Chapter 15

W inifred could not sleep, but she dared not pace the floor. She had no wish to awaken her mother or let the house know her own personal state of agitation.

Instead, she laid in her bed, staring up at the stuccoed ceiling, counting the petals on the flowers that had been styled there. She'd counted well over one hundred. The town house was beautifully constructed. She'd grown up in a home that most people could only ever dream about, but she was not living in a dream. No, she was living in a veritable nightmare. Her body was not necessarily in jeopardy, but her mind and soul certainly were.

Why? Why was her mama being so cruel? She knew in her heart of hearts what it was, but even so, it did not seem right.

How could anyone be so cruel to their child? It was true that she had not been a child for years, but her mother treated her thus.

Her mother, who had managed passing kindness to her over the years, had, in her desperate fear of losing status, unleashed her most vitriolic threats upon Winifred.

In some ways, she could not blame her mama. For Winifred had acted in a way that was shocking, potentially dangerous, and if she'd been discovered by the wrong person? She could have brought a great deal of shame upon her family and made it impossible for her sister to marry.

She did not argue that her mother had no reason to be furious. But the way she'd gone about it this day, the horrible things she'd said… The way it was clear that her mother found her wanting in almost every possible way had been too much.

And in that moment, as she lay there on her bed in her night rail, staring up at that ceiling in the dark, she vowed that when she had children, she would never do such a thing. She would accept her children for exactly who they were, no matter how difficult. She would support them, walk by them, and show them how beautiful the world could truly be.

Then her children would never feel the need to flee as Winifred had done.

Luckily, she knew how beautiful the world could truly be now. Not because of her own family, but because of Ajax's. And she found herself so entirely grateful to his mother, a woman she barely knew, for raising a son to be so strong, so loving, so able to see the world in a multi-hued light. And the dowager duchess had not done it with just one son. She had done it, it seemed, with all her children, and she had enfolded others in as well.

How she longed to be a Briarwood!

Not just to be married to Ajax, but to be surrounded by the fortress of that family. It did no disservice, she knew, to Ajax to wish it. Ajax would be proud of his family, proud that she wished to be a part of something like that. Proud that she wished to continue that legacy by having his children.

Oh, how she longed to escape to him again. He wanted to be her escape. He had said as much, but how would she manage it? Her own mother and brother were her captors. What would happen when Ajax came? She did not fear that he would not come as her mother had insinuated. No, it was her mother who was the weak one. The fearful one.

Her mother was the one who saw life as a series of misfortunes. Winifred no longer did that. She understood that her heart and soul could find the beauty of life and welcome it in, no matter how treacherous the road.

And Ajax? Ajax would never let her down.

The door to her room snicked open, and Winifred swung her gaze to the white and gold filigreed panel.

A figure silently slipped in, and Winifred was astonished to see her sister, Alison. In her simple pale night rail, her soft brown hair floating about her pale face, she almost appeared like a ghost in the moonlit room.

The girl crept in, closing the door behind her. She then whispered across the room and slipped into the bed beside Winifred.

"What are you doing?" Winifred asked in a voice barely above a breath.

It was not something that Alison had ever done before, this sneaking about and climbing into her bed. They had never been close. They had tried. She'd played with Alison often enough, but her mother had kept a distance between them as if, somehow, Winifred could infect Alison with her behavior.

"I had to come," Alison said softly.

Alison, like Winifred, was no child now. She was a young woman about to have her first Season. Soon she would be presented at court, and she would no doubt be declared a diamond.

Alison was beautiful and capable, even if she didn't love Shakespeare or books. She did not have a shallow heart. She hadn't been hardened like their mother. Still, in many ways, she was like their mother had been before their father died. And that, strangely, caused Winifred's heart to ache.

For once, their beautiful mother had been all smiles, soft embraces, and outings to the park.

"Why have you come?" Winifred asked again.

Alison lifted her gaze to her sister's. "Because I had to tell you something."

Winifred swallowed and dread pooled in her stomach. "I promise I will not get in the way of your Season. I will find a way—"

"No," Alison cut in. "That's not it at all."

She stilled. Her sister had a strange intensity about her at the moment. There was no accusation, no anger. No, it was as if she was a restless spirit caught in a vessel, and suddenly Winifred recognized herself in Alison.

That was how she felt too! A spirit who longed to be free but could not because she was contained. And so she shoved aside her prejudices and assumptions and tried to look at her sister as Ajax's family would have done.

"I'm listening," Winifred said. "Truly listening."

Alison nodded and took Winifred's hands in hers as they laid side by side, facing each other as if they were intimate friends.

"I had to come and tell you how much I admire you."

"What?" Winifred gasped, fairly certain she must have misheard.

But the seriousness of Alison's face was such that Winifred knew she had heard correctly.

If she had not listened, if she had not forced herself to put aside all her thoughts that Alison was her mother's ally, she would not have heard this.

"I cannot tell you how much your actions have affected me," Alison confessed.

Winifred bit her lower lip as her heart began to pound wildly with apprehension. That's exactly what their mother feared—that she would drag Alison down. But truthfully, she rather thought in this moment that she was lifting Alison up.

"Tell me," she urged her sister.

"You chose something so much more than what was granted to you, more than what has even been granted to me," rushed Alison. "I overheard Mother and Winston discussing what you'd done."

"You are not horrified?" Winifred asked, daring to hope that perhaps another member of the family might not think her so terribly odd.

"Horrified?" her sister echoed. "I am impressed beyond all measure. How did you manage such a feat?"

She smiled slowly, shocked but suddenly hopeful. "Well, if you must know, I sold Grandmama's diamond brooch. I hated doing it, but it was the only way I could get enough funds to support my endeavor. And I know she would have approved because, like Papa, she was a dreamer."

Alison squeezed her hands. "I remember her and her fairy stories. Of course she'd have approved. She never would have liked the idea of you being sent away and all but buried alive in Suffolk with our great aunt."

The grandiosity of Alison's declaration warmed Winifred and made her think they were far more alike than she'd ever known.

"Go on," Alison urged.

Winifred nodded. "Alfred assisted me in buying everything that I needed to disguise myself as a lad. I kept correspondence with all of the places that I thought important, and then I approached Lord Ajax."

Alison beamed. "You sought out Lord Ajax? A Briarwood? Someone so delicious, someone so adored by the ton, and you found a way to be alone with him and dressed as a boy?" Alison almost exclaimed, but then she kept her voice down to a soft whisper. "Tell me all of it. Every marvelous morsel. Please, I beg of you."

"You wish me to tell you?" Winifred frowned, wondering if she dared. "I don't think Mother would approve."

"I don't care," Alison said with a soft snort. "Mama has been hammering and shaping me for years, trying to fit me into the mold that she wishes. But I have my own mold. I was born to be myself, not her. I cannot bear it any longer."

Tears shone in Alison's eyes then, and she batted her lashes furiously, trying to hold them back. "I have tried. Oh, Winifred, I have tried to be all that she wants, but it is too much."

And in that moment, Winifred wondered if she'd been mistaken most of her life. She'd assumed that she was the problem, the odd one for so long. But Alfred had also longed to escape, to be his own person, to have adventures out in the world and not do exactly as their mother had said. Alison also felt the same.

Was it their mother, then, who was the one who was in need of change, of assistance, of altering her view of the world?

It certainly seemed so, but could she ever change? Winifred did not know. She prayed she could because she had never known a woman as unhappy as her mother. So rigid, so willing to crush her children in the hope of protecting them.

"I do not think Mama means to hurt us," Winifred suddenly whispered.

Alison drew in a sharp breath. "She thinks she's doing right. She thinks she's protecting us from the cruelties of the world. For instance, with you, she tried to force you to cease your wonderful quirks that make you singular. And with me by trying to make me the perfect young lady who would make the perfect marriage, but there is no perfection, Winifred," Alison said firmly. "Perfection does not exist, and pursuing it only wears one down to the bone. Every smile I smile is false. Every tilt of my head is calculated. The way I move my hands. The way I curtsy. There's nothing genuine about me. I am a living doll, and I cannot bear it another day. Perhaps I shall run away like you."

Wonderful quirks? She could not ignore this. For so long, she'd assumed everyone thought of her as her mother did. But now? It seemed that some truly appreciated her.

But she could not ignore her sister's last comment either.

"You must be careful running away," Winifred warned. "There are serious consequences to it if you have no money. As my dear Ajax said, there is a solution to your situation. I'm sure we can find one. There's always an answer to a problem."

"Do you promise?" Alison said, her gaze growing frantic. "For I fear who Mother shall choose for me to marry. I do not want to have to live a lie my entire life. You are so bold and so brave, Winifred. I had no idea you had it in you. All these years, I've longed to be your friend, but Mama has kept us apart. I refuse to be kept apart from you anymore. You and I are actually very similar creatures."

Winifred stared at her sister and mourned for all the years lost.

"It seems so," she replied gently. "And I will not let it happen to you anymore either. I was so afraid for so long, Alison," she confessed. "Afraid of upsetting Mother, of disappointing her over and over again. But I've realized now that no matter what I do, she shall be disappointed. She's bitter about life, and people who are like that? They will never know happiness or contentment. They will always be angry. And you and me? We will find a way to be free."

Alison held her hands tightly. "Promise me."

"I promise," Winifred replied.

Because no matter what, she was leaving this house, and perhaps she could take Alison with her.