As she rode, memories resurfaced from the depths of her mind, and when they arrived at a meadow, she stopped, suddenly unable to focus on the present as her thoughts swept her up and transported her back to the past.
The breeze wafted through Charity’s hair as she sat beside her father under the old oak tree. She looked up at him as he smiled and looked over the meadow where Ambrose now trotted, while her father’s horse rested.
“My grandfather had a bench put here for my grandmother when she was with child. They had already had one child—your grandfather—and his sister was to follow. My grandmother enjoyed sitting out here. She reveled in it so much, but because she was with child, it was difficult for her to sit down on the ground. So, he arranged for a bench to be built here.”
“Is it really so old?” Charity asked, and her father smiled.
“My father had it replaced over the years because of wood rot. I did too, before I brought your mother here on one of the first occasions we went for a walk.”
“Mother?” Charity asked. “I did not know she was fond of walking.”
“She is not. At that time, she was mostly preoccupied with securing a duke for a husband,” he replied, laughing somewhat to himself. “This is not to speak ill of your mother; I adore her, as you know. But we were young, each of us wishing to make the best match. In any case, I brought her here, but she found little joy in the place, especially after our marriage.”
“But you still come here.”
“I do. I visit often, and I am grateful that I brought you, for you seem to enjoy it very much.”
“I do. And Ambrose does, too. Look at the way he dances around!” Ambrose had a habit of moving in a rapid fashion when excited—rather like a cat could—and he presently did just such a motion.
Her father looked up and laughed. “Indeed, he is having the time of his life!” He glanced at her and then stood. “Come, we shall join him.”
“Join him?” she echoed, rising as well.
“Well, yes. You have been taking dancing lessons. Show me what you have learned!”
She laughed and then demonstrated a few of the steps, her father joining in. The two chuckled as they pretended to be in a grand ballroom while Ambrose pranced around the meadow, kicking up his legs in enjoyment. Her father's horse, on the other hand, stood lazily at the far edge of the meadow, grazing on the grass.
Her father laughed, addressing Charity, but then, as she looked up, she noticed dark clouds gathering. It had been such a lovely sunny day, she hadn’t thought it would rain and yet, here they were, a gathering of dark clouds on the otherwise blue sky.
He paused and looked upwards. “We should seek shelter.” He turned and clicked his tongue, both Ambrose and his own horse coming running. They mounted their steeds and rode, though not back toward home.
“Father, Pembroke is in the other direction,” she remarked, concerned they might be lost.
“I know my estate very well, my dear. I also know the weather, and I assure you we shall not reach Pembroke before the downpour. There is another place I wish to show you.”
She furrowed her brows in confusion as to where they were headed when the sky opened and rain began to fall. It started as a drizzle but quickly escalated to a steady downpour, dark clouds continuing to gather, and she knew they would soon be drenched.
“It is not much farther. Over yonder,” he pointed, and at first, she could not discern it, but then there it was: a small hut. Although it was not the sort one would typically expect to find concealed in the woods.
This one was constructed of stone, not wood, and appeared quite old. Her father dismounted, and she did likewise, tying up the horses beneath an overhang to keep them dry.
“Inside the cabin is rustic, to say the least.” He gestured to the few pieces of furniture scattered about—a table, some chairs, a rug, and a fireplace that, of course, was not lit, though she noted fresh wood stacked nearby.
“As you see, it is an ancient cabin. My grandfather built it with his father when he was a youth. It has served as a hunting cabin for only our nearest and dearest.”
“I thought the hunting cabin at Hazleton was the one we used,” she remarked, referring to the fine house on the other side of their estate, renowned for the best hunting.
“Hazleton is a grand house, my dear. In days of yore, this cabin was the preferred abode. I still make use of it on occasion. It brings me solace to go for rides and find moments alone.” He motioned to a chair for her to sit, while he laid a fire.
“It is your secret, then?”
He chuckled. “I suppose it is. After my mother passed, you know that your mother took over the house as her sanctuary. I find this place quite peaceful.” He grew serious, looking directly at her. “Charity, there is something I wish to impart to you. Something of great importance.”
“Of course, Father,” she replied.
“Should anything ever happen to me, and should you need assistance, there is…” He paused, scratching his beard where grey stubble had started to show. “Throughout my life, I have ensured that my family is safe and provided for beyond my death. I have mechanisms in place to continue such protections. Should I pass before you are of age…but should there ever come a time when you feel in danger or?—”
“In danger?” she interrupted, alarmed.
