“Of course.” She said the words as if she had known he would leave. As if she could push away her disappointment. He’d left no note—again. But at least he had left a message. And he would return that evening. She needn’t be a ninny about it.
It was silly to feel lonely, even as the hours ticked by and darkness fell. She ought to just put her husband from her mind and tend to the final preparations for the cottages.
But dinner came and passed and he still had not returned. Not for bedtime either. Not even when the clock struck midnight.
She simply needed to ignore the doubt niggling at her thoughts.
Naked and alone, Cat awaited Jamie in his bed. Somewhere around three in the morning, she stopped listening to the chime of the case clock in the hallway and fell into a restless sleep.
He did not return the next morning.
Where the hell was he?
Anger sizzling beneath her skin, she called for a quiet breakfast in her own rooms. So much for their hopeful future. She was a fool to think Jamie would put his pride aside and forgive her. He had told her all along what mattered to him—an heir. Not her.
He’d never said he loved her.
Outside her window, the wind chased the clouds across the sky. She had no idea where Jamie was, when he would return. Again.
She hated being this wife.
She hated being left behind. Ignorant. Powerless. Rambling alone about an empty estate with the thrilling, frightening possibility of being pregnant.
With each chime of the clock, her body closed inward. Closed like the petals of a flower curling at the unbearable touch of dark and cold.
BY THE AFTERNOON, Cat was done waiting. She’d taken herself to the library, hoping to distract herself with a book.
The unending quiet of the day was broken by the pattern of footsteps hurrying down the hallway. Cat looked up, her silly heart in her throat. Was Jamie so eager to see her he rushed down the corridor?
The butler scrambled into the room with uncharacteristic haste. Her heart plummeted to her toes. Something was terribly wrong. Something had happened to Jamie.
“My lady.” The butler was flushed and out of breath. “It’s the village”—again he wheezed—“the village is on fire.”
AFTER A FRANTIC FIFTEEN MINUTES of calling for her cloak, her carriage—never mind what gloves—Cat finally arrived in the village. Already, the fire blazed higher than the cottages.
Men crowded around the hose carts, working at a desperate pace. The thin streams of water seemed a paltry defense against the hungry beast eating through the village. Cat pressed a hand to her mouth.
Most of her cottages were ruined. Fire shot out of the windows, blackened the walls, tore through the new roofs they had painstakingly rebuilt.
Only the Warners’ home remained untouched by the blaze. All her other work. Gone.
Anger burned her from the inside. Where the hell was Jamie? Of all times, she needed him now.
She could not worry about it. She elbowed her way into the throng of men, stopping only when a wall of heat blasted her skin. What should she do? What could she do?
Villagers scurried by carrying buckets and axes and lengths of chain. It was chaos. She whirled around, not knowing where to start.
And then he was there. Appearing out of the smoke. Her husband. Her Jamie.
She shook everywhere. Relief and anger and concern poured through her at once.
He frowned when her saw her and immediately came her way. “Darling, you have to stay back.” A dark smear of soot slashed one cheek. Ash colored his hair and ruined his clothes.
“How much has been lost?” Fear sharpened her voice.
“I do not know, exactly. The blaze started in the baker’s chimney and is moving fast. I’ve not been here long.”
“You look a mess.” Her fingers trembled as they brushed the soot from his face. “What have you been doing, fighting the fire with your bare hands?”
He searched her eyes. “Your cottages…” He did not continue. There was nothing more to say.
Her heart squeezed in her chest. Jamie had been trying to save her cottages. He’d been fighting for her. And still, the homes were lost.
Cat waved her hand. A gesture that said nothing. Nothing about her heartbreak. Her gladness at seeing him. Her fear for the future. “At least the Warners’ home still stands.”
The wind shifted, smoke and ash choked the breath from her lungs. She raised a handkerchief before her nose and tried to breathe.
Men shouted and Jamie looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “The Warners’ cottage is all that remains between the fire and the rest of the village.”
Pricks of pain stung her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“We have two options. We can fight the fire as is, and hope for the best.” His face looked grim. The best was not going well so far. “Or we can pull down the Warners’ cottage. Create a firebreak.”
Pull it down?
What of the family, gaunt and haunted and desperate for a new future? Of the tidy home with lovely curtains and warm beds? “They have nothing else, Jamie. Can we not save the cottage?”