The carriage bumped idly along cobblestone path as the trotting of heavy Clydesdales sounded ahead. Her small form, huddled amidst the stuffy interior of a winter cart shivered ever so slightly against the imposing wind. Her gloved hand tugged at her overcoat, pulling it slightly tighter around herself to combat the cold.

“Are you cold, my lady?” Granger asked, skimming her a nervous look from across the cart. His trimmed brows were creased ever so slightly below the leather brim of his hat. “I may inquire the coachmen to stop—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Lark quickly interjected, albeit her voice was kind and soft as velvet. A proper smile curling over her rosy lips. “I wouldn’t want to tire the coachmen anymore. I’m nearly home.”

This journey had been long and painful enough. The thought of home already had her chest warming, the very idea of a cup of earl grey and warmth of her hearth had anticipation swirling throughout.

Granger nearly stuttered, but nodded politely at her response. Straightening his cravat with quiet clumsiness. “Yes, yes of course.”

Her gaze pointed outward, looking through frost streaked glass to observe the countryside she was all too familiar with. Years ago she fought her father to move out here to gain inspiration for one of her novels, wanting a break from the bustling city where she was constantly pestered by noble affairs. It was the best battle she’d ever fought, and won too.

For out here? Well, she was as free as a sparrow.

“You must get lonely in a house all alone. Accompanied only by the whispers of spirits in the halls.” Granger muttered, returning his gaze to her. Those brown eyes full of trepidation.

But Lark’s eyes didn’t waver from where they appointed to home. Hopeful to return as quickly as possible. “Mm, those spirits prove pleasant company, my lord.”

“Well perhaps tonight I shall accompany you.” He offered, just as the carriage skittered to a halt. The creaking of the bench up front audible as the coachmen stood to open the carts door. Letting frosted sunlight stream in.

Granger was one of her appointed chaperones, someone her father liked watching over her while she travelled. Because God forbid a woman of this century go anywhere alone. She’d grown to know him— at an arms length. Keeping him where she needed him but never nearer.

Lark stood, an elegant sweep of her gown as she took the coachmen’s outstretched hand and aided herself down the few steps until her feet struck ground. Home alas.

“That’s quite alright, I shall do just fine on my own. Thank you for the company, Granger. I bid you safe travels home.”

And with that she gave him a gentle smile in farewell, nodding to the coachmen in gratitude before she made her way up the short cobble path to her cottage. Relief bellowing inside her like a sudden gust— warm and familiar.