Whenever I Want to Run Away

Thwack.

"Oh my. Sorry. I still haven't gotten used to this new hat brim."

The brim skimmed perilously close beneath her eye. Her skin was sensitive; the grazed spot flushed red almost at once.

"...It's fine."

That was not the reaction she had wanted. Her eyes sharpened. Emily, the maid who had been standing quietly, hurried forward to inspect Evelyn's face.

"Are you all right, miss?"

"My hair might be a little mussed."

While the two of them were briefly absorbed in the state of one head of hair, they arrived at their destination—whether that was fortunate or not was hard to say.

It was the church that stood just outside the estate. In summer the crepe myrtles bloomed in a riot of pink; the devout Count Pignatelli had once loved the place dearly. The carriage's true destination was the cemetery managed by that same church, right beside it.

When the window was opened, torrential rain splashed straight into the carriage. Splash. The spring rain was especially cold.

"By the way, you really chose the most unlucky day to come out."

"......."

Delfina stepped down and glanced back. Evelyn saw the few raindrops that had already landed on Delfina's shoulder, shook her head, and settled back into her seat without rising fully.

"Why don't you just take Emily and go?"

"Miss?"

"...Didn't you come because you wanted to see Father?"

Count Pignatelli had been a gentle man; he had cherished Evelyn deeply even though she was not his blood daughter. The complete lack of even the slightest courtesy drew a sharp remark from Delfina, but all that returned was a cold sneer.

"We've come this far. Father will know."

In the end only Delfina and the maid Emily stepped out into the rain. Emily followed with the umbrella, grumbling without pause; she was clearly none too pleased. By the time they reached the grave, she had held the umbrella so poorly that one of Delfina's shoulders was soaked through.

"Father. I've come."

Perhaps the rain was a mercy. It could bury the wetness in her voice. Leaves and mud had nearly obscured the name on the stone.

"I was told they send someone from the house regularly to tend the grave."

"It must have gotten dirty because of the rain."

Emily answered in a surly tone and tilted the umbrella further toward herself. Water that had pooled on the canopy poured down onto Delfina's face with a soft patter.

"...Still, it would be better to take a little more care."

"Yes, well. I'll pass the word."

Her tone made it clear that nothing would change.

"I'll stay a little longer. Why don't you go back to the carriage?"

She had no desire to remain beside someone who would not honor the dead.

"By myself?"

"Yes."

They had almost certainly told the maid about her recent eccentricities so that she would keep watch.

"There's only one umbrella..."

"You may take it."

She would look foolish, but in exchange the maid would feel no need to keep her under strict surveillance. Sure enough, Emily had no wish to stand much longer in the rain-soaked grass; she tested the waters carefully.

"...Did the young miss order that?"

Delfina gave a light nod, denying any fault of her own. Fearing she might change her mind, Emily spun around at once. Her footsteps receded in an instant and were soon swallowed by the rain.

"Father. There isn't much I can do... but at least I won't let them take the Pignatelli Mansion so easily."

Whoosh—

The rain grew heavier still. The sensation of slowly dying was terrifying enough to raise gooseflesh. She wanted to flee. Just as she had only days ago, she wanted—if only for a single moment—to forget everything again.

Rain seeping through the thin cotton fabric was cold enough to ache in her bones. The cloth drank in the moisture, its color darkening, the fabric growing steadily heavier.

I don't want to go back.

That was when it happened. A vast shadow fell over her head, and the rain that had been falling simply stopped.

"What on earth are you doing alone in a place like this?"

"Ah."

She had stood frozen for too long; her body swayed. Before she could fall, someone seized her ice-cold wrist in a firm grip. The place where their skin met burned as if scorched by fire.

Delfina knew this hand.

Thick raindrops struck the white lilies laid upon the grave and shattered.

In war, the corpse of a commoner child was worth nothing at all. That such a child had been given a grave at all was thanks to the current Baron of the Perez family. The fact that it lay beside the church where Cesare had briefly lived as a boy made it especially meaningful.

"Have you been well?"

He knew no answer would come, yet Cesare always spoke to the grave.

The epitaph was ordinary, yet Cesare rather liked the phrasing. He hoped she might find in heaven the peace she had never known here.

He never did anything grand when he visited. He simply came on anniversaries or before some great undertaking, as if making confession. Lately the knowledge that his sister would have been a grown woman by now had left him more emotional than usual—and that was the problem.

"Why on earth did I make such a mistake..."

Cesare dragged a hand down his face and sighed. Not only had he made a mistake; he had then encountered the very person involved and compounded it with a greater one. He would have preferred to stay clear of such affairs, but the Baron would never allow him to refuse, so he could not simply withdraw.

Letting him recover even his dead sister's body had been cheap pity on the Baron's part, yet for Cesare it had been the one thing he had longed for most desperately. The man was a lifelong benefactor, and Cesare had no desire to hinder his long-cherished project.

"I'll come again."

He meant to leave at once. He intended to act as though nothing had happened—just as that woman, Delfina Pignatelli, had pretended to forget everything.

He was threading his way between the tombstones toward the exit when it happened. The rain still fell; thunder rolled across the sky. He was thinking he would have to groom the horses once he returned when a pale, white face of a woman caught his eye through the dark curtain of rain.

It was the woman who had been lodged firmly in one corner of his mind for some time now.

Splash. Splash.

His earlier resolve to treat her as a stranger meant nothing. By the time he came back to himself he was already hurrying toward her, heedless of his soaking feet. She looked for all the world like someone who did not know that fever came for anyone, regardless of station.

She had lost her balance and was gazing up at him with a face so pale she seemed about to collapse at any moment.

"Damn it!"

Cesare muttered a low curse. There was no time for further words. He seized her shoulders and pulled her hard against him. Her shallow breaths sounded like those of a dying animal, and urgency clawed at him.

"...How strange."

Her voice sounded far too casual; it irritated him.

"What is so strange?"

"That... whenever I want to run away, you appear."

"This is hardly the time for such—"

She smiled faintly. Her skin was so white it had taken on a bluish cast.

Bang—!

Fortunately the prayer room was empty at this hour. Cesare cast back through childhood memories of the church.

First he checked himself quickly. Only the coat was wet; the rest of him was dry. He stripped it off and draped it over a chair. Then he went straight for a blanket and hot water and pressed both into her hands.

"It would be best if you took everything off underneath."

He had been thinking only of warming her and had not noticed the implication until the words left his mouth. The nuance was distinctly odd.

"...I did not mean that in any strange way."

Cesare offered the belated clarification, and Delfina let out a soft laugh. While she removed her soaked clothes and wrapped herself in the blanket, he lit the fireplace set into the wall of the prayer room. Outside, the outskirts were already growing dark.

"Is that so?"

"It would be rude to harbor such thoughts toward a young lady who is soaked through and seeking help, would it not?"

"And if I do not find it rude?"

At her words Cesare stopped mid-motion. When he glanced back she had spread her wet clothes carefully to dry and sat with the blanket drawn over her head. The nuance of her remark was subtle.

"...Your other suitors would not be pleased if they knew."

He swallowed dryly and answered in a deliberately stiff voice.