and 45 pounds p-per mare,” he finally looked at me.

I was truly grateful to this man for everything he has done for me, but now I was gritting my teeth, trying hard not to jump out of the carriage myself.

Was he trying to sell me one of his horses?

“Thank you, Your Grace, but I have no need of a horse – at least not anymore.”

The carriage finally came to a stop and my legs restlessly twitched to get inside the safety of my home.

“Thank you so much, Your Grace! I will be forever grateful for your kindness,” I said truthfully, handing him back his blanket.

“You c-can keep i-it, if y-you want,” he pointed at the damp cloth.

“Thank you, but I won’t be needing it anymore. Only a hot bath,” I smiled at him and got up from my seat. “Have a nice evening, You Grace.”

“You t-too, My L-Lady,” he nodded in return while staring down at his shoes.

Without another glance I hurried toward the doors of our townhouse, slamming it shut behind me. I leaned against the heavy wooden surface as I listened in on the gradually distancing sound of horses’ hooves. I felt utterly relieved he didn’t try to follow after me and introduce himself to my parents. If my father would’ve met him, I would’ve been betrothed to him first thing tomorrow morning.

Not ever and not under any condition would I ever marry Baxter Read. The thought of our union was unquestionably absurd and impossible.