Rosamund turned, her breath catching on a dry sob she hadn’t known was coming, and then rested her forehead against the mare’s neck. “What am I doing?” she whispered.
Daffodil answered as she always did. With gentle love. Comfort.
After a moment, Rosamund gathered the reins and swung easily into the saddle.
“Let’s go home.”
Only, it wasn’t home. Even if the manor had grown… familiar. Easier. Far more welcoming than it had been when she first arrived.
As the mare stepped forward, there was nothing that could have kept her thoughts from returning to the man she’d left behind in the forest.
She had felt this pull before. Years ago. On that absurd afternoon in the mercantile, when she had glimpsed something quiet. Something good.
Something—someonespecial.
And then he had gone to war.
He had returned changed, but she’d known… He was still himself. Still the person she’d always believed him to be.
A cloud shifted, and the sun illuminated the field. The wildflowers and tall swaying grass turned golden. The wind caressed her heated cheeks.
And in that moment, the truth became crystal clear.
She was not ready to give up on Julian Cavendish.
ONLY FOR TONIGHT
By the time Rosamund reached the manor, her resolve had mostly settled into a tentative purpose. Whatever had passed between them in the woods had not been an ending.
It could not be.
But since there was nothing she could do about that in his absence, she would do what she could on the other front.
She spent the afternoon in her chamber, sorting her notes, arranging her thoughts, shaping verses that would show the duke as he was. There was a fine line between sounding like a ledger and sounding like fiction, and she walked it slowly, revising again and again.
How to show his generosity without making him seem naïve?
How to convey his competence without stripping him of warmth?
When she finally leaned back, her neck aching and her fingers cramped, the room had gone dim around her. The sun sat low beyond the window, the light thinning to amber.
Realizing dinner would be served soon, she glanced down at herself and grimaced.
Her gown, the same one she’d been wearing all day, had mud on the hem and smelled of horse.
Shesmelled of horse.
With little time to waste, she gathered her notes into neat stacks and tucked them into her satchel. But as she fastened the flap, her gaze lifted—and caught in the looking glass.
Dear heavens.
Half her hair had escaped its pins, her cheeks were smudged with dirt, and her gown… well…
A knock sounded at the door.
Startled, she brushed her hair back with both hands, made a half-hearted attempt to smooth her gown, then gave up and opened it.
The maid, Tilly, stood there, looking far too pleased with herself.