She never liked the dark. It was a lingering fear from her childhood when she’d survived the shipwreck. The dark scared her. Storms scared her. Bodies of water scared her, and she’d definitely never board a ship again. She’d learned the hard way that they could sink, and she’d used up all her luck in that one terrible incident.
She could see her dog, Mutt, faithfully sitting under a tree. He was a big, clumsy animal, his coat multiple shades of brown and black, his paws huge and his ears floppy. He looked harmless, but his calm demeanor was deceptive. He could be a fierce warrior when provoked.
She’d freed his leg from a hunter’s trap and had nursed him back to health, so he was devoted and loyal. He’d guide her safely through the woods to her home.
With the shadows lengthening, the colors were vibrant, the greens so green, the blues so blue. It had been a beautiful summer day, and the night would be even lovelier. She wouldn’t need a shawl to ward off the chill.
She was a grateful and fortunate person, and she laid a palm on the window glass and sent a prayer winging out to numerous people, some alive, some not. To her shipmates Libby and Caro. To little Clara, the orphaned girl she viewed as her niece. To her mother—dead for two decades. To her wastrel, despicable father she’d still never met and didn’t intend to ever meet. To her mother’s sister, Aunt Pru, who was deceased too.
When Joanna had been brought to England from the Caribbean, she’d been claimed by her Aunt Pru. Pru had adopted Clara as well—shortly after she was born. Clara had been raised by Pru when her relatives might have abandoned her in the forest to die. She’d been that unwanted, but Pru had wanted her. Joanna wanted her, and they were a family.
Aunt Pru had been gone for the prior four years, having passed over when Joanna was twenty. It was just her and Clara now, getting by as best they could, and they had plenty.
She picked up her basket and exited by a rear door. Mutt rushed over, his tail wagging. She patted him on the head and said, “You’re sweet to wait for me.”
I know . . . he seemed to respond.
The cook in the kitchen had given her a meat pie for her supper. She searched in her basket, broke off a corner, and held it out for him to gobble down. She stood for a minute, letting him lick the crumbs off her fingers, then she started off with him trotting by her side.
Aunt Pru had warned her that they didn’t dare keep a pet. History proved an animal could be dangerous to women with their backgrounds and habits. While Pru had still been with them, Joanna had obeyed the edict, and she probably would never have ignored the solid advice, but she hadn’t sought out Mutt. He had found her.
After his leg had mended, he wouldn’t leave. She’d struggled to convince him to return to his former master, but he’d refused to heed her. Clara doted on him, so they had a dog, and she had to remember that England was a modern country. A woman could have a pet without it being a sign of nefarious tendencies.
They strolled across the park, and at the edge, she paused to study the manor. It was a grand mansion, three stories high with hundreds of windows reflecting the last of the waning light. There were turrets on one end, with the older section having been a castle in the ancient past.
The moon was rising, so the grey brick shimmered with an eerie silver hue. There were candles burning in several of the rooms, so it looked like an enchanted place where a princess might reside.
She faced the moon, its power flowing over her, as she whispered another prayer, that she be imbued with the strength she needed to heal others. That was her goal in life: to do good deeds, to be helpful, to be a blessing to others.
She’d lived on the Ralston estate for a decade, with Aunt Pru having a friend who’d offered the spot to them when they’d been in a hurry to move from their previous town. They’d settled in without too much difficulty, but there were changes on the horizon, and they’d be dramatic and overwhelming.
She sensed it in her bones, and she wondered if she shouldn’t read her cards to receive a hint of what was approaching, but it was usually pointless to inquire about herself. She was nearly always blocked from divining her own fate, but occasionally, she felt greedy and attempted it anyway.
One truth was front and center: Whatever was meant to be, it was meant to be. She couldn’t fix or deflect it, so it was ridiculous to try to discover more than the universe chose to reveal.
She spun away from the house and walked to the path in the trees that would lead her to her cottage. It was a long distance, but with the moon up, she would easily find her way.
She hadn’t taken a dozen steps when Mutt woofed to notify her of someone’s presence. The same moment, she smelled smoke from a cheroot and saw the glowing tip of a cigar. A more skittish maiden might have been alarmed. After all, it was growing dark, and she was alone. The servants at the manor were finished with their chores for the day, so if she shouted for help, there was no one to assist her.
But Mutt was a great judge of humans, and his bored bark apprised her that the man was friend not foe, and he posed no threat. If he ultimately turned out to be a fiend, Mutt would subdue him quickly enough.
