“You have to promise me you will be careful.” The insistence in her tone surprised her.
“Persephone.” Adam said in way of censure, but he looked more surprised than upset.
“If you don’t promise me, I will worry.” She worried already. He may not have been the husband of her dreams, but she cared what happened to him. And, despite his gruff demeanor, she knew he was kind and gentle, at least in moments. He’d brought her a coat, bought her a riding habit, asked after her well-being.
“Why would you worry about me?” As the chaise pulled in front of the castle, he made his way to the front doors.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Adam turned back to her once more, actually looking at her for the second time in a matter of minutes. He seemed so utterly, completely confused by her show of basic human compassion. “No one has ever worried about me, Persephone.” It was a simple statement—no self-pity, no bitterness or a sense of having been wronged.
“Someone does now,” Persephone said.
His brows furrowed, his eyes betraying his confusion. “Don’t.”
Persephone smiled a little at that. “I’m afraid I can’t help it.”
“Like crying?” he asked, the tiniest hint of lightness in his tone.
Persephone nodded, remembering their conversation from the night before.
“Worrying will probably give you a headache as well,” Adam warned, as Barton opened the front doors.
“Then spare me the headache and promise you will be cautious.” She followed him out, the cold air chilling her on the spot.
Adam looked back from the chaise as he alighted the step. “I will be cautious,” he said.
Even though he’d looked a touch annoyed, that concession stuck with Persephone as the hours dragged on. It hadn’t precisely been an acknowledgment of her concern, but he hadn’t completely dismissed her worries, either. He had promised to be careful. Persephone was certain that once Adam gave his word, he could be depended on to abide by that promise.
Dusk came without any sign of Adam or Harry. Mr. Johns, the apothecary from Sifton, had arrived in time to take dinner, though as the hours passed and the snow began falling once more, it became obvious he would not be leaving Falstone that evening.
“Oh, Adam,” Persephone whispered, feeling tears stinging her eyes once more. She watched the front drive from the tall windows of the library. The snowfall picked up pace, the wind blowing more fiercely. Adam had not returned.
At what point should she stop watching? Persephone didn’t know how far from Falstone the inn sat nor how long the journey could be expected to take. Suppose Adam was caught in the dark of night only miles from home? It was bound to be an extremely cold night. And there were the wolves.
“Please,” she pleaded quietly with the heavens. “You’ve taken Evander. Please do not take my husband as well.”
As if in answer to her prayer, the barely distinguishable silhouette of a traveling chaise made its way to the front steps of the castle. In the light that spilled from the castle windows, Persephone watched as Adam stepped from the door of the carriage.
Even as she breathed a sigh of relief, Persephone spun from the window and moved quickly from the library, down the corridor to the first-floor landing in time to see Adam, directing two footmen behind him, step into the entry hall. She’d worried for him more than she’d thought she would, and she’d missed him terribly, considering he probably hadn’t thought of her once in all the time he was gone.
“Take him directly to his chambers,” Adam ordered the footmen. “Is Mr. Johns here?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Barton answered.
“Send him to Mr. Windover’s chambers.”
Harry, pale and inert, was carried past where Persephone stood on the staircase. He was more obviously ill than she had expected him to be. Even the sight of Harry being bodily carried to his room didn’t prevent Persephone’s eyes from returning to Adam. He looked a little pale as well.
Adam’s eyes lifted to meet hers for a moment. Persephone thought she heard him let out a tense breath. It was the tiniest hint of vulnerability, but it pulled at her heart. Finally, she’d seen some indication that Adam might need her.
She took the steps between them at twice the speed she would have otherwise. “You’re home.” Persephone allowed her relief to be heard in her voice.
“I told you I would be careful.” His usual gruffness nearly disappeared in the weariness so heavy in his tone.
“I suppose I should have believed you.” Persephone wished they were comfortable enough with each other to reach out to him, to comfort him the way she would have any other member of her family.
“Yes, you should have.”
