“I know, love. I know.” She brushed a stray tear from his cheek with her thumb, pretending not to notice it.
He straightened his shoulders, pulling himself together with visible effort — bracing himself, deciding to be brave.
“I still want to do it.” His chin lifted, stubborn and proud, and he wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand. “Walk you down the aisle. Give you away. Properly. The way it should be done.”
Nell’s eyes burned. She blinked, but the tears escaped anyway, sliding hot down her cheeks. “Then you will.” A knot of emotion tightened in her throat, making the words struggle to surface. “I would be honoured. Truly.”
“Good.” He nodded once, sharp and decisive, like they were discussing something as simple as what to have for supper. Then he yanked his knife free from the table, grabbed an apple from the bowl, and disappeared out the back door.
He left her alone with her tears and her half-kneaded bread and the fierce, aching love that threatened to split her chest wide open.
One week.
One week until she would walk down that aisle on her son’s arm and marry a man who looked at her like she was something precious.
She couldn’t quite believe it was real.
It was a Tuesday morning, one week before the wedding.
The air was bright and bitter, winter settled deep into the bones of Hampshire. Frost had crept across the windows overnight, forming lacy patterns that caught the first light. Nell’s breath fogged in the early hours before she got the ovens going, before warmth filled the shop and chased away the chill.
She opened the shop alone. Daphne was running errands, seeking fabric for her maid-of-honor dress and salt from the merchant three streets over. A dozen small tasks had accumulated in the chaos of preparations. The children were at their lessons with the vicar’s wife, conjugating Latin verbs and practicing their penmanship. The shop was quiet and peaceful, while the smell of fresh bread filled the room.
Nell was humming again.
It was indeed strange to be happy.
The ring caught the morning light as she shaped the loaves, the small ruby winking like it held secrets. One week until she would be Lady Westmore. One week until she would stand before God and the village and promise herself to a man who had knelt in the mud and asked for her hand.
The thought still didn’t feel real.
She thought about Dominic as she worked, her hands moving through the familiar rhythm of shaping dough. She remembered last night, when he’d come to the shop after closing, letting himself in with the key she’d given him weeks ago. He’d pressed her against the wall in the back room and kissed her until her knees buckled, until her fingers tangled in his hair and her body arched into his.
“I want our wedding night to mean something.” He’d murmured the words against her throat, his breath hot on her skin while his hands gripped her hips. “I want to do this properly. Court you. Marry you. Make love to you as my wife.”
“You are killing me.” She’d gasped the reply, half-laughing and half-desperate, her head falling back against the wall.
“Good.” He’d pulled back with a wicked grin, straightening his coat as if he hadn’t just reduced her to a trembling mess. “Suffer a little. I have been suffering for months.”
He was a stubborn, impossible, and maddening man.
She loved him. She loved him so much it terrified her.
The bell above the door jangled.
Nell looked up with a smile, ready to greet whichever neighbor had braved the cold for fresh bread.
The smile died on her face.
A man stood in the doorway. He was tall and broad, dressed in travel-worn clothes that had seen better days. Dust coated hisboots, mud splattered his coat, and his hat was pulled low over his eyes, casting his face in shadow.
She didn’t recognize him at first. He seemed like just another stranger passing through, perhaps looking for a warm meal and directions to the next town.
Then he stepped into the light.
The right side of his face was the same. It was the face she remembered from seventeen, from foolish promises and secret vows. His dark hair was threaded with grey now, and he possessed a sharp jaw and that mouth that had whispered love and screamed curses in equal measure.
The left side of his face was a ruin.
