He gave a dry huff of laughter and rubbed his eyes. “Half an hour.”
“Onehour.”
He sighed, dragging himself to his feet.
“If I wake up and you are playing cards with an assassin, I shall be very cross.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly as he passed her, every step heavier than the last. He stumbled once against the edge of the hearth but caught himself.
He made it to the cot.
He could feel her watching him as he lowered himself with the stiff awkwardness of a man twice his age. One arm flung over his eyes. His chest rising and falling in the first uneven rhythms of surrender.
He was asleep within minutes.
Thecottagewasquiet.
Elizabeth sat on the low stool by the hearth, knees drawn up, blanket draped around her shoulders. The late spring wind outside had slowed to a whisper, and the birdsong—so bright just an hour ago—had faded into the hush of a lazy afternoon.
She had not been raised for this.
Rough stone floors. Musty blankets. Half a heel of bread and a slice of dried meat to call dinner. Every muscle ached from yesterday’s long ride, and she could still feel her thighs twitch faintly each time she stood. Her arms trembled when she tightened the blanket. The exhaustion would catch her again soon—but not yet. She had promised—her breath snagged on an unbidden yawn—promisedto stay awake. To keep watch.
So she decided to fill her mind with distraction. Where did she leave off with life before this? Oh! Yes, the festival. Yesterday.
Was ittrulyonly yesterday?
But it must have been. She wrinkled her forehead and tried to remember all. Caroline Bingley, prim and sparkling in her expensive lace, trying to outshine her at the game of Graces—and losing, all while pretending not to care. Of Kitty and Lydia teasing one another near the cider booth, their laughter high and thoughtless as they tried and failed to make Captain Denny look their way. Of Jane, glowing, absolutely glowing, as Mr. Bingley hovered near her elbow with the sort of shy, persistent attentiveness that made younger sisters giggle behind their gloves.
And her. Paraded about the green by Mrs. Bennet, proudly brought to the notice of every acquaintance and stranger in equal measure, as if she had always belonged… until everyone discovered that she did not.
The ache behind her eyes sharpened. Why the devil had silly Mrs. Bennet’s preening and plucking made her belly feel so warm and pleasant? It was… well, it was silly. It should have been annoying, but it…
She should have thought of Devonshire.
It struck her now, with quiet absurdity, that she never had. Not even once, in all the time since she had been dragged unceremoniously from her meeting with the Prince at Buckingham House. She never thought of Ashwick.
That had been her first home—the estate that would eventually pass to her upon her father’s death, unless by some miracle he sired a son and proper heir before then. The place where she had learned to walk, learned to ride, learned to be everything she was.
Her mother was there still—indulgent, talkative, extravagantly affectionate when it suited her. Had Elizabeth shown up on the doorstep in flight from danger, there would have been no questions. No rebuke. Likely a party by the end of the week.
And yet, not once had she longed for it.
Not even when the shadows closed in.
Even now, with the weight of exhaustion in her limbs and the stale, unwelcoming air of the cottage pressing close, she did not crave the velvet cushions and sweetmeats of her mother’s world. That life was safe. At least in theory. But it had never felt like hers.
And it could not have actually beensafe, anyway. Anyone chasing her would have looked there first. They did not hesitate to set fire to her room in London, so why would a lofty old mansion in Devonshire slow them down?
Still, it startled her—that the thought of Devonshire came not as a regret, but as an afterthought.
Should that not have been instinct?
Home, after all, was meant to be where you ran, or at leastwantedto run, when the wolves were close. But her heart had never turned in that direction.
It turned here.
She let out a soft breath and rested her chin on her knees.
