The woman tsked as though disappointed. “I suppose we could put something together for you—”
“No.” It was the woman’s time off. Preparing a meal would entail bringing out the food, cooking it, and cleaning up. “I’ll fend for myself if I get hungry.” Giving Cook extra work to do wasn’t why she’d come down here.
She’d come to the kitchen because she’d found comfort in preparing food. It represented purpose and… belonging.
“You’re sure?” The woman eyed her curiously.
“I’m sure.” Priscilla grimaced.
Priscilla backed toward the exit and, with a sigh, turned to return the way she’d come.
She felt like an intruder—out of place. And then she chastised herself. Because that’s what you are. Her entire visit was an intrusion. A lie.
Without warning, the walls of the manor mocked her. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here.
She inhaled but couldn’t seem to fill her lungs. This panic reminded her of that day at the lake—the moment she thought she was going to lose Fiddlesticks.
When Emerson had stepped into her life quite heroically.
She shoved the memory from her mind.
Because she was not frozen. She was not helpless. And she was not trapped inside this blasted castle.
She could not depart until after Chloe returned from the group’s outing—until morning, really—but nothing was forcing her to stay inside.
She recalled the unfinished hike to the cove shortly after she’d arrived—nearly a fortnight ago—only a fortnight ago. It felt more like a lifetime.
She and Emerson had never made it to the cove.
And without the kitchen to provide her with an escape, Priscilla decided on another.
Ten minutes later, wearing her coat, a warm scarf, shoes fit for the terrain, and her favorite gloves, she stepped outside and breathed again.
A few hours of daylight remained, and the sun to the west glowed through the clouds. The eastern horizon, however, made for a vivid contrast—the stormy blue-gray of the sky indecipherable from the sea.
It matched her mood perfectly.
Salty, damp, cold air filled her lungs.
She could almost pretend she was home.
The Cove
Distant sounds of crashing waves echoed on the cave walls while Hunt stared at the picnic two of the manservants had set up earlier that morning. The romantic setup, complete with blanket, champagne, fruit, cheese, and bread, along with candles, mocked him.
Knowing his future might very well be lost, he nearly choked on the consequences of his optimism.
This afternoon was meant to have been a romantic celebration.
Served him right.
He should have listened to Edge and Damien after she’d rejected his proposal a second time. Hell, he ought to have listened to her when she’d rejected him back at Miss Primm’s.
Why hadn’t he?
Pride?
No.
