The letter lay folded in his breast pocket, its paper already softened by the warmth of his hand. He had read it so many times that its words were etched into his memory, yet still he carried it as though it were a charm, a living pulse of her voice beating against his heart.
"If you can act, act soon, before I am bound beyond escape."
Those lines burned like fire. They were not merely an appeal; they were a summons, a command, and he knew he could no longer delay. Letters had been their lifeline, but ink and paper could not shield her from the iron bars closing around her. Action—swift, reckless action—was all that remained.
That night he paced his chamber long after the household had gone to rest. The candle sputtered, the clock ticked with merciless precision, yet his thoughts were restless, racing down every path of possibility. How could he reach her? How could he break through the vigilance of her aunt, the prying eyes of servants, the iron walls of propriety?
At last, as dawn crept pale across the horizon, he knew the answer: he must go to her in secret. To wait was to surrender her to Harrington's grasp. To act was perilous, but peril was better than regret.
---
His first confidant was, as always, the maid who had carried their letters. When next she came, he met her not at the usual place but in the shelter of an old orchard, its branches tangled with the season's last fruit. She looked at him with alarm, for never before had he summoned her thus.
"Sir," she whispered, glancing about nervously, "it is dangerous to linger here. If we are seen—"
"Then let them see," he interrupted, his voice low but fierce. "I can endure suspicion for myself, but not for her. Tell me truly—how closely do they guard her?"
The maid's eyes softened with pity. "As a bird in a cage, sir. She is watched, scolded, pressed at every turn. Mr. Harrington calls daily, and the mistress grows impatient for her consent."
He clenched his fists. "Then it is worse than I feared. Listen—can you contrive to bring her to the garden after dusk? Only for a moment. I must speak with her. If I cannot, she will be lost to me forever."
The maid hesitated, torn between duty and compassion. "It is a perilous venture," she murmured. "But… she would never forgive me if I refused. I will try. Yet you must be cautious, sir. A single misstep, and it will be ruin for you both."
---
The days that followed were an agony of anticipation. He carried out his work with distracted haste, his thoughts ever turned to the appointed hour. Each evening he imagined her face—wan with sorrow, bright with hope—and each morning he wondered whether his boldness would be repaid with joy or calamity.
At last the evening came, cloaked in a mist that muffled the world into stillness. He left the house quietly, his cloak drawn close, his footsteps swift upon the damp earth. The path to her aunt's estate was well-worn in his mind, yet tonight it seemed a road of trial, every sound in the hedgerows magnified into the tread of a pursuer.
When at last the iron gates loomed before him, he paused, his heart thundering. Beyond those gates lay not only the woman he loved but the threat of discovery, disgrace, and ruin. Yet love urged him onward, and love was stronger than fear.
---
She, too, had awaited the hour with trembling. All day her aunt had scolded her, pressing her to respond favourably to Mr. Harrington's attentions. The bracelet still lay in its velvet box upon her dressing table, a silent reproach. Each time she glanced at it, her heart sank, for it seemed the symbol of a chain already fastened upon her.
But when night descended, the maid whispered hope. "He will be in the garden," she said, her voice scarcely audible. "Only for a moment—come quickly, before the mistress suspects."
Her hands shook as she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders. Her heart raced as she followed the maid through shadowed corridors, her steps muffled against the carpet. At last, a side door opened to the garden, and the cool night air rushed against her face, sweet with damp earth and fallen leaves.
And there—beneath the shadow of the roses—stood he.
For a long moment neither moved. They gazed at one another across the space of a few paces, the silence charged with all the words they had written, all the vows unspoken. Then she flew to him, and his arms closed around her with a force that trembled with desperation.
"My love," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I could not stay away. Your letters—your plea—I could not endure it. Tell me, is it true? Do they press you to Harrington?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "Every hour," she breathed. "They will not relent. My aunt speaks of nothing but duty and honour. She says love is folly, yet she does not know that love is the only truth I live by. If they bind me to him, I shall die."
"Never," he said fiercely, holding her closer. "I will not permit it. If I must stand before them all, if I must brave disgrace and ruin, still I will not surrender you. We belong to one another, and nothing—nothing—shall part us."
Her tears fell upon his coat, but her voice was steady. "Then act quickly, for I cannot bear it much longer. Promise me, whatever comes, you will not abandon me."
He drew back only enough to meet her gaze, his hand lifting to cradle her face. "Abandon you? I would sooner cease to breathe. I swear it, before heaven itself—I will find a way, though the world turn against us."
---
The sound of a door creaking broke the moment. They froze, breathless, as footsteps echoed faintly across the gravel path. The maid's figure appeared in the mist, her hand raised in warning.
"Enough," she whispered urgently. "If we linger, we are lost. Go now, sir, before the mistress stirs. She cannot suspect—yet."
With a final, desperate kiss, he tore himself away, vanishing into the mist beyond the garden wall. She stood trembling, her shawl clutched tight about her, the imprint of his arms still upon her.
As the maid drew her swiftly back into the house, the girl's heart beat not with fear, but with a wild, reckless hope. He had come. He had sworn himself to her. And though danger pressed close on every side, she knew, with a certainty unshaken, that their love would not falter.