“We will always have fond memories of a great friendship,” she had smiled, willing her tears away at the thought of the boy who had been her constant companion for years.
Rose knew her position and role, and she knew she had to turn her back on that part of her life and walk away. She remembered the pain of losing him, like someone had reached into her chest, wrenched her heart free, and squeezed it dry. Throughout all her marriage preparations, she had felt utterly lost. She was gratefulthe Duke was uninterested in her, aside from using her body as an heir-making machine. She knew she could never even pretend to love another.
But now, here she was, nearly a decade on, with no husband, no home, and no William Browning. All she had was an offer from one of the most odious men of the ton, albeit the most prestigious duke in the realm, to abandon every shred of possible happiness for money. Again. What was she going to do?
The rain had begun to fall more heavily. She hunched her back against it, liking the feel of the raindrops pittering across her shoulders as the mud rose around her leather boots and her hemline turned from cream to dirty brown. She didn’t care. How long before she had no use for such finery anyway?
She rose to her feet, pulling the waxed hood down even lower in front of her eyes, and began to meander along the river bank. The trees were tightly-packed here, forcing her to weave her way between them but offering a good shelter from the increasingly heavy rain. However, the further she walked, the more open the landscape became until she was crossing the plain where she and Will had often cavorted as children. Their family homes had both been a little way down the river from Arundel, towards the sea, but they had frequently hitched a ride into town with Will’s father.
Sometimes Rose was glad she had stayed in the area where she had spent her childhood; other times, she wished she had moved to the far fringes of Scotland. Today was the latter.
She knew her sister would take her in and let her live with them as a widowed aunt to their two little ones. But she also knew she could not do that. She could not sit and observe the happiness the pair exuded, day after day, while herself living in a romantic desert.
“It is just not fair,” Rose muttered to herself, then looking skywards, she shouted at the top of her voice: “It is not fair.”
She began to run across the open field, her arms flung wide, her half-boots hammering across, sometimes catching in, the deepening mud. “It. Is. Not. Fair.” She hurled the individual words at the sky, occasionally whirling full circle as she repeated them over and over again, raising her face up to the falling rain, enjoying the feeling of the liquid running down her cheeks.
She was shouting so loudly, and the rain was falling so thickly she was unaware that she was no longer alone. It was only as she was whirling on her heels, still remonstrating with the heavens, that she caught a flash of man and beast out of the corner of her eye. She stopped screaming instantly and lowered her hood to obscure her face, presenting her back to him. What would people think of her behavior if this person chose to share what he had seen if he knew who she was? She only prayed that he had not caught a glimpse of her face and just took her for a local girl. She hoped he would just ride on by, but from beneath her lashes, she could see his fine, handsome steed staring at her as intently as he no doubt was.
“Are you quite well, madam?” she heard him shout above the downpour.
“Quite well, thank you,” she replied, not turning to look at him.Move on, move on, she thought.
“You seemed to be in some distress.”
“I was simply enjoying the weather, sir,” Rose shouted back, taking care to arrange her words into a distinct southern country accent so that he would believe she lived locally. She couldn’t see him with her back turned, but his horse looked like it belonged to the nobility.
“Enjoying this?” He scoffed. “I see no pleasure in a lashing downpour.”
He was maneuvering his horse closer to her, perhaps to hear her better. She watched the horse’s hooves plod closer from beneath the edge of her hood. She could only imagine what she must look like, with a coat hem that extended to her heels and the sleeves ending lower than her fingertips.
“You will catch your death of cold if you stay out here long. Pray, let me escort you to town. My horse is strong and can easily carry both of us.”
“No, thank you. I would not dream of putting you to any bother.” Rose groaned inside at the way she had pronounced ‘bother’—far more like a duchess than a village wench. It had been years since she had feigned a local accent and it took practice. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.
“Please do turn your face to mine,” the man said then. “It is most disconcerting having a conversation with the back of your head.”
Rose was trapped. She knew she was behaving most rudely. The rain was still pelting down between them, and she hoped that her hood would keep her hidden as she approached him slowly and raised her chin as high as she dared without revealing her eyes.
She could tell now that he was a gentleman. His steed was tall, its coat gleaming, and he wore a pair of the finest black knee-high riding boots.
“You are soaked through,” he observed in a deep, rich voice. “Why on earth did you venture out in such weather and in such apparel?”
“I was dancing, sir. Celebrating the arrival of a new season in this beautiful countryside. I purloined my father’s coat.”
“It is bloody weather for June,” he said, and she imagined his smile. His boot moved in the stirrup. He sounded handsome and refined.
“Well, I am quite fine, you can be assured. I will bid you good day, sir.”
She started to walk away, trying to accomplish it as elegantly as possible, but the heels of her boots were sticking in the slippery mud, so her first few steps had to be slow and deliberate.
“May I know your name?” he called after her.
“Muriel,” Rose shouted back. “My name is Muriel.”
“Well, Muriel, I fear you may take days to reach the village at that pace, and this rain is only getting worse. I would be remiss if I did not act to assure your safety.”
He had turned his horse and ridden up behind her. One of his stirrups was just inches from her shoulder, and she felt a rush of air as he suddenly dismounted.