Lady Griffith's Second Chance

Chapter Thirteen

The sky was clear, filled with stars. The storm had blown through some hours before, leaving behind a moonless night and a welcome coolness to the air. Regan stood in front of an open window in her bedroom, the edges of the drapes shifting beside her as the weather changed across her skin.

A fire burned brightly behind her, the warmth at her back a contrast to the chill drifting in from outside. She wore a light shawl around her shoulders, yet she had no desire to close the window now that the heat and humid air of the last few days had finally been banished.

The dancing had ended hours before. It was morning now, no doubt, though Regan had neglected to keep track of the precise hour. She should have been in bed and asleep already. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, her limbs aching with the desire to crawl into her bed and succumb to the tiredness hanging over her. But beneath the tiredness, her body's inclination to cling to the hours she kept while at home with her children, there was a hum of wakefulness she could not dispel.

Thomas occupied her thoughts. But, no. That wasn't precisely right. She wasn't a young woman, mooning over the first gentleman of her acquaintance to give her attention. It was more that he had stirred something to life inside of her. An awakening, of sorts. A reminder that she was still a woman. Beyond the titles of wife and widow and mother, something to be put away and left to moulder in storage. She could still live.

So why then... why the glint at the edge of it all, the feeling that she had somehow betrayed her husband?

Gone now for seven years, and yet she still felt the twinge of guilt with every touch upon the memories of the time spent with Mr. Cranmer. And it wasn't only the sex, though she was sure were certain people to discover her tryst with him, there would be a fount of sermons as to why what she had done with him was wrong. No matter that the other half of society would likely not bat an eye.

But even spending time with him had felt like a scandalous thing, as if enjoying the company of a young man would tarnish the image the world had constructed of her as a quiet, retiring widow.

Oh, such a lie that one was. She could not lay all of the blame on society. She had done nothing to show herself as anything but a woman perfectly happy to withdraw from the outside world and allow the lives of her children and the memory of her dead husband to consume her. To become her.

She squinted out at the darkness, at the faint lines of trees and a few of the more decorous outbuildings she could discern without the aid of the moon. Like a living tombstone she had become, honoring the life she'd led with her husband.

A sigh slipped out of her, one that finished on a low, rough laugh.

Already, she was being too hard on herself. Her life after Edmund had not been an unhappy one. Her children had been everything. They were still everything to her. Their lives, the promise of their futures had fulfilled her. And with the care of the estate fallen into her hands, there had been little time to yearn for anything more. In fact, she had not thought there could be anything more.

Her happiness with Edmund had been a gift, one she knew was far greater than many people were ever given. And several weeks ago, it had been enough. But now...

She pushed back from the window, began to pace a slow circle around the circumference of the room. Her fingers tangled in the fringe of her shawl, restless, agitated. On her nightstand was a candle in a fine brass holder, unlit. A scrape, a spark, and the wick caught with a flame that flickered in reflection of her own nervous movements.

It was not a thought she had given much time to consider, and later, she would realize, that was why it was so easy for her to agree to the idea, to act on it before she could talk herself out of it.