He would perhaps understand the fear but…
“Verity, speak to me?”
“Daniel?” she rasped.
“He is well. Told me he was whole as a nut.”
She opened her eyes, smiled.
Grey light filtered in. They were seated on a small bench a little distance from the gate. Beads of drizzle clung to Miles’ drenched coat, mud upon his cheek. His green eyes were narrowed with concern. The moment suspended in the hush of silvered air.
The storm had passed.
But another would come.
Then she blinked. Had not the strength. “Take me to Sephi,” she whispered. “T-take me home.”
“Are you well enough to walk?”
She nodded and squirmed to rise against the band of his protective arms.
“Let me go, Miles,” she whispered. “Let me go.”
Miles hadno intention of letting Verity go – in this moment or, as he rather feared she’d meant, for good.
Hell, when he had first seen her there, slumped in the corner on the carriage floor, his heart had nigh given out, fear cresting and crashing.
Had he hurt her with his roughness? Had she been caught by a hoof?
Then he’d heard her breathing, laboured and shallow, eyes jammed shut so hard that it seemed they would never open again.
A gust of autumn wind blew, a shiver seizing her, so he stood from the bench and lowered her onto her feet, keeping one arm at her waist, another at her shoulders.
Her breathing had steadied but she was soaked as a widow’s veil, skin ashen white, eyes so empty. Miles had seen such a look before in soldiers, when they’d closed out all emotion in order toface the next battle, the act of placing one foot in front of another requiring all strength.
He said not a word, just gently guided her back through the gate, noticed that Lynch had returned with the phaeton and Daniel, who’d a bandage under his cap. But they couldn’t travel in his carriage so–
“Verity!”
Miles turned his head to the two ladies dashing towards them from the direction of the Gardens, Miss Nash ahead, holding onto her hat.
“Oh such rain, Lord Stonewold, I’ve never seen the like and…” Miss Nash’s eyes widened. “Verity? Oh, no…” She placed hands to her cousin’s cheeks. “No… Not this. We must get her home. To a bath and rest.”
Miles shifted. “It was my fault. I put her in the carriage during the storm. Maybe we could all–”
“No,” Verity stuttered. “It’s just a fine drizzle now and S-Sephi can take the reins of the phaeton.”
Miss Nash nodded. “I am quite able, my lord. We have our oiled coats in the seatbox.”
He frowned but felt a gentle pat on his sleeve.
“You were not to know, my lord,” soothed Miss Hamilton. “Be at ease. Our Verity is stronger than you know.”
Purposefully, the ladies readied themselves with waterproofed cloaks and coats, their manner grave and quiet, so different to the joy in which they’d all met in.
Verity gave a weak smile but not in his direction and he sensed it wasn’t just because she needed all her strength but that an intense wretchedness had taken hold of her. And all he could do was stand helplessly by as Miss Nash and Miss Hamilton fussed over her.
When had all this begun?
