She was a practical creature, and she knew she must find a way to live in this gilded cage. She could not change the Duke. She could not warm the house, but she could find a small corner of this world for herself.
On the fourth day, restless and suffocated by the oppressive interiors, she pulled on her sturdiest boots and her cloak and went outside.
She bypassed the dead formal gardens and walked toward the parkland, following a path that led toward the stables and the distant fells. The air, though cold, was a relief. The sheer scale of the landscape was daunting, but it was honest. It did not pretend to be something it was not.
She walked for nearly an hour, her mind blessedly empty, focusing only on the rhythm of her feet, on the damp earth, and on the feel of the wind on her face.
It was on her way back that she saw him.
In a large, stone-walled paddock, far from the main stable block, was a horse.
A stallion.
He was the color of midnight, a magnificent creature of muscle and fire, his coat gleaming like polished jet even in the flat gray light.
He moved with a restless, explosive energy, circling the enclosure. His head was high, his tail flagged, his nostrils flared, plumes of steam jetting into the cold air.
Two grooms stood by the fence, watching him with weary expressions.
As Helena drew closer, the stallion threw his head up, let out a piercing, challenging neigh, and reared, his front hooves pawing at the sky.
He was terrifying and beautiful, a being of pure, untamed spirit.
“Best keep your distance, Your Grace,” one of the grooms called out, his voice strained. “That’s Chaos. No one goes near him.”
“Chaos?” she asked, stopping a safe distance from the wall.
“That was Mr. Edward’s horse,” the groom supplied. “The Duke’s brother. Been half mad since the accident. Vicious he is. We can barely get near enough to feed him.”
Helena watched the stallion.
He was not vicious.
She had grown up in the country, had been around horses all her life. She saw past the wild posturing, the bared teeth, the lashing tail.
She saw the fear.
His eyes were wide, rolling, showing the whites. His muscles were coiled tight, not with aggression, but with a profound, inconsolable agitation.
He was grieving.
She felt a strange pang of kinship with the creature, a wild, broken thing locked away in a cold, lonely place.
She stayed there for a long time, just watching.
The grooms eventually gave up and retreated to the warmth of the stables, leaving her alone with the wild horse.
She did not try to approach. She simply stood by the stone wall, her arms resting on the cold, moss-dusted top.
She did not speak.
She just watched, her presence quiet and undemanding.