Inside, the fire burned high again. The vicar’s wife looked up in alarm as they entered, both drenched and mud-streaked. “Saints preserve us, you’ll catch your deaths!”
Winston shook his head. “We’re fine. Has…” He stopped, lowering his voice. “Has Lord Harston gone?”
The vicar stepped forward, drying his hands on a towel. “Aye. Left not five minutes ago. In a temper, if ever I saw one. He triedto race after the two of you, but lost your trail and came back here bubbling with anger. Ordered his driver to turn the carriage round despite the rain. Wouldn’t take a bed, nor a meal. I’d not have let him drive on, but the man was beyond reason.”
Adeline sagged against the doorframe, weak with relief.
“He’s gone back to London, I expect,” the vicar went on. “Said something about unfinished business.”
“Let him finish it there,” Winston said quietly.
The vicar nodded. “I’ll have my wife fetch you some dry things.”
When the couple had gone to the kitchen, Winston took Adeline’s hands again. They were ice cold.
“It’s over,” he said.
She shook her head. “It can’t be that easy.”
“No,” he said. “But it’s a start.”
The thunder rolled once more, far off now, like a door closing. He led her to the fire and drew a blanket from the settle, wrapping it around her shoulders. For a long time, they said nothing. The flames hissed as rain dripped from their hair and clothes.
“I should have told you,” she said at last. “From the beginning.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I think I’d have wanted to hear it this way, from you, not from him, not from anyone else.”
She gave a small, unsteady laugh. “You make excuses for me when I deserve none.”
“I make room,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
He reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. “Forget him, Adeline. Forget all of it. You’re safe now.”
She looked up at him, her lips trembling. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he said. “And I will.”
Outside, the rain eased to a patter against the panes. The vicar’s wife reappeared with dry clothes and a tray of tea, and Adeline excused herself to change. When she returned, Winston was sitting by the fire, one hand to his ribs, his expression unreadable in the flicker of the flames.
He rose when he saw her. “You should rest,” he said.
“And you?”
“I’ll sit up awhile. The roads will clear by morning. Then we’ll go home.”
Home. The word hung between them, fragile and astonishing.
She hesitated, then said softly, “You believe all I’ve finally told you?”
“I do.”
“Even without proof?”
He smiled faintly. “Proof is for men like your father. I prefer evidence of another kind.”
He touched her hand, just once, and let it go. “Sleep now, Adeline.”
She went to the small chamber under the eaves. The blanket on the bed smelled faintly of lavender and clean smoke. Through the half-open door, she could see Winston still by the fire, the light painting his face in gold and shadow. For the first time in years, she let herself believe that the storm had passed.
