She stopped writing. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to turn. I don’t know if I can even breathe if you are not near. I only know that I must reclaim the life I’ve lost in the course of suffering the curse. I’ve never tasted true freedom, not like you, and not a day in my life. I must know what it is.
Anna and Griffin will stay on at Talla Dileas, as Anna cannot travel, and someone must look after the property and my dogs. I have asked Mr. Dudley to keep a vigilant eye on them, for I know you do not care to have them herd your sheep.
She paused again. I can’t say when I shall return to Talla Dileas. I feel an overwhelming and necessary obligation to go into the world and live. Do you want me to stay? Now that your debt is repaid, do you still have the same feelings for me? You didn’t say anything, you said only that you understood.
Please give my regards to Una and Rodina. I shall keep my eyes and ears open for a housekeeper to suit you; one with fine laundering skills, of course.
Yours always,
M
My heart will always be tilted toward you. You are forever a part of me.
She put down the pen, took a bit of wax and sealed it, and then, for at least the tenth time that day since hearing the news of her freedom, she put down her head and cried.
A steady, cold rain had begun to fall, and Payton stared out through the rivulets on the window at the bleak countryside. He’d read her letter a third time, trying to read something—anything—between the lines, but he could find nothing. No hint of her feelings, nothing but the giddiness she felt at her imminent departure for Edinburgh.
He had, with the help of copious amounts of whiskey, resolved himself to the inevitable end once again. He had made himself face the fact that the feelings she might have developed for him while in his service had not held up under the mantle of freedom.
He understood how that might be so…yet he could not, in his heart of hearts, conceive of how she could ignore the magic that had happened between them. She had given him her virginity. She might very well be carrying his child. Could she leave without at least a bit of conversation?
He glanced at the mantel clock. She’d been away from him for thirty-six hours. In twenty-four hours more, she’d be beyond his reach. Payton glanced at the letter, and gritting his teeth, he crumpled it in his hand and tossed it in the fire. He’d not accept this. She would not leave Talla Dileas without at least giving him a proper farewell.
He arrived at Talla Dileas just after luncheon the following day. Dudley took his cloak and hat, showed him to the small drawing room where he might warm himself and dry his boots. He was standing before the fire doing precisely that when Mared entered the room.
He felt her before he saw her—he had come to sense her presence and miss it as much as the air he breathed. He turned, and his heart sank at the sight of her—she was wearing an old green gown he’d seen her in a dozen times before, but it hardy mattered. In his eyes, she was achingly beautiful. Her hair hung freely down her back in long waves, pinned back from her face with green ribbons. She wore her boots, and he noticed a bit of mud on them, as if she’d just come back from a walk in the rain. Indeed, she must have done so, for her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling.
She glanced at the open door when she saw him and very carefully pushed it to—not completely shut, but enough to afford them a bit of privacy—then turned around, clasped her hands before her, and smiled uncertainly.
This was not the same eager woman he’d last held against that tree. This one seemed nervous. Out of sorts.
“How are ye?” he asked quietly.
“Well,” she said unconvincingly. “And ye?”
He shrugged. Looking at her now, he was struck by a vivid reminder of her naked body, how she had felt in his arms. How their coupling had been so very right.
There was no reason to prolong his agony. “Ye are to Edinburra, then,” he said shortly.
She dipped her gaze to the hearth and nodded. “We will reclaim our fortune.”
“So ye’ve written,” he said, feeling suddenly at sixes and sevens. He didn’t know what to say. It seemed as if he’d already spent too much time begging Mared to requite his love for her. He had only the ravages of his pride left, and he did not believe that he could give that up, too, to beg her to stay now. With a frown of frustration, he shoved a hand through his hair and looked at the fire.
“It is the social season,” Mared said behind him. “There will be balls and soirees and such.”
Yes, yes, he knew all about the social season. He’d been through enough of them that he didn’t give a damn about it. The people who comprised “society” were leeches, and they would suck the uniqueness from her, seek to mold her in their image.