Page 36 of His Betrothed
“Does it not bother you to live in a cottage, forever staring at a manor you claim you’ll never livein again?”
For once, he seemed sincere instead of sarcastic. Where could these questions be leading?
“No, I was grateful for a place to live. I’ve only been back a year.”
“A year?” he said with a frown. “Has it not been almost two years since”—he broke off, and this time his smile had the faintest tinge of mockery—“since you decided not to marry me?”
Her brows rose in surprise at the tactfulway he spoke. “We lived in London at first.”
“But I was there—I never saw you.”
Roselyn hadn’t thought he would be capable of such naiveté. “You wouldn’t have, unless you frequented Southwark.”
Thornton leaned his head back against the tree and studied her with narrowed eyes.
She went to stand above him. “Do you think I’m ashamed? When I make decisions I live by them, no matter the consequences.”
“Are you implying I didn’t?”
She sighed. “I was implying nothing, merely answering your questions. Philip was a baker before he worked for my father, and he went back to that trade.”
“And he taught you?”
“I worked alongside him, yes. Our home was also our store.” She could still remember how cold their front parlor was in the winter, with the shutters opened onto the street so customers couldperuse their baked goods.
“Then why return here? Surely there were more customers in London.”
“We came here to escape the Black Death, but it was too late.”
His eyes widened before resuming their shuttered, suspicious look. “Your stable groom died of the plague?”
She nodded, noticing that he did not call Philip her husband. But she couldn’t bring herself to argue about it.
“And you…?” hecontinued.
“Though I nursed him, I did not become sick.” She still thanked God each night for not letting her spread death to the rest of the islanders. She would never have forgiven herselfif even one other person besides her husband and child had died.
He studied her for an uncomfortable moment before he looked back toward Wakesfield Manor. “Have you tried to see your parents since his death?”
“No, they made their feelings clear.”
Spencer was rather shocked that she had made no effort to mend the rift. “But it might change things.”
Roselyn seemed genuinely puzzled. “Why should it? My parents are not people who forgive, let alone forget, nor do I wish to return to their treatment of me. Though this last year has been difficult, in many ways I am more content.”
“You can’t be serious,”he said, studying this serenity she wore like a garment.
“You are a man, free to do as you please. For the first time, I, too, can shape my own destiny.”
“Few people can do as they please. Like anyone, I have obligations—and my family is one of them.”
“Mine no longer are,” she said softly.
“Yet this is your destiny? Up before dawn to bake for strangers, harvesting your own food, exhaustedand spent each night?”
“Do not mock my life!” she said, leaning over him.
“But I’m not—”
