Page 52 of A Fiery Lady's Accidental Affair

“Sorry, Miss Ramsbury,” he said, giving her a look of pity as he stepped past her toward the kitchen. “Just coming through to get something to bring home for my poor ole mum.”

Alicia sat back down at the table, feeling her stomach retie itself into knots. She felt a warm hand rest atop hers and looked up into Jenny’s kindly eyes.

“I’m sure he’ll be back before long, Miss Alicia,” said the maid softly. “Just wait a bit longer and everything will work itself out. I just know it.”

Alicia nodded, afraid to give voice to her thoughts:I know something is wrong.

* * *

Noon came, inevitably, as did a second sunset. And another, and another still. The rain that Jenny had predicted came to wash over the farm, then was carried away by another shining summer day. James Barton came for a visit and was turned away in a foul temper when he learned of Laurence’s continued absence. Alicia forced herself to eat meals, go for walks, read and reread the same page of the same copy ofTom Jonesa hundred times or more. Still, Laurence did not return to his farm.

Where in the world could he be?Alicia asked herself with every breath, every anxious thump of her heart. From what Mary-Anne had told her it was only a day’s hard ride to London…what could have happened to delay Laurence so?

“That brother of mine should know what a scandal he is causing in London society,” Mary-Anne muttered some evening—either the second or third, Alicia had no way of knowing though she keenly felt every painful second of waiting. “Mary-Anne Stanhope, not having returned for the season after her sojourn to the countryside? However, will life carry on in her absence?”

Jenny just laughed and continued knitting, finally completing her warm winter hat several months after having started it. Herbert was similarly unbothered, seeming to enjoy having a brief respite from days of hurrying back and forth about the countryside, and he spent his hours sleeping peacefully in the shade.

No such peace came for Alicia, unfortunately. Every activity she attempted to undertake left her frantic, hurried, unfulfilled. On the first day, she took a basket and walked out to the orchard to harvest the last of the summer apples, only to walk back with no more than half a dozen, fearing she might miss Laurence’s arrival. The same happened with every meal, every walk, every conversation or attempt to help with other farm chores: frantically wishing for the time to pass was instantly replaced with a fear of running out of time, of being caught unprepared for Laurence.

For three days she spent every second in busywork but she was plagued by the feeling that she should be doing something else. And so she spent the bulk of the fourth day solely on the one labour that was most onerous, yet felt somehow necessary: waiting and watching.

“You know, Alicia, I just recalled my husband wrote me reminding me that my presence is expected at the Darlings’ annual garden party tomorrow,” said Mary-Anne lightly over the breakfast table on the fourth morning. “That being the case, I fear I will not be able to attend, being detained here a bit longer.”

“Oh. Yes, all right,” Alicia answered distantly. She vaguely recalled Mary-Anne saying something about leaving, but it felt so long ago that it might have been years for all she knew.

Mary-Anne leaned her head closer, trying to provoke Alicia into looking her in the eye. “Such a terrible tragedy that I shall have to miss Melinda Darling’s recitation. Last year she nearly made it through the first line of her soliloquy before her husband began snoring.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Still, I suppose they will just have to carry on their sport without my appreciation this year,” Mary-Anne continued with an impatiently theatrical sigh. “Lord knows they’ll make a mess of it without my supervision, though, somehow.”

“I see.”

“And of course, His Highness the Prince Regent will be coming round the farm for tea this evening. If His Majesty has not ordered a more pressing ball for the kingdom’s trees and ducklings, of course.” Jenny giggled at this comment.

“Hmm,” was all Alicia could produce, her mind still occupied with listening for any signs of Laurence’s homecoming. She was shaken from this reverie by a gentle knocking on the table in front of her, produced by an even more exasperated-looking Mary-Anne.

“That was a joke, Alicia. It was meant to be funny,” Mary-Anne said, her smile now devoid of any warmth or sympathy.

“Of course it was,” snapped Alicia, her fear about Laurence channelled into anger at this distraction. “Perhaps if anyone were in need of something funny that might be helpful.”

Mary-Anne’s eyes narrowed. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“You just seem to do a great deal of making jokes and not very much of anything else, that’s all,” Alicia continued. Though she could hear how cruel her remark really was, it felt strangely good to release the negative thoughts and worries she had been bottling up for days, and she could not resist going further. “If you were half as good at finding solutions as you think you are at making jokes, we might not be in this situation at all.”

Mary-Anne shrugged off this accusation. “Jenny appreciates my jokes.” At this Jenny put up her hands and began clucking her disavowal of her inclusion in this spat.

“That’s because Jenny is—” Alicia stopped herself short, realizing how hurtful she was about to be to her doting servant. She saw both women’s faces contort with hurt and anger at her words, and hurriedly excused herself from the table to find somewhere more private to brood.

I need to get away from here before I say anything I shall regret.

* * *

From her vantage point in her chair by the library window, Alicia could see for nearly a mile down the road, and all the summer charms paraded by for those long, gruelling hours. Flights of birds darted and wove through the air, field hands trudged to their tasks around the farm and returned hours later. The breeze carried flights of pollen through the sky. Sunlight was transfigured from brilliant white to butter-yellow to, at last, a rusty orange before the world was shrouded in quiet darkness.

Alicia watched it all pass her by as her eyes were fixed on the farthest point on the road. Sometimes she stared hard enough that she had to blink away a mote of dust, and opened her eyes frantically once more, praying she had not missed Laurence’s appearance. She never did.

What in heaven’s name could have happened to delay him so?Alicia thought as she struggled not to rake her fingernails across her face in grief and fear. Her mind readily provided a hundred answers to this question, each more monstrous than the last. His horse had thrown him, and he was lying dead in a ditch in some lost byway. He had been ambushed by wild beasts, or robbed and murdered by highwaymen, or…

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