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Roxina welcomed Aubriella’s, Matilda’s, and Claire’s company to distract her from her musings.

The ladies would have questions, of course.

Why had Roxina left so brusquely without a word?

How could she explain what drove her away?

Even now, her stomach flopped, and her blood turned to ice in her veins when she recalled Desmond leveling his pistol at Shelby. Followed almost instantaneously by an epiphany, so profound that a lightning bolt strike would have stunned less.

Roxina loved Shelby.

I love Shelby.

The realization had sent her fleeing, heart thundering, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, exhilaration, fear, and bewilderment.

I have for a very long time.

Though precisely how long, Roxina couldn’t say for certain.

The night after she’d fled Fernleigh House, in the cottage’s peaceful solitude, she had stared at the ceiling above her bed, the rough beams crossing the uneven plaster, their edges softened by age and whitewash. A fine crack snaked across the surface.

With Dash curled beside her—a rare indulgence—Roxina made a secret stake—a gamble with fate, or providence, or destiny—whatever one wanted to call it.

Except this wager had no written record, no witnesses, no spoken words across a piquet or whist card table, binding the bet—nothing tangible to risk except her heart. Nonetheless, she had placed everything: her future, her happiness, and her well-being on the table in a winner-takes-all bet.

This hidden wager existed in her heart alone, and it comprised three paltry words.

Shelby will come.

Just as he always had.

He would come to her because he loved her.

This time, Roxina would not let uncertainty or pride hold her back. She would tell Shelby she loved him too, and if he would have her, despite her many faults, she wanted to build a life with him.

But the days stretched on, long and lonely. One day bled into another, becoming a week, and then a fortnight.

Shelby had not come.

Neither had he sent word.

In fact, Matilda said her cousin had left Fernleigh House the same day Roxina had, and no one had heard from him since.

I lost.

Her secret spinster’s stake had not resulted in a winning hand.

Roxina had wagered on love—and lost.

TWENTY TWO

Still in the garden

A few heartbeats later

Too late.

By the time Roxina understood her heart, the opportunity to love had slipped away, and the words would remain forever unspoken.