8

                                    

                                          
Dinner was approaching. I had considered changing into a more elegant evening gown but dismissed the idea almost immediately. I didn't want Clark thinking I was putting any effort into seeing him. I never had before, so why start now?
Still, I allowed myself a quick glance in the entry hall mirror before stepping into the dining room. My skin had taken on a sun-kissed hue from hours outdoors—something the London set would warn against. But it didn't look bad. My hair could have been styled better, perhaps, and I considered wearing a corset. Then again, that would mean sacrificing the ability to breathe comfortably.
"Whitewood?"
That voice.
He must have heard my footsteps. I turned from the mirror and entered the dining room to find Clark already seated, as usual.
He grinned, and I rolled my eyes, taking my place across from him. Back to our old routine.
"Don't roll your eyes. I know you like me deep down."
The sheer arrogance. I rolled my eyes again, just to irritate him. "You wish."
He shook his head slowly, pretending to search for words. "Why do you have to be so... so..." He paused dramatically.
I waited, unimpressed.
"Rough," he finally concluded.
"People have called me worse," I shrugged. It was true. In London, I'd been labeled harsh, outspoken, relentless. I wouldn't apologize for being honest.
The servant brought my dinner, and I thanked him. I hadn't realized how hungry bird-chasing could make a person. I eagerly took the first bite.
Clark was staring at me. His gaze was unsettling.
"What?" I snapped, mouth half-full.
He sighed and glanced down at his plate. "Nothing."
Was this some sort of game? Was he trying to provoke me, waiting for me to explode? Whatever it was, he wouldn't get the satisfaction.
I was about to ask, Why are you acting so strange today? when Winston, Clark's valet, entered the dining room.
"Lord Langton." He bowed slightly. "Lady Langton." Despite his calm demeanor, urgency shadowed his expression. He exchanged a look with Clark—one I couldn't decipher.
"Your presence is required, my lord. It's urgent."
Clark stood immediately. The playful air he'd had minutes before evaporated.
"Ready my curricle," he ordered, already crossing the room. "I'll meet you in the stables."
"Yes, my lord."
I watched, bewildered. "What's going on?" I asked Clark.
He paused briefly. "I'll be back late. Don't wait up." And with that, he disappeared, Winston following close behind.
I hurried after them to the hall. "Where are you going?" I called, but the door had already swung shut.
I turned to Roy, who had witnessed the entire exchange. He raised his hands, palms up—just as confused as I was.
"Should we follow them?" I asked, knowing it wasn't truly an option.
Roy peered out the window, his gaze fixed on something outside. I joined him, pressing my face to the glass. Clark and Winston were boarding the curriculum, their movements brisk and focused.
"Even I have to admit, this is strange," Roy murmured.
We watched as Winston snapped the reins, and the curricle disappeared into the night.