Chapter Twenty-One #2
Images had crowded into her head, images so real she’d known they couldn’t be anything but memories, unspooling so fast she could barely keep up, as if Amabel’s arrival had been all that she’d needed to push through the fog in her mind: the way her friend had clutched her hand in Hyde Park, begging her to speak to Leo on her behalf, the way she’d thrown her arms around her when she’d reluctantly agreed, swayed by sympathy and a sense of indebtedness, then the gasps of the people entering the library that night, the sea of shocked faces, followed by Leo’s expression, a combination of horror and anger, swiftly hidden behind an aristocratic mask of disdain.
He hadn’t paused for a second before assuming the worst of her.
He’d simply walked away, leaving her at the mercy of the Wadlows, then sent a curt message the next day, stating that he was arranging a special licence and would collect her at the end of the week.
There had been no proposal, no conversation, no attempt to get to know her, just a short ceremony followed by a long carriage ride to Dorset and then almost three weeks of angry silence and pretending she didn’t exist.
So she’d run away.
She pulled on her reins, slowing her mare to a trot as she entered the woodland, following the path for a little way before stopping in the middle of a grove.
There were so many trees here, slender hazels as well as massive oaks and horse chestnuts, their canopies all tangled together as they pushed their way up towards the sunlight.
Without a breath of wind to stir them, they were still and silent today, but there were signs of recent storm damage, fallen leaves and scattered branches scattered over the ground.
She remembered this place. She’d been riding through it when she’d heard a noise like a groan, as though one of the trees had been calling out a warning to her, followed by a loud crack, before a dark shadow had swung into the corner of her vision, knocking her off her horse and onto the ground, taking her memory with it. Until now.
She slid down from her saddle and crouched beside a fallen branch, smoothing her hand over the rough surface of the bark.
Running away… Of course she’d been running away.
Both from her husband and her marriage, planning to catch the stagecoach from the village to London, where she’d intended to find another to Cumberland.
That was why she’d risked riding out in a storm, why she’d had her clothes and keepsakes with her too, and the letters, because despite everything she’d still been keeping them safe for Amabel.
That was it, the whole story, the truth about her marriage and her husband.
She’d thought he was cold and aloof the first time they’d met, but she hadn’t appreciated just how cold he could be until after their wedding.
And even though she could understand why he’d behaved that way, even though he’d apologised for it since, it turned out that knowing what he’d done and feeling it were two very different things.
Because now she remembered the way she’d felt during those first three weeks of her marriage, the pervasive, almost overwhelming sense of misery and emptiness and entrapment.
He might not have physically mistreated her, or insulted her outright, but his chilly silences, combined with an excessive civility whenever he had been forced into speaking, had made it abundantly clear that he’d wanted nothing to do with her.
He’d been as cold as a snake—a lizard—a shark!
And she’d loathed him! She’d thought if she ran away he would have some grounds for an annulment or a divorce, anything he’d wanted, because that way she’d never have had to see him again.
She’d never wanted to see him again. If her plans hadn’t been thwarted by a knock on the head, she could have happily lived out the rest of her life without ever seeing him again!
Only he wasn’t cruel now. Another memory rushed in on her, from that morning when she’d woken up in his arms, when she’d felt cosy and happy and content.
Over the past few weeks his coldness had melted away, turning him into a completely different person, the kind of husband she might once have wanted…
A warm nose prodded her shoulder. The mare was nuzzling her, just as she’d probably done the last time they were here.
Florence tilted her head sideways, grateful for the comfort, wishing she could go back to that morning.
If she could only forget everything again and not know the truth about Leo, maybe she could still be happy…
But there was no way back. Her heart felt heavy at the realisation, as if there were some kind of weight attached, dragging it down to the very pit of her stomach.
But at least she knew who she was again.
She was the person she’d thought she was when she’d woken up in confusion almost a month ago, the person she’d hoped she was all along.
And now that she had her answers, she had some accusations to make of her own.