Prestonwoketoanempty bed. He stretched and reached for Althea, but her side of the bed was cold. Sitting up, he looked around the small room. It was empty of her, and her clothing.
Panic settled in his gut. Had she left him?
No, she wouldn’t. Not after last night. What they shared had bonded them together.
He was certain she understood…except he hadn’t voiced anything of the words he meant to say.
Preston shook his head. Althea would not have given herself to him without understanding his intentions. She had probably gone down to the common room and was having breakfast, though he wished she would have awakened him. He would have been more than happy to have a tray delivered and then they could have revisited the intimacies they had enjoyed last night.
After he rolled out of the bed, Preston located his clothing and quickly dressed. There was a clean, unwrinkled set of clothing in the room he was supposed to have shared with John, but he didn’t think to grab it before he had knocked on her door. There was also a bag with two days’ worth of clothing the maid had packed for Althea. “If you get snowed in, Miss Claywell will be glad to have something else to wear,” the woman had insisted. He’d forgotten all about her clothing last night.
When he reached the common room, Preston scanned the occupants in search of Althea, but she wasn’t among the guests. He then looked into what was usually the private dining room, but she wasn’t in there either.
His heart hammered and fear gripped. Had she left him?
John, his driver, was sitting at a small table at the back and Preston made was way over and settled into a vacant chair. “Have you seen Miss Claywell?”
“She left.” John picked up his cup of coffee and drank.
“Left?” The volume of his voice drew the attention of several people and he quickly lowered it. “Where did she go?”
John shrugged. “She just left. Said something about Scotland.”
“Scotland?” Why . . .? He stopped the question in mid-thought. Althea would not have explained to John why she was going to Scotland.
“She left this.” John slid a sealed piece of paper across the table.
Preston tore it open and read the contents.
Lord Melcombe,
I will never forget last night and will hold it close as a dear memory. Clearly it is not possible for me to continue on as your governess after what transpired between us. Though you did not voice the words, or even if you are considering me for another position, and I don’t wish to be presumptuous, I will not be your mistress either. Please have my things sent to Monique at her shop. She will see that they are delivered to me.
Fondly,
Miss Althea Claywell.
Fondly?Preston crumpled the note and threw it into the open flames within the fireplace.
Governess? Mistress? Was the woman daft? After last night, it should be perfectly clear where she belonged in his life.
Cold dread slid down his spine. He had meant to tell her so many things last night, explain how he felt, ask her to be with him forever. But he saw her in that damp wrap and could think of nothing else besides bedding her.
Preston raked his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t even told her how much he loved her.
He stood to look out the window. Deep snow covered the roads and wind blew from the north, but there were still barely discernible steps leading from the inn to the dress shop.
Preston spun on his heel, marched out of the inn and across the street. He tried to enter, but the shop was closed and locked.
Althea had to be in there.
He pounded on the wood and yelled. “Althea, I know you are in there. Monique, open this door right now.”
There was a scurry of feet from within the shop. A moment later he heard the latch click and Monique threw open the door. “What do you want?” She glared at him.
“Althea, if you don’t mind.” He stormed around her and into the shop.
“I mind very much.” Monique slammed the door and stood to face him, hands on her hips.
