“You couldn’t have made him happy.” Daphne smoothed the silk of her gloves over her knuckles, her movements returning to their crisp, rhythmic precision. “Not when your heart is somewhere else.”
“My heart is not...” Nell started, but the words died in her throat.
She couldn’t finish the lie. She couldn’t make her mouth form a denial that had felt so sturdy just a week ago. Daphne watched her for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. Then she nodded once and slipped out the door, leaving Nell alone with the dying fire and the pressure of everything she couldn’t say.
Morning came grey and threatening. The sky was heavy with clouds that pressed down on the village like a leaden hand. Nell woke with a headache pounding behind her eyes and a hollow ache in her chest that had become so familiar she barely noticed it anymore.
The shop opened slower than usual. The threatening weather kept the villagers in their homes; and by mid-morning, only ahandful of customers had come and gone. The rain hadn’t yet started. It simply hung there, waiting, like the whole world were holding its breath for a storm that was long overdue.
Nell worked in the back, her hands buried in dough as she fought to keep her thoughts at bay. By noon, the rain began. It was heavy and relentless. It pounded against the windows like rhythmic fists, drowning out all other sound and turning the village outside into a grey, watery blur. Thunder rumbled, low and ominous.
Lily appeared in the kitchen doorway, her spectacles fogged by the humidity. She pressed her small face against the glass of the window. “Mama, it’s as if the sky is angry.” She whispered the words with a touch of awe while watching a flash of lightning illuminate the distant hills.
Nell crossed the room to her daughter. She rested a gentle hand on the girl’s narrow shoulder. “It’s only a storm, love. It will pass.”
But something in Nell’s chest tightened as she watched the deluge. It was a cold, twisting sensation that had nothing to do with the weather.
The afternoon dragged on. Few customers braved the downpour, and those who did hurried in and out with their hoods pulled low, barely pausing to exchange the usual pleasantries. Daphne dozed by the fire, her head nodding rhythmically against her chest. Upstairs, the children played quietly, their voices muffled by the constant drumming of the rain.
Nell was alone with her thoughts. It was dangerous territory. She was wiping down the counter for the third time, needing the movement to keep her mind from wandering, when the bell jangled. It was not the gentle chime of a customer—and it was something violent and urgent.
She looked up.
Lady Philippa stood in the doorway, soaked through to the bone. Her silver hair was plastered to her face and her fine silk dress was utterly ruined. Water pooled on the floor around her muddy boots—but it was her eyes that made Nell’s blood turn to ice. They were wild and desperate, rimmed with a terrifying fear.
“Mrs. Ashford.” Philippa was gasping for air, every breath a battle as she braced one hand against the doorframe for support. “You must come. Please. You must come now.”
Nell’s hand clenched around the cleaning cloth, her knuckles turning white. “Lady Philippa, what has happened?”
“Dominic.” The name came out broken and ragged. Philippa lurched forward, grabbing Nell’s arm with desperate, trembling fingers. “There has been an accident. His horse… The storm… he is hurt. Badly hurt.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The cloth fell from Nell’s nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
“How badly?” Nell’s hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the doorway, her fingers curling around the wood the way it could steady her.
Philippa’s shoulders shook. Rain ran in rivulets down her face, mingling with tears she couldn’t stop. She pressed a hand to her mouth, then let it fall. “The doctor is with him… but he won’t… he keeps calling for you. Over and over.” She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. “Nell. Just Nell.”
The sound of her name, whispered even through broken breath, struck Nell in the chest. He was calling for her… while he lay like that.
“I cannot...” Nell’s lips parted, but her feet had already carried her toward the door. Her hands flew to the cloak hanging on the peg, tugging it free almost without thinking.
“The carriage is outside.” Philippa seized her arm, her grip hard enough to leave marks. “Please. I have never seen him like this. I have never...”
“Daphne!” Nell’s shout cut through the pounding rain.
Daphne was on her feet in an instant, sprinting toward them. Her skirts clung to her legs, soaked and heavy. “The children...” Her eyes darted, worried and frantic.
“Go.” Daphne yanked the cloak from Nell’s hands and wrapped it around her, fastening the clasp with precise, urgent fingers. She shoved Nell toward the door. “I will stay with them. Go.”
The rain hit Nell like a wall, soaking through the cloak in seconds. Her body felt numb, yet her heart thudded wildly in her chest—yet Philippa’s words echoed in her mind:He keeps asking for you.
She scrambled into the carriage without realizing she’d crossed the cobblestones. The horses strained against the storm as the wheels slid in the mud. Nell gripped the leather seat until her knuckles whitened, staring past the window at nothing, her breaths coming ragged and uneven.
Across from her, Philippa sat drenched, her skirts ruined and twisted, hands working frantically over and over like the motion could hold back the panic.
“What happened?” Nell finally forced the words past her lips, each one scraping raw against the chaos of the carriage’s motion. She clenched her fists in her lap, trying to anchor herself. “Tell me… tell me what happened.”
“He went riding this morning.” Philippa’s voice was hollow, her chilling eyes fixed on a point beyond Nell’s shoulder. “Despite the weather. Despite everyone telling him not to go. He has been… restless. Ever since the ball.”
