Chapter 48: Fear Of Being Watched
Vincent arched his brow.
"Why? Are you afraid that if the townspeople discover who we are, they’ll pick up stones and start hurling them at us?"
"Hm?"
"Hm?"
He mimicked her perfectly, his deeper voice echoing her confusion with surprising accuracy.
But as the silence stretched on, he instantly realized that she wasn’t laughing anymore. She was looking at him with genuine concern. The playful glint in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a soft, sudden worry that made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Do they really do that?" she asked quietly. "Throw stones at you, I mean."
Vincent averted his gaze.
"No," he replied a little too quickly, shoving his free hand into his heavy coat pocket. "But there are certainly people who wish they could."
Penelope’s grip on her candied apple tightened. But before she could say anything else, Vincent redirected the conversation.
"Anyway, don’t run off like that again," he said. "It’s crowded. Let’s try not to lose each other."
He glanced over the fairgrounds before holding out his hand for Penelope to take. The gesture appeared casual, but it was not.
After witnessing her sudden sprint towards the candied apple stall, he no longer trusted her to remain in one place whenever something caught her interest.
Holding her hand seemed the simplest solution.
The look in his eyes when she was about to say something about being capable of taking care of herself, died in her throat, so with a small huff, she took his hand, their fingers interlacing naturally.
Penelope’s heart skipped multiple beats at that, but she continued to eat her candied apple, determined not to dwell on it. Unfortunately, ignoring the warmth of his gloved hand proved remarkably more difficult than she had expected.
Together, they walked a bit further into the heart of the fairgrounds, where the loud, cheerful music of a pipe organ began to drown out the chatter of the marketplace.
Penelope’s eyes lit up all over again.
In the center of a wide clearing stood a grand, spinning carousel. It was beautifully crafted from weathered oak and painted in rich, faded tones of crimson and gold. Rows of wooden horses, carved with surprisingly detailed manes and matching saddles, rose and fell with a slow, hypnotic rhythm as the platform rotated beneath the canopy, their painted saddles gleaming beneath the afternoon sun.
Laughing children and a few young couples waved to the onlookers as they spun past.
"Vince, look!" Penelope gasped, her fingers tightening around his. She had already finished her candied apple, leaving only a wooden stick that Vincent took from her and tossed into a nearby refuse bin without a second thought.
Vincent stared at the contraption, his eyebrows drawing together in immediate, intense suspicion. To him, it looked like a highly inefficient, structurally unsound mechanical hazard.
He vaguely remembered coming across one of these as a child, and even then, he failed to understand the appeal of it.
"Come come," Penelope said, already pulling him toward the ticket queue. "I want to try it. Come on."
"Wait, what if it’s unsafe?"
His grip on her hand did not loosen, and Penelope looked at him like she was confused.
"Unsafe?"
"Yes."
He shifted his gaze to the carousel. "Those wooden pillars are supported by simple iron gears and tension ropes. If the central axle fractures while it’s in motion–"
He stopped because Penelope was looking up at him again.
Those eyes.
Those impossibly bright, hopeful eyes.
This woman...
The structural concern remained valid. He was quite certain they remained valid.
But that was hardly the point.
He had brought her here to enjoy herself.
Refusing every attraction because he could identify seventeen potential ways it might fail would rather defeat the purpose of the outing.
With the air of a man accepting an unavoidable fate, Vincent released a long sigh.
"Very well."
Penelope immediately brightened.
The sight alone nearly convinced him that agreeing had been the correct decision.
Nearly.
"Stay here," he instructed.
Only after receiving a reluctant nod did he release her hand.
Marching up to the operator, Vincent reached into his pocket this time around. He flashed a silver coin that caused the man to bow so low his nose nearly touched the dirt, much to Vincent’s surprise.
However, he returned back to Penelope’s side and guided her onto the wooden platform just as the ride came to a gentle halt. Children hopped off laughing while new riders hurried forward to claim their places.
Penelope immediately bypassed the bench seats and made a beeline for a magnificent dapple-gray horse adorned with a velvet-lined saddle. It was the most majestic horse on the saddle.
Because of her long, flowing skirts, she paused, looking up at the stirrup and wondering how to mount it gracefully. But before she could attempt it, or worse, insist she could figure it out on her own, two gloved hands settled firmly at her waist.
Vincent lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and carefully set her atop the wooden saddle. Once she was seated, he carefully arranged the folds of her skirts to ensure they would not be caught in any mechanism, before looking up at his smiling wife.
"There," he said, more to himself.
Unbeknownst to him, a small group of young women standing near the edge of the carousel platform had stopped in their tracks, and all of them were staring.
"Good heavens," one of them whispered, clutching her friend’s sleeve. "Who is that?"
"I have no idea," another breathed. "I’ve never seen him around town before."
Their eyes lingered shamelessly on Vincent, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and the dark, commanding elegance of his attire. As though fate had been determined to be unfair, the man also possessed a devastatingly handsome face, one that perfectly complemented the quiet authority and magnetic presence he carried so naturally.
"He looks like a painting."
"A VERY expensive painting."
The girls dissolved into muffled giggles.
"He must be some high-ranking noble from the capital."
"Do all nobles look like that?"
"If they do, I’ve clearly been visiting the wrong towns."
"How can someone look so intimidating yet so incredibly handsome?"
They huddled closer, giggling and eagerly whispering among themselves, wondering what grand estate this mysterious, fine noble had come from and wishing he would turn his gaze in their direction.
"Oh, give it up," another girl rolled her eyes and nudged them with a sharp elbow before nodding toward the carousel. "Use your eyes properly this time."
The girls followed her gaze, their romantic fantasies instantly deflating. There sat Penelope atop the dapple-gray horse, smiling down at Vincent while he fussed over her skirts and examined the ride. The girls fell silent.
"Oh."
"Oh, he’s married."
"Very married," the practical one corrected.
The disappointment that followed was immediate. But then, one of the girls squinted at Penelope.
"Wait... that one looks familiar."
The others leaned closer.
"I bet she’s of noble birth as well."
"Of course she is," another groaned dramatically. "They keep taking away the handsome ones. Could that also be the reason why most noble marriages feel so empty?"
"Who knows? Perhaps that’s how they reproduce."
The entire group burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, Penelope was looking down at Vincent from her perch. "Are you not getting on one?"
"Absolutely not," Vincent muttered, his expression becoming impressively blank. He looked like the very suggestion seemed to offend him.
"Who will hold onto the treats if I join you? You just enjoy yourself."
He stepped down from the platform, and Penelope pointed slightly.
A part of her wished he would join her. The image alone would have been worth remembering for the rest of her life.
Still, she knew better than to force him.
As soon as the carousel groaned into motion, the pipe organ began to play as the platform slowly turned.
Penelope gasped softly.
As the carousel gathered speed, a cool breeze swept through her hair and tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet. The painted scenery blurred around her in a swirl of color and laughter.
She couldn’t help herself.
A bright laugh escaped her lips.
Holding onto the reins, she rose and fell with the gentle motion of the horse, feeling for a brief moment as though she were flying.
It was wonderful.
Below, Vincent watched in silence, barely paying attention to the fair itself.
Perhaps, he reluctantly admitted, the ridiculous spinning contraption was not entirely useless.
As the carousel completed another rotation, Penelope’s gaze drifted across the crowd.
At first, nothing seemed unusual. There were families present, children, merchants, the norms. But then her eyes spotted a familiar figure standing near the edge of the square.
Her smile faltered.
The man was partially obscured by the crowd, his features difficult to make out from a distance. Still, something about him felt familiar.
As the carousel carried her past, she narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better look.
Just for a second, she caught sight of the man’s face, then he suddenly disappeared behind a cluster of fairgoers.
Her grip tightened on the reins.
Wait.... Isn’t that...?
A chill ran through her.
It was the same man she had seen just outside the Viremont estate. Or at least she thought it was.
By the time the carousel completed its next turn, he was nowhere to be found.
Penelope scanned the crowd more frantically, but found nothing.
Where did he go?
Had she imagined it?
Was it merely a coincidence, or was she being followed?
