A heart-stoppingcrackrent the air.
Edges of the open ceiling gave way, plunging toward me. I shrieked and dashed out of their trajectory. My long skirts, the hem laden with moisture, tangled about my feet, and I toppled forward. Out of instinct, I threw out my palms to catch myself, and the stone floor scraped my skin as I hit the ground with a grunt. Ignoring the sting, I tugged on my skirts and freed my feet. Anothercrack! Before I could right myself and stand, more debris cascaded from above, creating a plume of dust that engulfed me. A sharp pain ricocheted up my leg, and I screamed.
Rain poured down on me from the dark sky, settling the dust. Pieces of stone lay scattered about, and several large ones framed my ankle, imprisoning it within the tight space between them. I tugged, and a sharp cry escaped me with the increase of pain. My ankle remained lodged, not so much as budging under the pressure of the stone.
My lips trembled with a quiet sob. I was trapped. Not a single person knew where I was, and the storm had just begun.
Chapter twenty-six
Edward
Hollinsbywasslippingthroughmy grasp. I’d ridden for hours, and my only hint that I might be traveling in the right direction was a vague description offered to me by the innkeeper of the establishment I currently sat in, eating a quick meal. A relentless storm had blown in, and I’d tucked inside to escape the worst of it. After all, Hollinsby’s carriage couldn’t travel far in this weather any more than I could.
Utilizing my time of respite, I’d interrogated anyone who worked here for confirmation—for anything that might reassure me that this pursuit was not in vain. I received nothing with certainty, but the generalized descriptions afforded me hope.
Some small brightness of hope.
I sorely needed it. With the rush of racing after Hollinsby subsided for the time being, a heaviness settled over me. An aching. It was easier to shove the feeling aside when my focus was fixed on action, but now that I was still, nothing prevented the regret and heartache from seeping in.
Was Annette experiencing the same anguish, or had she written me off entirely? Forgotten me? I doubted it, but the thought provided no relief, only more pain.
“Will there be anything else for ye?” a maid asked, reaching for my empty bowl and utensils.
“No, I thank you.” I reached into my pocket to pay the woman, and my fingers stilled as they traced over something long and slender within. I removed it, holding the object in my palm. A hairpin.
Annette’shairpin.
I had forgotten those were there, tucked away after my removal of them.
A pang ripped through my chest, the mere sight of the object unlocking a flood of memories. For such a brief moment, I had clung to happiness—to the prospect of a future filled with more than just pursuing Hollinsby. More than rescuing Adda and seeking reformation. Those things had never faded, of course, but instead of facing them alone, Annette stood at my side.
And now my side was empty. Barren. A space devoid of the light and comfort she offered.
“I cannot take that as payment,” the maid said, eying the pins with bemusement and curiosity.
My fingers tightened around the hairpin instantly, as though I feared she might take them regardless of her declaration. “Of course, forgive me.”
Once paid, she again left me alone with my thoughts. I toyed with the hairpin, resisting the urge to pull the rest of them from my pocket. Perhaps I should post them back to Kenwick, but that would cause a stir. Her family would ask questions.
Questions would act as salt in an open wound.
I would keep them, then, a tangible reminder of what could have been. What I could never have.
I shoved the pin into my pocket and attempted to plan my course for after the storm ended instead, but the task proved nearly impossible. Impossibly, the pins burned against my side. My mind was determined to wander to the red-headed spitfire I’d left behind, the one I had last seen with tears welling in her eyes and pure disappointment in her expression.
I was the worst sort of man. All along, I’d known accepting that offer was a mistake. Why had I not listened to instinct? It would have been better for both of us to continue on as we were in London: acquaintances with a knack for vexing one another. Nothing more, nothing less.
Except, the notion did not sit with me any better than reality. I had come to know and understand Annette, as she had me. There was an undeniable comfort in feeling so close to someone, in sharing all of one’s dreams for the future and being so solidly accepted. Whatever the circumstances and mistakes that had brought me to this point, I could not regret them. Not entirely.
The door of the establishment swung open, and a hooded man stomped inside, a multitude of complaints already leaving his lips and water dripping from every inch of him. Mud caked his trousers all the way up to his waist. There were even several splotches dotting his cheeks and nose.
“Ye look a fright,” said the maid, her nose wrinkling as her gaze traced over him and down to where the water and grime were pooling on the floor. “What ‘ave ye done to get in such a state?”
The man scoffed. “‘Tis not whatI’vedone, but that blasted reckless carriage that passed me. You remember the one that arrived at the same time as me this morning? Tried to pass me with the roads in this state. Wasn’t room for us both, and he sent me straight into a rut. Took me nearly an hour to get my carriage out.”
“He shoved ye off the road?”
The man shrugged. “He gained on me as though the world would burn if he didn’t get through with haste. I reckon he’ll end up overturned if he keeps at it that way. The roads are in no shape for that sort of hurry.”
