Free Escape by Moonlight by Mary Nichols

am I to tell your father?’
    ‘Whatever you like. I have already written to tell him my decision.’
    ‘He won’t like it.’
    ‘No, but I have a feeling Mama will approve.’

    On Sunday morning, mindful of what Jack had said, Lucy dressed in a printed cotton skirt and a white blouse with a gathered neckline and small puffed sleeves, but the day was not so warm as the previous Sunday and so sheadded a warm shawl the colour of port wine which had been her mother’s. She pulled it up over her head as she entered the church and took her place. The organist was playing quietly while the congregation waited for Lord de Lacey and his family to arrive. She looked about her at the flowers, the polished cross on the altar, the de Lacey family banner hanging from one of the oak beams, the embroidered hassock at her feet, and a kind of peace stole over her.
    Jack, coming up the aisle in the wake of his parents, saw her out of the corner of his eye and was struck by her serenity. He had decided not to keep their tryst, but now he changed his mind again. He gave her a wink which made the colour flare in her face.
    The parson seemed to go on interminably, but at last the service was over and they emerged onto the church path to be greeted by the Reverend Royston with a handshake. Jack spoke to him briefly and hurried away. Lucy slipped past unnoticed and made for the door in the estate wall that led into the woods. She did not see Frank Lambert, who was standing behind one of the larger gravestones, emerge from his hiding place and follow.
    There was a moment when she thought she was lost; all the paths through the wood looked the same and there was a lot of dense undergrowth, which stung her face as she pushed past it. But there it was, at last, the clearing and the ruins of the cottage, looking as though it had grown out of the earth like that, all broken and twisted. The sight of it sent shivers through her, more even than the week before because today there was no sun to cast its beams through the branches and brighten the scene.
    But Jack was there before her, sitting on a fallen treetrunk, tending a small fire. His horse was tethered nearby. He rose and took both her hands in his and stood leaning back to look at her. ‘My lovely girl. You came, then?’
    ‘Yes, but I wasn’t sure you would.’
    ‘How could I stay away? I have thought of nothing else since I parted with you last week.’
    ‘The painting?’
    He laughed and his laugh crinkled up his eyes and made her want to laugh too. ‘Oh, certainly the painting. Now come and sit here beside the fire.’ He led her to the place where he had been sitting and watched her seat herself self-consciously. ‘I want to paint you as a gypsy, watching the pot over the fire.’
    ‘I’m not one of those.’
    ‘I know, but we could pretend.’ He smiled. ‘Life is like that, isn’t it? Half the time we are pretending, sometimes we even deceive ourselves. We pretend to be someone we are not, we pretend to like people we hate because it is polite to do so, we flatter people because we do not want to hurt their feelings or because we want something from them …’
    ‘Is that what you are doing now?’
    ‘No, it is not,’ he said sharply. Then more softly, ‘No, my dear. I am being honest with you. I will always be straight with you.’
    ‘Why?’ she demanded, disconcerting him.
    ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose because I know you are honest and straightforward yourself, a child of nature, at home in the woods …’
    ‘No, I am not. They give me the shivers.’
    ‘Why? There is nothing to be afraid of, no lions or wolves, just little animals like badgers and squirrels andmice, and birds. When I was little, I used to run away from my tutor and hide here. I considered the wild creatures were my friends.’
    ‘Were you a lonely child?’ She was interested enough to relax.
    ‘I suppose I was. I didn’t fit, you see.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Perhaps one day I will