Mr. Fleming looked more than happy to oblige her husband’s whims, but she wasn’t about to let him pretend he was a loving uncle or devoted son-in-law.
He’d been trying to show his care, with the boys, with her mother.
With her.
She cleared her throat to attract the proprietor’s attention. “Where is the candied ginger?”
The man hummed—was thatAway in a Manger?—as he shuffled around the counter and retrieved a brilliant red tin from a low shelf. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “These are delightful for settling stomach unease…” He gave her a long look and a wink. “Particularly for our expectant mothers.”
Lily’s cheeks flamed as she waved her hands in front of her, as though she could brush away his insinuation. “Oh no, they’re not for me.”
They’re not for me. And they never will be.
She took the tin from him with a brisk nod, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat.
Mr. Fleming’s eyes suddenly brightened. “You’re one of the viscount’s daughters, aren’t you? The eldest? Forgive me, I can’t remember your name. Poppy?”
“Lily,” she replied.
“Ahh, yes.” He directed his attention to Philip. “You’re a lucky man, then.”
When he spoke, he was so close she felt the heat radiating from his body. He placed a hand on the small of her back. “Very lucky, sir.”
The shop was suddenly too hot, the air too thick and saccharine. “We should go,” she said, far too loudly. “Mama is expecting us for supper.”
“Please give the viscountess my best. And if you or anyone from your household needs anything, I live in the flat behind the shop. Simply knock and I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Lovely,” she said, her voice tight.
Philip handed over more than enough coins for their purchases—followed by a lively exchange where Mr. Fleming refused to accept such generosity and Philip insisted—and Lily made her way out the door as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.
By the time Philip exited the shop, she had tucked the ginger in the saddlebag and untied Calpurnia from the post.
“Lily…” Philip was there—Christ, how was he always so bloodyclose, wreaking havoc on her nerves? “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She swung into the saddle, studiously avoiding his gaze.
“You’re lying.”
“How would you know?” She spurred Calpurnia into motion. He should know what it felt like to be left behind.
“Lily!”
She ignored him as she brought her mare to a light canter, the cobblestones glistening with melted snow. She’d forgotten how early nightfall came in winter, and by the time she thundered across the bridge and onto the road leading to Boar’s Hill, the black night sky had nearly devoured the periwinkle horizon.
Her name sounded in the darkness again, but the rush of the wind, the thudding of hooves beneath her swallowed the sound. She let her head tip down, trusting Calpurnia to carry her home, to deliver her safely when nothing in her world provided stability. Not her family, surely not her husband…
Her skin tingled beyond what the cold caused, and her lungs tightened around her frigid breaths. Even as she knew the risk, she urged her mount faster, as though she could escape the tormenting emotions clawing at her back.
She rounded a curve, and the rush of wind from an open field tugged at her bonnet, whipping the brim over her eyes. Releasing one hand from the reins, she shoved the brim back in place, but knocked loose a lock of hair now conspiring with the bonnet to blind her.
She yanked at the reins to slow Calpurnia to an easier pace, but the leather slipped from her fingers. With the fabric and hair robbing her of her sight, she grasped for the reins but felt nothing, teetering in the saddle as choking panic climbed up her throat—
“Lily,hold on!”
She grabbed two fistfuls of coarse mane as Calpurnia jerked violently to the left, skidding to a stop that nearly unseated her. Her breath rasped from her lungs, and fear sent her stomach spinning. When she blinked away the haziness in her vision, Philip was beside her on his gelding, her reins in his hands.
“Easy, love. I have you. You’re safe.”
