Rose had been sitting in the window seat for hours, watching the thin rivulets of melted snow leaking from the drifts, and running down the stone pathways. They’d shrunk quite a lot since this morning.
Nothing was ever as permanent as it seemed to be. She’d been certain the weeks of gray skies and freezing temperatures would go on forever, but this morning, the sun had returned to Fairford.
Just in time for her to leave the tiny village behind forever.
Kent was meant to be warmer than Gloucestershire. Surely, the lovely weather would endear her to her new home as soon as she arrived? Then, of course, there were the gardens. Kent could boast one of the most colorful carpets of wildflowers in all of England.
Who didn’t love wildflowers? Lacy white yarrow, yellow creeping buttercup, pink knapweed, and purple wild thyme. Why, soon enough she wouldn’t have a thought to spare for Hammond Court anymore.
“Come sit with me, Rose.” Abby set aside her embroidery. “You’ve been at the window all day. You’ll catch a chill if you linger there any longer.”
“It’s not at all chilly.” But Rose dragged herself from the window seat and sat down on the edge of the bed. The urge to lay her head against the pillow and sink into a dreamless sleep was overwhelming, but she remained steadfastly upright.
It wasn’t even teatime yet. Shewouldn’ttake to her bed in the middle of the afternoon, or engage in any other silly dramatics.
It was just the long day catching up with her, that was all. She’d sent a note to Sir Richard only an hour after the sun had risen and had hardly had a chance to dress before his carriage was waiting for her in the drive. Abby had remained at Hammond Court to see the house was properly closed up, but only a few hours had elapsed before she’d joined Rose.
In the end, there hadn’t been much for Abby to do. They’d been gone for weeks already by then. If Rose had known when she left Hammond Court the morning after her bedchamber flooded that she’d never come home again, she would have—
Well, it hardly mattered now, so there was no sense fretting over it, was there?
“You didn’t eat much at dinner.” Abby frowned at her. “Shall I fetch you a tray?”
She had made rather a poor showing at Sir Richard’s Christmas table earlier this afternoon. She didn’t have any appetite, which was rather a shame, as Sir Richard’s cook had prepared a lovely roasted goose for Christmas dinner.
There’d been Christmas pudding, too, but she hadn’t tasted it. It was the first time she could recall not shamelessly gorging herself on it, but she couldn’t even look at it without recalling the servants at Grantham Lodge making their Christmas wishes.
Even thinking of it now made her stomach clench. “No, thank you, Abby. I’m not hungry.”
But Abby rose from her chair, anyway. “Perhaps just a bit of eggnog.” She didn’t give Rose a chance to protest, but bustled out the bedchamber door, leaving her alone.
It was only two days until December twenty-seventh. She only had to make it until December twenty-seventh, then she’d leave Fairford for good, and undertake the three-day journey to Sir Richard’s mother’s house in Cranbrook.
And there, with a fresh year upon her, her life would begin anew, the past seventeen years of her old life nothing but a fading memory.
It was for the best, of course. Rather like wiping a slate clean.
She’d never imagined she’d ever become a lady’s companion, but one must do something, and Sir Richard’s mother was a cheerful, busy lady. It would be no hardship to serve her, and, of course, Abby was coming, as well. Really, she had no reason to complain. She’d miss Billy, and Mrs. Watson, too, but she could hardly remain in Fairford, with no place to live.
“Rose!” Abby flew through the bedchamber door, her hands fluttering about, and no eggnog in sight. “Quickly, dearest. Heavens, what have I done with your cloak?”
“Abby?” Rose stumbled to her feet. “What is it?”
“The Duchesses of Basingstoke and Montford are here. They’re downstairs in the entryway, waiting for you.”
“Oh.” For a moment she’d thought . . . well, it didn’t matter. “Francesca and Prue arehere?” How had they known to find her at Sir Richard’s? “But what do they want?”
“They say they’ve come to take you for a drive.” Abby was scurrying about the room, searching for Rose’s hat and gloves. “Here they are. Put them on, pet.”
“I don’t fancy a drive, Abby. I’ve, er . . . I’ve got rather a bad headache.” Headache, or heartache. What difference did it make?
But Abby tutted, seeing right through this excuse. “Nonsense. If you do have a headache, it’s because you’ve been cooped up inside all day. It’s a lovely afternoon, and the fresh air will do you a world of good.”
She did want to see Francesca and Prue, but what if they insisted on taking her directly to Grantham Lodge? She couldn’t risk seeing Max right now, before she’d had a chance to persuade herself she was doing the right thing, leaving Fairford, and Hammond Court behind.
Leavinghimbehind.
Her determination was already wavering. It had been, since she’d woken this morning with the soft, warm coverlet under her chin, the freshly painted ceiling above her head, and the heavy silk draperies at the window holding the chill at bay.
