Page 82 of His Betrothed
Chapter 22
Roselyn felt Francis’s scrutiny all through supper, and she wondered if he connected the stranger’s warning about spies to Spencer. When she tried to retire early, he followed her to the staircase and drew her to a halt.
“Lady Roselyn, we should talk.”
“Francis, could we do this in the morning?” She managed to sound as tired as she felt, and lifted her gaze to his with a silentplea. She couldn’t explain without perpetuating her lies, and she didn’t have the strength left for it.
Francis searched her face, then finally sighed. “Very well, my lady. After we break our fast, we will talk.”
Roselyn leaned up and kissed his cheek, and suddenly she knew it would be the last for a long time. She ascended the stairs to her room, but she didn’t turn the bed down, didn’t removeher clothing. She only paced, her stomach tight with panic.
She had to find Spencer.
She would have to go out in the world, leave safety behind, take chances again. If he was guilty, she couldn’t let the entire country pay for her foolishness in not turning him in.
And if he was innocent, he deserved to know that a man might be following him, thinking him a traitor. She owed him at least that.
It was time to confront him and learn the truth, though the thought of seeing him again after she’d surrendered her body made her ill.
She could no longer hide on her island and let the rest of the world’s problems pass her by.
Long after midnight, when the house was silent, Roselyn crept down the staircase and left Wakesfield through the kitchen door. At her cottage she gathered supplies andthe coins she’d saved, then looked down at the black gown she wore.
Slowly she unlaced it. The gown fell to her feet, and she folded it with infinite care, set it inside a chest, then picked up one of the plain brown garments she’d worn as a married woman.
Her hands suddenly started to shake, and she could barely slide it over her head. She was leaving behind everything she’d built of her newlife. She might have nothing to come back to, for the Heywoods might never forgive her for leaving on so dangerous a journey without telling them.
Roselyn left the dark cottage behind, walking quickly, then soon running until she reached the graveyard. She collapsed on her knees before her baby’s grave. She was so frightened—frightened of herself, frightened of taking another risk that mightsubject her to even more heartache.
With trembling fingers, she touched Mary’s headstone and wondered forlornly if she was already with child. She began to cry with the pain of the life she’d chosen two years ago, the decisions she’d made.
What if she was making another poor choice—if running after Spencer only put her in even more danger? And if he turned on her…
The thought of beginning allover again, starting anew somewhere else alone, made the tears fall even faster down her cheeks.
But she alone had made the decisions that led to this crossroads in her life; she alone could make everything right again. There was no other choice.
She returned to the shed where she’d first hidden him and dug through the drying grass for the pouch. When she finally held it in her hands, she wonderedwhether it exonerated Spencer or incriminated him. She didn’t know yet what she meant to do with it, but she couldn’t leave it behind.
Soon she was astride Angel on the road to Cowes and the ferry that would take her to Southampton. It was the quickest way Spencer could have gone if he truly meant to travel to London.
And if he never arrived there?
Then she would know the rumors were true,and that he’d betrayed his country.
Spencer cursed his bad luck as he gulped another mouthful of ale. He could not start for London this night.
Yesterday he’d arrived in Cowes too late in the day to make the last ferry, and ended up wasting precious coin at an inn on the island.
Then he’d overslept out of exhaustion—he never would have guessed that putting in long hours on a horse couldaggravate his leg so badly—and almost missed the first ferry across the Solents. It was a rough journey, and both he and his horse were wet and bruised by the time they made Southampton. He had no choice but to wait another day to give his horse time to recover. He spent the remainder of the afternoon watching drunk sailors chase less than virtuous women.
At least it kept his mind off Roselyn.Just thinking her name made him shudder with self-loathing. What was she doing now? Whatdid she think of him? She must surely despise him for bedding and leaving her.
In such a morose mood, he had to force himself to stop drinking, lest tomorrow’s trip be delayed while he recovered from a drunken stupor.
The waterfront inn left much to be desired, but the chamber he’d rented for the night seemeddecent enough. He was about to head upstairs when the door opened and a small figure entered, well wrapped in a cloak.
It was hardly cool enough for such clothing, and out of boredom, he continued to watch from his bench in the corner. He could tell it was a woman by her walk and fragility, but he ignored the first warnings that rang in his head.
