She looked at him as if he had turned a key he hadn’t known he held. He felt himself flush like a boy. He looked down at their hands because they were easier to address than her eyes.
“Louisa loves you,” he said, because it was true and it was safe. It was the easiest thing to say. Easier than telling her what was in his own heart.
“My mother does too, though she’d phrase it with more embroidery. I…” He stopped and got his balance. “I want to set this in plain order so Louisa grows up with a mother she can trust.”
Adeline heard the word he had not said and spared him. “I want that as well,” she said. “For her. And for us.”
They stood like that long enough for the coals to lose their brightest orange. The cat stretched and resettled without waking. The clock decided it was time to cough again and did so, apologetically.
“Will you sleep now?” he asked.
“I’ll try.”
“Take the blanket.”
“You’ll be cold.”
“I’m a Duke,” he said dryly. “We don’t feel cold.”
“Liar,” she said, but she took a corner of it anyway and tucked it around herself as if to please him.
She turned to go and hesitated. “If…when we do this,” she said, “there will be things you won’t like to hear. About my father’shouse. About what I did to get out of it. I can’t promise to look like the person you want.”
“Look like yourself,” he said. “That will do.”
She nodded. “Good night.”
“Good night.” He let the words carry more than they said.
She had gone as far as the threshold before she turned back, crossed the room in three quick steps, and kissed him once, sure and gentle. It was not the rain-swept urgency of the yard, nor the careful tenderness of the inn. It was a promise made softly so as not to wake the house.
“I will sleep. Here with you. As long as we wake before the vicar. I would not scandalize such a nice old man,” Adeline said.
Winston grinned, ushering Adeline to the settle where there was just enough room for them both. He put the blanket over them. He lay on the settle and thought of the road in the morning and the hall at Greystone, and the way Louisa would run when she heard the wheels. He thought of papers and names and the questions he would ask and the men he would send for. He thought of Sarah, and for the first time in years, he thought of her as someone he could grieve without punishment.
“Rest,” he said to Adeline, the past, and to himself. “We’ve endured enough tonight.”
The wind turned in the chimney and settled. The clock found its hour. He slept.
Chapter Thirty
Adeline woke to birdsong and a shaft of sun cutting through the small window of the vicarage guest room. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then the scent of woodsmoke and damp wool brought it back. The storm, the flight, Winston’s arms around her by the fire. She lay still, listening to the morning stir below. The kettle clinking, the creak of the kitchen pump, the low murmur of voices.
She wanted to feel happy. She thought she ought to. The fear that had ruled her for years was still there, but lighter, as if it had lost some of its teeth. Winston knew who she was now, knew what she had fled, and still he hadn’t turned away. For the first time since she could remember, she’d slept without dreaming.
When dawn began to pale the ceiling, she opened her eyes and watched him. He looked younger asleep, the sternness gone, the scars of care smoothed away. She had reached out then, fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve, and whispered the words she hadn’t been brave enough to say while he was awake.
“I love you,” she had said softly. “I love you, Winston.”
He hadn’t stirred. She had lain there a while longer, listening to his steady breathing, before slipping away when the house began to wake. The vicar’s stairs creaked treacherously under her bare feet. She had almost reached the top when a quiet voice said, “Good morning, my dear.”
Adeline froze.
The vicar stood above, still in his dressing gown, candle in one hand, his expression mild. “A restless night?”
Her face burned. “I…yes. I came down to fetch water, that’s all.”
He smiled, eyes kind but amused. “Of course. Though I suspect the water’s already drawn, and in any case, I think your need was for company, not for a cup.”
