“Don’t worry, Billy. I’m just berating myself for being a fool.”
“No, don’tyouworry, Major. ’appens to the best of us. Girls are just a pain.”
Lucas remembered a time he had thought that; he also remembered the first time he realised they weren’t. “How do you know it’s over a girl, Billy?”
“Well, I do now, don’t I?”
Shaking his head at Billy’s perceptiveness and cheek, Lucas had a good wash, ridding himself of the scent of lavender and splashing on his usual cologne to obliterate any remaining smell.
Tonight. Tonight he would apologise. Perhaps, they could talk…properly. No accusations or questions, but talk. In time, she may trust him with her past.
“Billy, tell the housekeeper that I will look in on Lady Webster, and then I’m going to search the woods again.”
There must be something out there, and the cold air would clear his head and body.
“Were you and Benedict sweethearts?” Rosalind asked as she brushed the lady’s hair.
“Well, I was only just fifteen when he left for his Tour, but we always had a bond, shall we say. I think Ben felt…more, as he was older. I just knew I craved his company. He did kiss me when I reached fifteen – it wasn’t brotherly.”
“’Tis a shame he went away.”
The fever had left Daphne in the night and, although weak, she was now talking and eating. Rosalind had spent most of the day with her, finding the lady quiet but open. Benedict had prowled the bedchamber, alternately fussing over the blankets or sitting in the corner with a concentrated stare. Eventually, the lady had told him to go away as she needed to do her ablutions, her chin obstinate to his protestations.
“I have a feeling he felt as though he had to go on his Tour… I was too immature and he was a passionate young man.” The lady waggled her hand in embarrassment, causing Rosalind to laugh. She’d never imagined Benedict a passionate anything. Daphne looked down at her hands. “You were always so joyful when I saw you, Rosalind. I hoped you would marry Ben and make him happy.”
“Bleugh. Why do people always think that? He reallyislike my brother and anyway, Benedict has never been serious about any woman. I suspect now it’s because he’s always wanted you.”
Daphne’s smile withered. “I’m not the same girl any more. I’m still married and…and I can’t be what Ben needs.”
Considering the way she flinched when someone touched her, Rosalind suspected she meant more than just her marital status.
“Rest, my lady. Rest and recuperate. I know ’tis old advice but time does, if not totally heal, it can help. To see perspective, to grow stronger and to know one’s own mind.”
Daphne rested her head on the pillow, pressing Rosalind’s hand. “I can see why Ben loves you. And, I hear, the major also likes you…”
Rosalind coughed in embarrassment. She wasn’t used to close female company but it was nice, and she remembered the cosy chats she used to have with Mrs Tadlow. “What do you mean about the major?”
“Well, when I was at the cottage, Ben told me about you two. Said you were like cats, chasing their own tails.”
“Oh, did he now?” He was probably right but she’d still ring a peal over him for his loose tongue.
Eventually, Daphne fell into a peaceful sleep, and she left the maid to sit with her.
It was now mid-afternoon and she noticed from the hall window that the sky had developed a strange grey colour. Not a rainy grey, but a nebulous, bleak hue. The blustery wind of the past few days had stilled and everything stood motionless.
It was still cold and, even worse, it now seemed to have seeped into Rosalind’s bones, making them ache. She sped down the stairs to reach the drawing room fire.
Lucas had left at about ten but hadn’t informed Billy when he’d arrive back, and she hoped he was safe. She hoped he was still with the vicar sipping tea, or sitting at the inn enjoying a tankard, or in the village, questioning farmers in the intimidating way that made Rosalind shiver with desire.
Feeling a little too warm all of a sudden, she crossed to the window. Perhaps Lucas was at th– No, no… Not yet!
Snow. It was snowing, and they weren’t dainty, small flakes either. It was as if the heavens had been hoarding a store: huge, white blobs drifted from the sky. Slowly, but the days had been so cold that they didn’t melt, gathering into a rapidly spreading blanket.
“No!” she cried and fisted the windowsill in frustration. Where was Lucas? Had it even been him in that dream? Was it today? Or tomorrow? Or next week? What was the use of the dreams when they never showed you when?
“Rosalind, are you well?” She turned to Benedict rushing towards her, only now realising that tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“I don’t know. I had a dream about someone in the snow with blood on them. But I don’t know when or who. But it’s started. The snow has started and Lucas is still out there.”
