That afternoon Lucy had left her room for the last time as an unmarried woman. She had stood in the middle of her room for what may have been the last time, looking over the remnants of her girlhood. Her favorite doll, Marigold, with her blond ringlets still sat on a chair under the window. Her perfumes and makeup were scattered across her vanity. But next to the fireplace sat her trunk, packed as it had once been for school but now contained what was dearest to her if she should not return. It would remain at Nora’s until she could claim it. Her maid had watched her with her perceptive green eyes taking in Lucy’s every move, her hands holding Lucy’s carpet bag that held all the essentials Lucy would need. With a final glance around Lucy left an envelope addressed to her mother on her vanity. No one would think to look in here until tomorrow afternoon when she did not return. With that she had walked to the fireplace and traveled to Nora’s.

It was quite possible that this whole venture wouldn’t have worked without the help of dear friends, namely Nora Abercrombie, who had kindly agreed to “host” her for the evening. Supposedly it was her last chance to see her friends before her marriage. In part a truth. She would see Nora before she was married, but the impending nuptials were much closer and to an altogether different gentleman than Lucy had made it seem to her mother. After a quick visit with her friend Lucy and her maid had set out.

Dusk had fallen by the time they had reached the rendezvous point. Lucy’s cloak, created for her trousseau, was a deep lavender silk that swirled with darkening shades of purple, like the last fingers of twilight, enchanted so only those with magic might see the changing colors. She would have liked to wear her white wedding gown, a confection of silk and lace that had been imported from France for her, but she had worried it might be visible in the dark. Instead she had settled on her lavender gown that had been made by the same dressmaker in France and designed to go with the cloak. Her hair was elaborately twisted back with lavender ribbons and her mother’s pearl comb slipped into it. Worried that her light locks would attract attention, Lucy had loosely pulled her cloak over her hair, grateful for her maid’s charm that would make it look untouched.

The road was quiet, the nearest house some distance down the road and the farmlands she stood on had no buildings nearby. She and her maid were the only people in sight, standing under a small copse of trees. Lucy had never really taken a moment to consider how a heroine must have felt waiting to be whisked away, but now it was all she could think of. How her heart hammered, wondering if he truly would come to her, wondering if they would get caught, wondering what would become of them. Surely all her doubts would be stilled when she saw Ace walking toward her.

The hour seemed to pass intolerably slow. No one passed by them and Lucy found herself reticing each letter Ace had sent her in her head to calm herself. What would he think of her now that he saw her in person again?

Finally a shape materialized before them, walking down the lane, a small light with them. Unbidden a broad smile slid across Lucy’s lips and she started forward, “Ace!” Her whispered cry lifting into the air before them. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around him, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. He had come. He really had come to save her!

Ace Lukeson