They rode for some time, the stillness between them growing more companionable. Frances caught herself watching him more than once, memorizing the cut of his jaw, the way he scanned the trees without missing a beat.
“Do you ever regret it?” she asked finally.
He turned his head. “What?”
“Becoming who you are. The scandal. The rakish reputation.”
He gave a quiet huff. “You make it sound deliberate.”
“Was not it?”
He considered. “Some of it. After my father died, even before, if I am being honest, it was easier to embrace what people expected of me than disappoint them with anything real.”
Frances looked ahead. “So you gave them the Duke of No Return?”
He nodded slowly. “But it is a lonely place, Frances. All charm and shadows.”
She understood. Far too well. “And yet you came back for me.”
He did not answer at first. Then, voice low, he said, “I never really left. Not where you were concerned.”
Her breath caught, but she said nothing. The emotion felt too raw to touch.
As they guided their mounts, the sun climbed higher. Birds chirped in the hedgerows, and the fields widened into gentle hills. They passed an old stone bridge, worn smooth by years of travelers. Frances found herself relaxing, if only slightly. The constant thrum of fear dulled, though not forgotten.
By midday, they stopped in a glade to rest the horses. Frances stretched her legs, the hem of her dress damp with dew, and walked a short distance to where wildflowers grew in lazy patches of gold and violet.
Johnathan sat against a tree, his coat folded beneath him, watching her.
She plucked a daisy and turned it in her fingers. “Did you mean what you said last night?”
He looked up. “I meant every word.”
She hesitated. “Even about marrying me, if we reach Gretna?”
Johnathan stood, crossing the grass until he stood before her. He took the daisy gently from her hand and tucked it behind her ear.
“Especially that,” he said. “But I will not force you. You can change your mind at any moment.”
Frances tilted her chin, meeting his gaze fully. “I know.”
Their breath mingled in the still air. He leaned in slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. But he did not.
Instead, he said, “We should move. The more distance between us and Cranford, the better.”
She turned toward her horse.
They rode again, the landscape shifting as the afternoon waned. They passed through a small hamlet where children played in the street and an elderly couple sat arm in arm on a bench beneath a hawthorn tree. The simplicity of the moment made Frances ache. Would she and Johnathan ever have such peace?
But the dream was shattered as they rounded the bend into open country and Johnathan suddenly drew up short, his hand raised.
Frances halted beside him. “What is it?”
He motioned toward the far ridge. “Riders. Three of them. Moving fast.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. “Cranford?”
“Or someone else. Either way, they are too close. We need to disappear. Now.”
