I didn’t know.
Maybe it hadn’t been anything nearly so noble. Perhaps it had simply been that I was not going to be able to spend another night with this woman in my arms whilst I was hard as stone without giving and having her.
Maybe I was simply making up some rationalization for giving in to my own lusts.
But even if so, I thought we were good for each other in that way. She was curious and open and excited and I could stand not to be so closed-off, truly. I could stand to have a bit of her personality rubbing off on me. Similarly, I could be there to protect her, to hold in her tendencies to wildness and rebellion. I could be her anchor.
We were made for each other.
Except, I did not protect her, not that morning, not at all.
I was gazing at her, as I was securing the horses to the carriage, just looking at this beautiful woman whose body I had seen the night before, every curve and dip of her, every secret place. I had delved inside her, and she was right here, her eyes bright as she tucked strands of her dark hair behind her ears, and then there was a shout.
“Thieves!” called the voice. “Back away from the horses.”
I moved too slow.
I didn’t move at all.
I should have put my body between theirs and hers.
But I did not.
And there was a loud noise, a crack of a sound that rent the air.
A gunshot.
And then she fell down, and there was a stain of blood at her temple, just above her one of her eyes, which was wide open but no longer bright. No, it was dull, and I screamed as I held her lifeless body in my arms.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
elizabeth
I don’t recommend dying.
It hurts, for one thing, rather a lot. I woke up in my bed at the rectory in Kent, the echo of that bright pain pulsing through my head, and my heart was beating very, very fast.
I sat up straight, gasping, touching my temple.
Then, I broke down in panicked sobs, which went on for nearly a quarter hour.
Finally, I got out of bed.
I had not been here and had not lived this life for some time, so it was all very strange and yet familiar in a way that tugged on me with a flat feeling. It was hard to confront the fact that no matter how far we’d gone, no matter what we’d done, no matter anything, we were still tied here, to this, to reliving the same day.
I dressed and made my way out to the breakfast parlor.
“Mrs. Collins and her sister have gone into town this morning to do some shopping for ribbons for their bonnets,” said Mr. Collins, stirring his cup of morning tea.
“Yes, of course,” I said faintly.
I tucked into breakfast with some gusto, I must say. Dying had really taken a bit out of me. I had quite an appetite.
I wondered what had become of my husband. Had he been shot, too?
If so, would he have awakened in his bed at Rosings?
If he were not dead, it might take him ages and ages to make his way all the way back here, and I should not have any way to get in touch with him. I could leave, I supposed, try to make my way to…
