Seventeen
RAIN SPLATTERED ON Christopher’s face as he rode towards the station. Bolt—his stallion—snorted. The horse’s hard muscles contracted underneath him, and his mane flapped wildly. Likely, Bolt wasn’t happy about the nocturnal ride in the rain.
Behind Christopher, Dorian was spurring his mare onwards.
Nothing mattered to Christopher, not the rain, the muddy road, or the cold wind sneaking under the collar of his jacket and freezing him. In fact, the cold helped wake him up from his slumber and was clearing his thoughts. And with his thoughts came anger.
Amelia was leaving him without saying goodbye. How could she do that after what they’d shared? Did she think he had sex like that with every woman he met?
The lights of the station twinkled into view when they rounded a corner. He slowed Bolt and jumped off the saddle before the horse had stopped. His bad leg almost gave in, and a shot of pain stabbed him, but he gritted his teeth and strode towards the station. The smell of smoke filled the air, and the metallic noise of the train’s wheels rotating thundered. His heart skipped a beat. A train was leaving the station.
“Amelia,” he shouted, rushing towards the platform.
An attendant in a blue uniform tried to stop him and muttered something he didn’t catch. The train gained speed and slipped out of the station in a blur of rain and smoke. He searched the platform, but aside from a man cleaning the wooden benches, there was no one.
Amelia was gone.
“Sir, you can’t rush to the platform when the train is leaving,” the attendant said.
Christopher watched as the train disappeared behind a curve, leaving only the smell of smoke behind.
“She’s gone,” he muttered.
Wheezing, Dorian clapped his shoulder. “Not everything is lost. Send a wire to her parents, telling them you’re going to see them.”
The cold seeped into Christopher’s bones. His wet clothes weighed him down. “For what reason? She doesn’t want to see me.”She doesn’t want me.
“You fool! I saw her. I told you she said she loves you. She was crying. She didn’t want to leave.”
“But she did. Without telling me.” Her love wasn’t enough to let her stay and talk to him.
Even the noise of the train died down. Only the rain pelted the ground in a punishing rhythm. So it ended. The precious feeling that stirred in his chest was now a cold trail.
“Christopher!” Dorian’s scrunched face filled his vision. “Listen to me. Send a wire, sleep, and tomorrow morning, we’ll leave for London.”
“No.” The determined tone in his voice surprised him. “She made her decision. I won’t beg her.” Besides, he’d done that, and she’d rejected him.
Ignoring the pang in his leg, he strode towards Bolt. The hope and joy he’d experience with her were a cold boulder over his shoulders, and somehow, he felt more lonely now than he’d had before meeting her. Curse her, and curse his unfeeling, black heart for wanting her.
~ * ~
SLEEPING IN AN unfamiliar bed—or rather, spending the night crying in an unfamiliar bed didn’t bring Pearl any comfort. Two days had passed since Pearl had left Gladstone, but the pain was sharp and fresh.
She lay in a bed in Miss Cherrywood’s house and stared at the lovely shade of pink of the ceiling. Everything about Miss Cherrywood’s house was in shades of pink, pristine, and smelling of vanilla. Even the bedsheets. Yet, it was as if dirt soiled her.
Pearl rolled on her belly. If she inhaled deeply, she could still smell Christopher’s scent under the vanilla. He must’ve realised by now she wasn’t going back. Probably Dorian had told him. Was he angry? Or maybe relieved?
Miss Cherrywood had been so kind when Pearl had knocked on her door in the middle of the night. Pearl had started crying again when the fierce, red-haired woman had hugged her. She had no job, no house to go back to, no friends, and no Christopher. The fact that her body was deliciously sore after Christopher had taken her didn’t help. The feeling of him inside her was a constant reminder of what she’d lost.
She clenched her fists and bit down fresh tears. She’d cried enough. She’d cried for two days. It was time to plan something, something that didn’t involve being arrested by the police or thrown into a prison. And somehow, she had to see Christopher again if he wanted to see her, that is. If he wanted to listen to her. He’d hate her though, as soon as she confessed the truth. She’d lose him all over again.
The chilly water in the basin caused goose-bumps to pebble on her arms. After a good wash and a change of clothes, the world didn’t seem brighter, but at least she was decent.
She slogged downstairs towards the dining room. Every muscle ached, and the headache made her queasy, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony twitching her heart.
“Good morning.” Miss Cherrywood put down her cup of tea. Even at seven o’clock in the morning, her hair was neatly pulled into a chignon with soft, curled tendrils framing her oval face, and her bottle-green dress had been recently pressed. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not really.” Pearl curtsied and sat at the table.
