Chapter 13

CHAPTER

a

13

C harlotte stood by the window in her bedchamber and stared out at the dark, cloudy sky. She was wearing her nightgown and robe, her hair down and brushed out.

It was very late, the house quiet. Out in the sitting room, she heard the door open and shut, heard the key spin in the lock. It was Win, finally arriving to check on her. With so many hours having trudged by, she'd begun to wonder if he'd bother. She rested her palm on the glass and uttered a hasty prayer: for strength, for resilience, for wisdom.

Since her caustic chat with his mother, she'd been hiding. A maid had stopped by to see if she'd needed help dressing for supper. Charlotte had declined the assistance and had requested a tray be brought up instead.

Once she'd been certain the adults were busy downstairs, she'd taken her food and enjoyed her meal with Polly in the nursery. She was departing in the morning, and she'd had to explain what was about to happen and why.

The Dowager had refused to provide Charlotte with any information about Polly's new school. It was located outside Manchester, so Polly would be very far away. The lengthy distance meant that the chances of Charlotte being with her ever again were very slim.

They'd conferred about many topics: how to stay in touch, how to thrive in difficult conditions. Polly had asked, if her situation grew horrid, if she could come to live with Charlotte, but Charlotte had had no answer. Her own future was up in the air, so she didn't dare make promises she couldn't keep.

She glanced over her shoulder as Win stepped into the room. There was a candle burning on the dresser, so she had a clear view of him. He would have donned formal attire to dine with his guests, so he'd changed since then. He was clad in a casual outfit, a flowing white shirt and tan trousers, similar to the ones he'd always had on at Fog Bay.

The neckline on the shirt was partially splayed to reveal a bit of his chest. The sight tickled her innards and it occurred to her that a perilous predicament was about to develop. The minutes of their amour were swiftly ticking to an end, and she was desperate to grab whatever little pieces of him he might be willing to share.

She ought to send him away, but her mood was at its lowest ebb. For years, she'd struggled to rise above the slings and arrows that Fate had shot at her, but one awful conversation with his mother had been enough to devastate her.

She hoped he hadn't talked to the Dowager, that the old shrew hadn't repeated any of her venom. Charlotte couldn't bear to debate the vile comments or listen to him claim her words didn't matter.

They mattered, all right. Charlotte wasn't about to tarry and tangle with the Dowager, so she'd packed her bags and would flee without protest. When the maid had delivered the supper tray, she'd inquired about the schedule for the public coach that passed through Dartmouth village. Noon, five days a week. She intended to be on it.

Win didn't speak, but hurried over to where she was hovered like a frozen statue. He snuggled her close and she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life. She was adrift and floating free, and she felt, should she let go, she might simply sail off to the moon.

From the moment her mother had run away, she'd suffered a string of heartbreak and tragedy. Her father had been cruel and indifferent, her stepmother petty and malicious. No one had ever cared about her except Theo, but after her sister had betrothed herself to Arthur, that illusion had been shattered.

If Theo would crush her in such a terrible way, how could she ever have possessed any genuine affection? Why was it so hard just to get by? Why had she been pummeled with such misery and woe? She recollected the Dowager's repugnant remarks—about Charlotte's poor, misguided mother, about Charlotte's motives toward Win—and she truly could not tolerate much more abuse.

Was she completely unlovable? Forget about love. Was she such a horrid person that it was impossible to even like her very much? The Dowager was a stranger to Charlotte, yet she'd assumed she could spew any nasty denigration, that Charlotte deserved to be mortally offended, that she had to put up with it.

She'd been fighting forever. As a young girl, she'd been tarred by the taint of her mother's sin against her father, and she'd been determined to prove her detractors wrong. She'd behaved properly in all circumstances, as she'd resolved to show that she was polite and studious, sweet-tempered and kind. But what good had it done?

She was alone in the world, without family, friends, or funds. She had no job, no place. She'd had to dawdle in the Earl's library and practically be called a harlot by his despicable mother. She was so angry that she could have set the whole kingdom on fire with her wrath.

They were next to the bed and he lifted her and tumbled them onto the mattress. He rolled them so they were on their sides and nose to nose. He was scrutinizing her features as if, in the past few hours, she'd been altered somehow.

She was scrutinizing him too. She was departing in the morning, and she figured he'd be opposed to the notion, but he wouldn't be able to dissuade her. This would be the last time they were together and she was anxious to memorize every detail.

"You didn't come down to supper," he murmured.

"I couldn't. Please apologize to the maids who stitched my gown for me. It was very pretty and I hate that they went to so much trouble on my behalf."

"I know you met with my mother. She shared some of her comments with me and I—"

Charlotte laid a finger on his lips to silence him. "Let's not discuss her."

"I never listen to her and you shouldn't either."

"She was very harsh with me, but she was correct too. I shouldn't be staying at Dartmouth. We're too fond of each other and it's difficult to conceal our attachment."

"She ordered you away, but we're ignoring her."

Charlotte sighed. "Could we not argue about it?"

"We're not arguing. I'm merely declaring that this is my home. Not my mother's. She doesn't get to decide who will visit me. I want you to tarry."

"For how long?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. I simply feel that, currently, it's too soon for you to leave."

"You're being insane about me. This may be your home, but she's demanded I obey her. I won't quarrel with her over it."

"So I'll send her to our house in London. She doesn't have to remain on the premises. You're my special guest and she had no right to berate you."

Charlotte pressed her body to his, and she nestled her face at his nape, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his skin and clothes. After they separated, she would always remember how he'd smelled. It was a tantalizing aroma that ignited her feminine instincts.

How could a measly scent have such a stunning effect? It seemed as if the universe had created him just for her, yet if he was supposed to be hers, it was so unfair that she couldn't have him. She was like a toddler whose older sibling was taunting her by holding a piece of candy just out of reach. Despite how she leapt and grabbed for it, she could never jump quite high enough.

"You needn't send your mother away," she said. "My presence is the problem. I traveled to Dartmouth to guarantee that Polly is situated appropriately. She's heading off shortly to her school, so my role in her life is over. There's no reason for me to dawdle."

He eased her away so he could stare into her eyes. "There's every reason."

"Name one."

"How about because it's what I crave more than anything? I've admitted that I can't bear for us to part. How about you? Can you admit it? Or are you a coward?"

"The only path for me is to become your mistress, but I won't consider it. We can't be friends, and you would never wed me, so I'm saving you from yourself by slinking away without a fuss. Instead of complaining, you should be relieved."

"I can't marry you," he insisted and she scoffed with disgust.

"We've been through this, Win. You could , if you really wanted to, but your road and mine aren't on the same trajectory. You need to search for the perfect debutante, and I need to rush to London and start applying for jobs. I'm certain that statement fully clarifies where we stand."

He studied her, his thoughts tormented, then he slid off the bed. She assumed, for a panicked moment, that he was stomping out, but he went over to the window and leaned on the sill.

He peered out at the dark sky, and after a bit, he said, "My brother, Holden, killed himself because of me."

She tsked with offense. "That's not true. I wish you'd stop presuming it was your fault."

"I wasn't solely responsible; I get it. He was a disturbed soul, but I pushed him over the edge. My scorn was too much for him to abide."

"You'll never convince me to agree."

He gazed at her over his shoulder. "After his death, I realized I had to be a better person, a better man, that I should be kinder and try harder to empathize with other people."

"Good. I don't mean this as an insult, but you are very pompous. It can't hurt for you to be kinder."

He snorted at that, then shifted his focus outside again. A fraught interval extended out between them, then he astounded her by confiding, "I'm lonely."

"I'm lonely too and it's dreadfully isolating."

"I'd like to be happy," he quietly mused. "I don't believe I ever have been."

"Then I'm sorry for you. You've been showered with so many blessings, and it's sad that they haven't provided what you seek."

He came over and stood by the bed. His expression was odd, and she couldn't guess what he was thinking, so she was incredibly shocked when he said, "If I asked you to marry me, would you?"

A wave of elation swept over her, but she shoved it away. "No, I wouldn't."

He looked dumbfounded. "Why not?"

"You're not serious."

"Me? Not serious? I'm the most serious man in the kingdom."

"You might be correct in many instances, but not in this one."

"You've told me I could wed you if I really wanted to. I really want to."

"No, you don't and I've explained this to you. You are very spoiled. You're yearning for me to be your mistress, but I've refused, so you've upped the ante. You've moved from an illicit suggestion to a legitimate one, but you're not sincere."

He climbed onto the mattress and stretched out, their bodies touching all the way down. He held up his hand and he had a ring on his pinkie finger. It was a gold band that sported several small diamonds. He pulled it off his finger and slipped it onto her own.

She gaped at it and she was scowling, as if she'd never previously seen a piece of jewelry.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"Marry me. Say yes. Say you'll have me."

Before she could formulate a reply, he kissed her quite vigorously, so no immediate response was necessary.

v

Win wasn't sure what he'd just done.

He'd proceeded without reflecting, without pondering the consequences. He wasn't about to cry off from his engagement to Jasmine, so what was his plan?

On voicing the proposal, he'd been swamped by such a surge of euphoria that he couldn't imagine ever retracting it. Yet his words didn't seem real, so he might have been an actor in a stage play, and while he wouldn't describe it as a comedy, it was definitely a farce.

He'd spent hours at supper, being the perfect host to their guests, but mostly, he'd been concentrating on Charlotte and wondering what had delayed her. Generally, he was a smart, shrewd individual, but in some circumstances, he could be a total dunce. In light of how Agatha had treated her, it had been ridiculous for him to assume she'd join them.

He couldn't define what he actually sought from her, but she made him so happy. He didn't understand why, but since he'd met her, the notion of happiness was nagging at him.

What if happiness was vital to his contentment? He'd never contemplated that question, but he was suffering from the most tenacious perception that Charlotte had been brought into his life to furnish what was missing.

He was riveted by the possibility that his offer could become authentic. How, precisely, that would occur was a huge mystery. Short of his being a bigamist, there was no answer. He only knew that he couldn't permit her to leave in the morning. If he had to propose in order to rope her into staying, then that is what he would eagerly do.

He was carrying on as if he were possessed by demons and it appeared he was prepared to fornicate with her. If they staggered forward to carnal activity, if he deflowered her and it was a beautiful, romantic event, she wouldn't be keen to part from him. Would she be?

Even if she learned about Jasmine later on, wouldn't they be too tightly bound to consider separating? He was determined that she remain by his side and, while it was likely deranged, he hoped a bout of sexual mischief would secure that conclusion.

It was the lust talking though. He recognized that it was. When his cock got involved, he made horrid decisions, but he was certain they were on the correct path. She was his and she could never belong to any other man. He would see to it.

"We should stop," she eventually said. "This is growing too amorous."

"Why would we stop? We were destined to wind up in a bed together."

"I shouldn't agree unless I have a ring on my finger first."

He spat out a chuckle. "Hello, Charlotte! Hello! Haven't you been paying attention? You have my ring on your finger, so we can view this as our wedding night."

She studied his eyes, searching for the deceit that was buried there, but she couldn't find it. And he wasn't hiding dubious motives. If he could figure out how to marry her, he would. Or wouldn't. He was so confused!

"How can you be serious?" she asked. "I simply can't convince myself that you are."

"As you constantly remind me, I am rich and powerful and I can behave however I like. It would please me very much to marry you. Won't you let me?"

She silently debated and he was wearing her down. She was anxious to be his wife, anxious for his proposal to be genuine. And it was genuine. He would be delighted to wed her—if he could devise a method that didn't cause his entire world to erupt in flames.

He yearned to be two men who existed in two different universes. In one, he would march on to his boring, detached union with Jasmine. In the other, he would elope with Charlotte and be blissfully glad. It was the only solution.

"I have to be the biggest fool ever," she ultimately muttered, "but I would be thrilled to marry you."

He smiled like a besotted idiot. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes, and don't you dare disappoint me. If you don't follow through, I will never forgive you."

"My dearest Charlotte, I would never disappoint you. You will always be able to count on me."

"That had better be true."

His heart seemed to swell under his ribs until it didn't fit just right. He envisioned himself as being the man she wanted, the man she needed, and he vowed to himself that her reality would be his reality too.

Why couldn't it happen? He was king of his own domain and he could pick any bride he chose. Why not have it be her? The problem was that he'd already picked a bride, and she was in London and planning his wedding, so he shoved away any thoughts of Jasmine and kept his focus on Charlotte where it belonged.

He couldn't bear to have so much sentiment swirling, and he wouldn't open his mouth, for he was terrified to hear the words that might spill out. It was wiser to continue with their tryst. He started kissing her again, coaxing her to go farther than she should down the road to perdition.

His curious hands were busy, caressing her shoulders and arms, her breasts and even her curvaceous bottom. Gradually, he was lifting the hem of her nightgown, past her ankles, past her knees. She noticed the escalation and pulled away from him.

"Should we be doing this?" she asked. "I'm so afraid we shouldn't be."

"We're engaged and we'll be married shortly, so there's no impropriety. We'll proceed exactly as we shouldn't, so I can't back out. Neither can you. A trip to the altar will be the sole option available to us."

"I could never have predicted I'd be in a situation like this," she murmured quite miserably. "I don't know what's best."

He smirked. "You silly girl. I am best. I will never steer you in the wrong direction."

"Swear to me that this will bind us. Swear that you will wed me."

"I swear. And don't forget: It will bind you too. If you rise in the morning and decide I'm not much of a catch, you can't run off."

She drew him to her and hugged him tight. "I will never think that. If you'll have me, I will be yours forever."

They were both conveniently ignoring the fact that a nobleman was never ensnared by any wicked conduct he perpetrated. A common man, after he fornicated just once, was quickly dragged to the church and forced to shackle himself. But an aristocrat? No rules applied to him.

He kept raising the hem of her nightgown, and soon, her privates were bared to his questing hand. Without hesitating, he slipped a finger into her sheath, and though she briefly tensed at the unusual invasion, she swiftly relaxed and offered no protest.

She was twenty-three, which was a very old age for a woman to still be a virgin. Everyone said so. The female body needed to be moved from its maidenly state to its wifely state and she was no exception. Her anatomy recognized and approved of his actions.

He slid his finger in and out, in and out, as he abandoned her lush lips to nibble a trail down her neck to her bosom. Through the fabric of her nightgown, he nuzzled her breasts, as he found the sensitive spot at the vee of her thighs. He jabbed at it with his thumb, as he sucked hard on her nipple. She was a very sexual creature and it was easy to goad her into a potent orgasm.

She flew to the heavens, soaring up and up, and she reached the apex, then floated down and landed safely in his arms. She was laughing, sputtering with joy, as he preened and celebrated his ability to manipulate her.

"I can't believe I let you do that to me," she said when she'd calmed enough to comment.

"It's just the beginning of what I plan for us. I'm a randy man and I intend that we will have a very satisfying carnal relationship."

"I suppose you'll be luring me to your bedroom every other second."

"That won't be such a bad thing, will it?"

"No. I'll be very content." Then she frowned and asked, "Are we finished? I thought there was more to it than this."

"There's more. This was the first bit."

"Show me what happens. I've always wondered."

"Are you a vixen at heart? I hope so."

"My mother was a notorious tart, remember? I've been warned to be careful, lest her debauched traits burst out, but if I'm about to be a bride, I guess I don't need to tamp them down."

"Aren't I lucky?"

They grinned so insanely that they probably looked like a pair of halfwits. It's how he felt: out of his mind with desire and affection. He was brimming with romantic remarks. He wanted to tell her how much he cherished her company, how glad he was to have met her, but he figured he'd wind up sounding like a fool.

Instead, he started in yet again. She'd had her lust temporarily sated, but his was at a fevered pitch, his poor phallus begging to be set loose, and he grew more adamant. He wasn't about to copulate with her when they were both fully clothed, so he distracted her as he tugged off her robe, as he glided down the straps of her nightgown to bare her pretty breasts.

He kept on, pushing the garment down, so he could toss it on the floor. She didn't appear concerned over how rapidly matters were progressing. If she was alarmed by suddenly finding herself naked, she didn't exhibit a hint of discomfort. She simply allowed him to carry on as outrageously as he liked.

He drew back onto his knees and he yanked off his shirt. She watched him keenly, as if she couldn't wait to have more of his body revealed.

"I've never seen a man's chest before," she said.

"From this point on, it's all yours. You may do with it what you will."

She snickered with amusement, as he clasped her wrists and laid her palms on his skin. Her touch was so erotic that he was surprised he didn't swoon like an innocent maiden. He collapsed down, and with her breasts exposed, he was able to play with her nipples, to pinch and bite them with no fabric as a barrier. She was an enthusiastic partner, who cooed with pleasure, which spurred him on. No deed distressed her and she was ready for what was approaching.

Their passion was rising, their need increasing. He was tempting her, tormenting her, while down below, he was unbuttoning his trousers. He'd have liked to strip them off, to be naked too, but he couldn't delay long enough to shed them. He was anxious to get the worst part—her deflowering—out of the way, so they could put it behind them.

He widened her thighs, his torso dropping between them, as he pulled his trousers down around his flanks. His cock was eager to hurry, and mentally, he ordered himself to slow down, but physically, he couldn't exercise much restraint.

He reached down and centered himself, wedging the tip into her sheath. Finally, some consternation was evident.

She stiffened and said, "Are we going to ... to ... "

She didn't have the vocabulary to discuss their antics and he couldn't explain them. He dallied with tarts and they knew the mechanics of what was required. He'd be mortified to clarify any detail.

"Yes, we're about finished," he told her.

"Will it hurt? I've heard that it hurts the first time."

"Just for a second. After that, it will always be grand."

He eased in a tad more and she said, "It feels odd."

"That's because it's not like anything you've ever tried previously. Until you've experienced it, you can't grasp what's occurring."

"Make it special for me. Will you promise? So I'll never forget any of it?"

"I will make it as special as I can, but you arouse me beyond my limit, so I'm afraid I'll be in too much of a rush."

She chuckled. "I arouse you? I have no idea how I've accomplished it."

"You're just ... you. You drive me wild."

It was a pathetically sentimental statement that was embarrassing. He didn't have a poetic bone in his body, and if he wasn't careful, he'd wax on about the color of her hair. He was so enamored of her. It was a bizarre sensation, but she delighted him as no other woman ever had.

"Are you serious, Win?" she asked, seeming troubled. "About your proposal, I mean. Will you marry me?"

It was too late to dicker over the issue of his sincerity, but he was awash with emotion. "I will, Charlotte, as quickly as I can arrange it."

The words exploded out, and they thrilled him, but he didn't suppose the vow was true. Whatever he ultimately chose—marriage to Charlotte, marriage to Jasmine—the road would be rocky and difficult to travel. At the moment, he wasn't about to fret over it.

He kissed her again, as he worked with his hips, pushing in more and more. She tensed, her anatomy protesting the peculiar incursion, so he dipped to her breasts and sucked on a nipple. With his thumb, he tantalized the spot between her legs, and he kept at it until her desire rose, until it crested.

As she was swept into another orgasm, he pressed very hard and was fully impaled. He held himself very still, waiting as she soared to the peak, as she tumbled down. She had tears in her eyes and he was stricken to observe them.

"You're not sad, are you?" he said. "You can't be sad. We're at the beginning of everything. You should be happy."

"I'm so happy that I'm crying about it. You overwhelm me and I'm glad I let you be the one."

"I'm glad too."

It was all the conversation he could manage, so he leapt into the determined task that was consuming him. He didn't pause to ask if she knew what was happening, didn't pause to explain. He was in too deep, drowning with fondness, and he couldn't confer with her. His lust assumed control and he gleefully jumped into the stream of passion that would carry them to the end.

To his great surprise, he didn't spill himself immediately. He was so titillated that he'd expected to swiftly conclude. Clearly, he fornicated with too many slatterns, for he'd ceased to recall how enjoyable the act could be—if it was practiced with a companion he treasured. Maybe he'd never understood the level of exhilaration that could be generated.

He adopted a steady tempo, and initially, it was awkward, but she figured it out. His thrusts became so powerful that he was moving her across the mattress, her head banging into the headboard with each plunge. Eventually, he shoved in very far and his seed burst into her womb. He shouldn't have been so negligent, should have retreated at the last, but wasn't he marrying her shortly? If matrimony was on their horizon, how could it matter if he was reckless?

He collapsed onto her, his heavy weight crushing her, so he slid to the side, their bodies separating. He rolled onto his back and drew her over his torso, so her cheek was laying on his chest. If the position meant he didn't have to look her in the eye, he wouldn't admit it.

They were quiet for awhile, and he couldn't imagine what she was thinking, but as for himself, he was struggling to deduce if he was sorry for coaxing her to participate. Well, he wasn't sorry. He'd never be sorry and he certainly wasn't suffering any guilt.

"I'm yours and you'll never be shed of me," she said. He sighed with contentment and she added, "I pray you'll never regret this hasty, deranged decision."

"How could I regret it? We're bound forever."

"Forever is a very long time."

"Where you're concerned, it could never be long enough."

Exhaustion was settling in and he yawned. Even though he was a skilled roué, he'd never been so overcome during any prior coupling. He was completely drained.

"What do we do now?" she inquired.

"We rest for a few minutes, then try it again."

"I'd like that. What time is it?"

"I couldn't guess. Two? Three?"

"It will be morning soon. How will we proceed?"

Like the stupid dunce he could definitely be, he asked, "Proceed with what?"

"The wedding, silly. We'll have to announce our intentions, then we'll have to pick a date. You're such a toplofty fellow that there will be a thousand problems to handle."

"We should marry right away," he was stunned to hear himself say. "After we've been together like this, we don't dare delay. Plus, I'm excited for you to be my bride. I couldn't bear to plan a fancy fête that will take a year to arrange."

"I'd be fine with a small, quick ceremony, but how about you? You're so pompous. Could you stand to have a modest event?"

"I'm sure my ego would survive."

"Will we obtain a Special License or what? We could have your vicar call the banns, but then, it would be a month away. Are you too impatient for even that amount of a lag?"

"Even a month would be too much for me. With our commencing the physical portion of our relationship, I don't want to have to avoid you. I want to be able to climb into your bed every minute."

"You're a randy beast," she lovingly chided.

"I can't deny it." He bent down and kissed her, then he relaxed on the pillow. "I'll need several days to deal with various issues. Can you keep this a secret until I'm ready to forge ahead?"

"I can keep it a secret, but please have mercy on me. If I have to swallow down the truth for too long, I might bust."

He tamped down a wince. What was he thinking? He was too shocked by his furtive conduct to ponder that question.

He was dozing off as she asked, "Since we're about to wed, could you be in charge of Polly? Rather than your mother being her guardian, could it be you? She could remain at Dartmouth with us."

"We could do that," he mumbled, sounding almost drunk with fatigue. "Remind me about it tomorrow."

"I will." She paused, then said, "Are you falling asleep? You can't nod off in here."

"You've worn me out. I have to close my eyes for a bit."

He drifted off and when he roused, dawn was breaking. She was still on the bed with him, but the temperature had cooled and it had grown chilly. She'd wrapped herself in a blanket, so she must have gotten up and moved about, but he'd been so depleted that he hadn't noticed.

He'd like to wake her, to steal a last kiss, but he was already past the limit of what was safe. No doubt the scullery maids were up and lighting the fires. If he could reach the master suite without being observed, it would be a miracle.

He eased off the mattress and stumbled about to find his shirt and tug it on. He straightened his trousers and ran his fingers through his hair, but if he was seen in the halls, there could be no hiding the fact that he'd been misbehaving. Hopefully, if he was caught skulking about, he'd be far from her room and there would be no connection to her being his likely partner.

He dawdled, wishing she'd stir, but ultimately, he realized it was better if she didn't. What would he have told her anyway? Would he have spewed more lies about the wedding he'd mentioned? Would he continue to deceive her?

Despite how meticulously he'd plotted to trick her, his mother had sworn—if Win didn't tell her about his betrothal—Agatha would spill the beans on Friday. He was in trouble and had to yank himself out of it. He wanted to wed Charlotte more than he'd ever wanted anything and he was very spoiled. Why couldn't he have her?

Well, Jasmine was the reason. His mother was the reason. His obligation to his family was the reason. Would he cast Jasmine aside, so he could make the rash choice, the imprudent choice? But would it be imprudent? Wouldn't he be happy forever with Charlotte? Yet when had happiness ever been an aspect to contemplate in a marriage?

If he cried off from his commitment to Jasmine, it would foment a calamity. His reputation would be ruined, his good name wrecked. There would probably be lawsuits too, as Jasmine's father sued him for breach of promise, and he'd deserve to be sued.

Agatha would never forgive him. Did he care?

He had to engage in some serious reflecting, so he whipped away and hurried out. He staggered blindly, like a man who ought to know where he was, but who had no clue of his direction.

He rushed into his bedchamber, washed and changed his clothes, then raced out to the stables. None of the grooms were up, so he saddled his own horse, mounted, and cantered away. He would ride until he had some notion of the best path and how he could implement it.

Then, and only then, would he come back. What if he never found the answers he was seeking? Would he ever turn around? Or would he travel to the ends of the Earth and beyond?