A/N: How do you feel about Matthew? As the chapters continue, you'll obviously find out more, but what's your opinion at the moment? I'll be sure to reply to any comments, and feel free to drop a vote if you really liked what you read.

Enjoy the chapter.

THE HORSE CONTINUED to gallop with great speed through the woods. Branches of trees cut against my face, and I tugged desperately at the reigns. But, the horse paid no heed. He made no move to slow his pace. At one moment, I decided to give up.

I held tightly to his mane as we stormed deeper and deeper in the wood. My heart raced almost as quickly, panic growing inside me.

How in heaven's name would I find my way back? After what seemed like a full eternity, he came to a steady walk. Then a complete stop. I sat on the steed, unsure of what I should make my next move to be.

Frankly, I felt like collapsing near a tree and crying. The sky was starting to darken with dusk, and I had no clue where I was. I was ready to retreat under an oak tree I saw a few feet away, when I spotted something.

It was several yards away, but I saw the outline of a small hut. I grinned so widely I thought my face would split.

There had to be someone in that cottage, I was sure, that could direct me back to the mansion. Or at least somewhere near Whitfield Mansion, it was like a landmark in our kingdom. Everyone knew where it was.

I hastily climbed off the horse and started toward the hut. However, I had to admit, the closer I got, the less welcoming it looked. It was quite tiny, with one window, and just rather shabby looking.

Now, I made quite a point not to judge off appearance, this included people and things. However, a small ragged hut a long ways into the woods, along with a blackening sky...

Well, you know. It tends to not be associated with the best of things. It gave off an eerie air I wasn't accustomed with. So, once I finally reached the door, I hesitated. Should I knock?

Poo, I thought. What could they do to me that hadn't been done already? I gave a loud determined tap, once, and waited. After a few moments, the door opened.

A middle-aged man answered. Even advancing into his later years, he had a handsome face. Though his dark hair was graying, it was full and healthy-looking. His eyes, a soft emerald, smiled at me. His dress was simple and clean, it was by no means ragged.

"Can I help you Missus?" he asked. His tone was charming and friendly, though he didn't smile. However, he was giving me a strange look. I could, in no way blame him. I was dressed like the noble lady I was, turned at the doorstep of someone in the middle of the woods. And my veil too, I realized.

That had always raised a few eyebrows.

"I would be ever grateful if you could Sir. I was riding my horse and I...err took a wrong turn. I'm terribly lost, and I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction? I live near the Whitfield Mansion," I explained.

I didn't know what had prompted me to lie about where exactly I was geographically located. But I did. The man nodded.

"I know where Whitfield is. And I'd be happy to help, only if you come inside and warm up. You must be chilled to the bone," he said. I then noticed how truly nippy it was outside.

"Thank you Sir. It would be a pleasure," I said with a smile. He waved me into the hut and closed the door once I had entered.

Inside was not as bad as the exterior. It appeared only a bit larger, with a fireplace. The floor was only but dirt, but they expertly hid this under a beautiful rug. There was a small hallway, which I assumed, led to their bed chambers. The kitchen was somewhere off to the side, consisting of only a counter and old stove. The main quarters of the house had only an aging sofa with a fireplace.

And yet...it was so wonderfully cozy.

A woman emerged from the hallway. Like the man, she was also in her middle years, and handsome herself. Her wheat-colored hair rained to the back of her simple crudely-stitched dress. Her eyes, a light amber, were lovely and her cheeks were full of color. The brightness of freckled (even in her old age) round face, almost erased all the wrinkles she possessed. Upon seeing me, she flushed a deep red.

"I'm so sorry for our..." she trailed off. The house wasn't a mess, it was impeccably clean. But it in no way reached any standard of the upper class.

"Your house is lovely. Truly," I assured. The woman looked at me skeptically. "Really, I continued, it is. My house may be large and beautiful. But it is not a home." A silence followed.

"Mary, he said, do give her something warm to drink." I immediately waved my hands.

"That is not at all necessary," I interjected. The woman peered at me with a smile.

"It is no problem. My husband and I rarely get any company," she told me. I could detect a hint of sadness in her voice.

"I would prefer, I insisted, to be without any drink. But I would love to warm myself by your fire."

"Please," the man said. The man, Mary, and I sat on the sofa. Though it was more or less ancient, but it seated the three of us comfortably.

"Could I have the pleasure of knowing the names of my hosts?" I remarked conversationally.

"I am Mary Sill. And this lovely man, the woman laughed, is my husband. David."

The man, David, gave sad sort of smile.

"When I opened that door, I really thought you were our daughter," he said. I felt a slow recognition starting to spark in my mind.

"Yes our daughter. Victoria. She's the only person who visits us in these parts. Victoria visits us on horseback as well. When we heard faint galloping we thought that mayhap..." Mary trailed off again.

Peripherally, I watched David squeeze her hand. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to contain my shock. How did a girl coming from such humble beginnings, such perfectly well folk, be such a...

A...

An ill-bred dark-hearted nightmare.

I compared her father's eyes to her's. Both green but very different in nature. His were kind and her's dripped with ambition. Determination. Maybe it was her impoverished situation that had caused her to be so...zealous. She took advantage of her beauty and made herself something. A courtesan.

A title hardly respectable, but I had to admit, could sometimes be powerful. This was one of those cases.

"You won't mind giving me direction now, Sir?" I asked. He tore his loving gaze from his wife.

"Are you certain? You have only been with us but a minute, I wouldn't want you taking ill in that cold," he cautioned. My heart melted at his statement. It was ever rare that anyone voiced their care about me.

And he was only a stranger.

"I am certain. I have never been away so late, I paused, my husband should be very worried about me."

If only, I thought.

"I wouldn't want that. I don't know what I would do worrying about Mary on a cold night like this," David agreed. His wife, merely smiled.

"You're going to ride your horse for a good half hour, straight ahead. Afterwards, you'll see a tree. It will be fairly smaller than the other's, even visible in this waning light. You'll take a right, and go straight ahead until you're out of these woods. Then, afterward, you'll make a sharp left and go straight. That should lead you to Whitfield Mansion, and you can find your way home from there, he paused, would you like me to walk you out?"

I shook my head much too vehemently.

"That isn't necessary," I said smilingly. Not that they would know my expression. What I was afraid of was him recognizing the horse. With Victoria taking him to see her parents so often he had memorized the route there, there was no doubt she had used the same horse every time. Only God knew if her parents had ever seen the horse before, and if they did, would surely recognize it.

I was already quite mysterious as it was. They didn't even know my name. Seeing the horse their daughter rode, well, that would give rise to questions I'd much rather leave unanswered. Even if they would be too polite to ask them.

"Are you sure dear?" remarked Mary. "It really is no problem."

"I'm quite sure. I thank you for your hospitality and saving me on this night. I don't know what I would've done without you," and with that I scampered out of the hut, before David could even open the door to let me out.

I climbed up on the horse and rode into the night.

🥀

After the second ride, I was thoroughly sweaty and breathless. I put the horse in the stables and trudged to the mansion door. I only had to use the knocker for a second, before the door was thrown upon.

"Mrs. Whitfield, exclaimed the butler, thank heavens!" I gave him a strange look before stepping inside.

"A pleasure as always Bert," I returned primly. I walked to the staircase, eager to bathe before retiring. Suddenly, Matthew burst from the hall.

"Rose!" he all but yelled. His face was one of perfect relief. "Where in the bloody hell were you?" I narrowed my eyes, observing him.

"I don't think that is any of your concern Mr. Whitfield," I said brusquely. I turned to the staircase but his hand found a way around my wrist.

"I know things have been perfectly terrible for you. But it was no reason to run off," he said. Run off? He gave me a half smile. "In any case, I'm glad you decided not to do it." What in the world was he talking about?

"She would have done everyone a favor, putting herself down like the mutt she is," a voice snarled. Victoria. She had strolled from behind him, her face folded in a sneer.

"Don't talk to her like that! Have some manners would you Victoria? At least in my presence," Matthew thundered. Victoria didn't even flinch at his tone.

"She doesn't care about manners. Rose made that perfectly clear yesterday," she returned. After seeing her selfless, affectionate and compassionate parents, it was become difficult to place her as their daughter. How could such wonderful beings birth something of that nature?

I ignored her anyway. "Do what exactly?" I asked him.

"After your outrageous outburst this morning, your relatives told us about what you did when you were twelve. Your little attempt to drown yourself," Victoria sing-sang. I felt blood boil.

"They hadn't any right," I said lowly. Matthew looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze. The type of gaze, the type of look, my father had given when he had found out about the lake. At least, when he had been sober. I laughed bitterly.

"Well you'd be saddened to know that I didn't try a thing like that today. I decided to leave the house, which, I'm perfectly entitled too," I hissed.

"Well-" Victoria started but Matthew cut her off.

"For the love of everything Victoria, keep your mouth quiet! You have no place when it comes to my wife and I. Absolutely none," he snapped. Victoria gave him a piercing glare.

"You told me that in your country, they knew how to treat the mother of their children," she muttered.

Matthew gave her an appropriate glare. "Pray, he cautioned, what is that supposed to mean Victoria?" She straightened her back.

"It means that I will not be disrespected. Not by you, after all you've promised. And certainly not while I'm carrying your child," Victoria announced.

You could hear a pin drop.

I glanced between Victoria and Matthew, waiting for a reaction. Matthew eyed his mistress carefully, his action glazed over with calculation. Victoria threw back her shoulders and stared back at him evenly. She was not afraid to speak to him in such a regard. A regard that would've earned any other woman in her position swift action.

"I will leave the decision up to you, darling. But you will either pay me the respect I deem appropriate, or I will leave you. With our child still nestled in my womb," Victoria said finally. I felt my eyebrows raise in incredulity.

This woman couldn't possibly be serious.

But she was.

Her ambitious green eyes were raging like a hungry fire.

"Well?"

I watched Matthew's jaw shift, perhaps in contemplation.

"It is time for us to retire, he said to no one in particular, good night Mrs. Whitfield." He then took Victoria's arm and guided her up the staircase.

Yes.

His answer had been yes. He needn't say it plainly, it was clear he had agreed to her ultimatum. As she no doubt knew he would. I stood there, quite dumb-founded. What happened, what she had uttered, what he had agreed to...why it was so...tremendously outrageous! Then the words he had spoken to me in private echoed in my ears.

"I'm going to have a child, with the woman I love.

Yes, he loved her. That was the only explanation that held to ground to possibly reason as to why he let someone demean him in such a way. My previous thought at the moment of our last word with each other had been correct, love was very much blind. And it seemed, as I had only inched the tiniest bit closer to my husband, Victoria had created a chasm between us. For her ultimatum read very clearly between the lies as well.

Matthew was to keep his distance from me. He was only to get as close as it required, for a man and wife to divorce. Did she think, I thought bitterly, he would ever fall for me? I laughed. I was no threat, and there wasn't any way she knew the secrets I possessed on her behalf.

With those thoughts in mind, I started the way up to my bed chambers.

🥀

Marigold? Was that her name? In any case, she didn't forget to bring my break-fast the next morning. There was a good helping of goat cheese and sausage too, and tall glass of goat milk too. I thanked her heartily for it. I had always preferred the milk of goats to cows. I donned a yellow silk dress, and walked along my garden for a good half hour. Following that, I returned to my chambers and penned a poem. In spite of (or perhaps due to), yesterday's events, I felt good-spirited and lively.

I was, mildly surprised at the knock on my door. Upon opening it, I discovered it was our butler. That made the whole circumstance stranger. "Bert, I greeted kindly, how do you do?" The aging man gave a professional smile.

"Very well Madame. I trust you are the same?" he asked. I returned his smile.

"Yes, I paused thoughtfully before continuing, I suppose I am."

"I'm glad to hear that. Mr. Whitfield requested that I deliver you news," he said. I almost snorted.

"So news now? He cannot be found talking to me, to appease his darling mistress. How absurd! I do wonder why he didn't ask my warty old relatives to deliver the news. They would've have been happy to oblige," I sneered. It escaped my mouth before I could help it. It hasn't occurred to me that the words hadn't stayed as a thought inside my head. Bert, the poor old man, stood bashfully in front of me. His face was turning redder by the minute, and he had averted his eyes from mine.

I had put him in a position he hardly deserved. I felt my own embarrassment color my cheeks.

"Forgive me Bert, I murmured, I hardly meant it." His head still bowed, he muttered a half-hearted response of affirmation.

"The message, Madame, concerns one of a ball. It will be held at the Castle of Therese by the Thompson's. The-er-entire Whitfield household is invited to attend," he informed. The Thompson's. I hardly liked them. There was Mr. Thompson who was even fatter than I. He had dark beady eyes, always staring at the chests of ladies. He particularly loved to delight himself at the sights of developing young ladies breasts.

Mrs. Thompson cared not about keeping her husband in check. She threw too many parties and too much money. She also loved to go on and on about useless, silly, and frivolous things. Her face wasn't remarkable, or unremarkable, but the fact alone made it quiet bothersome that she loved to gossip about the appearances of other's.

Particularly me.

The only reason why the Thompson's were relevant in high society, was due to her ties to the royal family. Her father had been a prince, however tainted by scandal, lost his title. There was absolutely no royal name for him, not even one of a duke. So, as some sort of compensation, he was granted ownership of the Castle of Therese. Mrs. Thompson inherited the grand estate, and thanks to the healthy sums from her father, managed to marry according to her choosing and stay relevant in the upper class.

"When will the ball be held?" I inquired.

"A fortnight," he answered. I nodded.

"Tell my husband that I have heard," I replied.

🥀

As the days progressed toward the date of ball, I weighed the idea of not attending it. After all, I could think of no consequence, good or bad, which made the choice of going to the ball particularly outstanding. Nay, I reasoned, the complete avoidance of any social situation at the moment seemed particularly relieving.

But then I remembered something.