Chapter 23
Cecily lurched forward as the coach jolted and came to a sudden halt, the force throwing her against the edge of the seat.
With nine passengers crowded inside the mail coach, knees and elbows bumped sharply as everyone shifted at once, startled by the abrupt stop.
Her hand shot out to steady herself against the wooden frame, fingers tightening around the worn edge as the coach rocked back into stillness.
The guard muttered under his breath, irritation threading through the words as he braced himself.
He shifted his weight on the narrow rear step, boots scraping against the metal rail, adjusting his stance as if preparing for trouble.
The leather of his coat creaked as he leaned forward, trying to see past the dust rising around the wheels.
The driver leaned out of his seat, irritation already rising in his voice.
He twisted around sharply, reins pulled tight in his hands as the horses tossed their heads in confusion.
His hat slipped back on his brow as he craned his neck to look down the road, breath coming out in a short, annoyed huff while he tried to make sense of what had forced them to a halt.
“What now?” he said, looking down the road.
Cecily’s heart pounded. Something had stopped them, and it was close. She turned toward Rosamund, her voice low but tight. “Are you all right?”
Rosamund steadied herself against the seat. “Yes, just startled.”
Around them, the other passengers shifted and murmured.
One woman pressed a hand to her chest, muttering that the driver ought to watch where he was going.
A man near the door leaned forward, craning his neck to see outside.
Another passenger grumbled about delays and missed connections.
The cramped interior filled with restless movement and uneasy voices.
Before Cecily could ask anything else, the door swung open.
The earl stood there, breathless, his hair wind-tossed, and his clothes streaked with dust. He looked as if he had ridden through the entire county.
Cecily froze. “My Lord.”
“I need to speak with you,” he said. His voice was steady, but she could see the strain in his face.
The driver frowned. “Sir, this is a mail coach. We do not stop for private business.”
A low ripple of murmurs moved through the passengers inside.
Cecily heard someone near the back whisper, “That’s the earl, the one who had the mine accident.
It must be about that.” Another voice hushed them quickly, but the recognition spread in a quiet wave, the cramped interior shifting with uneasy glances.
Cecily’s breath caught. Rosamund leaned closer, whispering, “Why would he be here?”
Before Cecily could answer, the earl reached into his coat, pulled out several coins, and placed them firmly in the driver’s hand. “You do now. A few minutes.”
The driver looked at the money, weighing the argument he wanted to make against the weight of the coins in his palm. He let out a long, resigned sigh and slipped them into his pocket. “Five minutes. No more.”
The murmurs rose again, but no one dared speak above a whisper.
Rosamund pushed past Cecily and stepped down from the coach. Cecily followed close behind her, gathering her skirts as her feet found the ground.
Rosamund was already moving forward, her posture straight and her steps quick and certain. “You have some nerve coming here,” she said. “After what you did to our family.”
Cecily stayed a few paces behind her sister, her breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. Rosamund did not slow. She walked straight toward him, her chin lifted, her stride firm.
He took a slow step back, then another, as if giving her room, but Rosamund did not stop. She reached him, lifted her hands, and struck him lightly on the chest.
He did not move away. He let her do it.
“Rosamund!” Cecily said. “Stop!”
“No,” Rosamund said. “He deserves worse.”
“She is right,” he said. “I do.”
The sound of hooves approached at a fast, uneven rhythm, growing louder as the dust on the road shifted. The horse came into view at the edge of the halted coach, its breath coming hard and its flanks damp from the ride. Weatherby was carefully perched on the animal.
He dismounted quickly, boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene before him.
“My Lord, this is highly irregular.”
The earl did not answer him. He slowly and deliberately approached Cecily, stopping close enough that the near-impropriety was clear to everyone watching.
Cecily’s breath caught as she looked around. The coach had halted just beyond a small village, where the road narrowed, and people still lingered from the morning market. A few villagers were heading toward the square, and others were guiding carts along the lane.
When the earl stepped into view, people on the road slowed. Some stopped and stared, surprised to see a rider appear so suddenly and force a mail coach to a halt. But the earl did not seem to notice. His only focus was Cecily.
“There is so much I want to tell you,” he said. “But the most important thing you need to know is this: I cannot make up for what my family did to yours. I know that. But I am willing to spend my life trying, no matter how futile that is.”
Rosamund’s mouth dropped open in surprise as Cecily stood still, unable to move or speak.
His lordship kept his eyes on Cecily. “I am sorry for what my father did. I am sorry for what I did. I am sorry I hurt you.”
He did not mention the kiss in front of so many onlookers, but there was no need. Cecily felt the meaning in every word.
“I am asking for a chance to make this right,” he said quietly. “If you will allow it.”
Cecily’s heart pounded as she looked at him standing before her in the middle of the road, his coat dusty, his hair still disordered from the ride.
The Earl of Ravenshollow was a man who held himself apart from others, always controlled, and always distant.
Seeing him face her openly, without a trace of reserve, unsettled her.
He should not be doing this. Not here. Not like this. Not for me.
Yet he stayed there, waiting for her answer, his posture steady, his attention fixed on her alone.
Cecily stepped forward before she had fully decided to move. She reached him and touched his arm.
“Let us step aside and speak somewhere private.”
He took a deep breath before speaking. “There is a teahouse just across the square. We can speak there. It will be quieter.”
Cecily looked toward Rosamund, who gave a small, tense nod. Cecily turned back to him.
“All right,” she said. “We can talk.”
The earl gave a small, relieved smile.
The coach driver coughed behind Cecily, a pointed reminder that the road and the passengers were still waiting.
Cecily turned slightly toward him. “We cannot keep the rest of the passengers waiting.”
The earl nodded. “My private coach is coming. It will take you wherever you wish to go after we talk.”
Cecily agreed, and Weatherby stepped forward.
“I will help retrieve your bags,” he said, clearly happy to be of use.
The guard climbed down from the rear step, and the driver shifted aside to make room.
Together, they helped Weatherby lift the sisters’ belongings from the coach.
Rosamund took her bag first, and Cecily accepted hers a moment later.
The earl thanked the men, and the driver, now aware of who he was, gave a respectful nod. “My Lord.”
The mail coach pulled away, the wheels kicking up dust as it gathered speed. Several passengers leaned toward the windows, their faces bright with amusement at the spectacle they had witnessed.
With the coach gone, the square opened before them. The earl gestured toward the teahouse across the way. Weatherby led the horses toward a post near the inn, tying them securely before returning to carry the sisters’ bags.
Together, they all began to move toward the teahouse.
The room was warm and quiet, the noise of the street fading once the door closed behind them. The earl chose a small table near the window, and Cecily sat across from him, both of them too stiff and too aware of the silence that settled between them.
A server noticed them almost at once. Teahouses rarely left guests unattended, and she approached with a polite courtesy.
“Good afternoon. Shall I bring a pot of tea?”
Cecily nodded, grateful for something simple and familiar. The server smiled and stepped away to prepare it, the soft clink of pottery and the rustle of loose leaves carrying faintly across the room.
At the next table, Rosamund and Weatherby took their seats.
They were meant to be chaperoning, and although they tried to appear composed, they could not quite hide their curiosity.
Rosamund leaned in to whisper something.
Weatherby tried to hide a smile, and Rosamund pressed her fingers lightly to her lips to keep from laughing aloud.
Cecily gave her sister a mild look, more a reminder to behave than anything else. Rosamund widened her eyes in a way that said she understood, then settled herself a little straighter. Weatherby did the same, though a trace of amusement lingered between them, gentle and harmless.
The server returned with a tray. She set down a pot of tea, two cups, and a small dish of sugar. “If you need anything else, please call,” she said before stepping away again.
The room quieted once more. Cecily faced the earl again, the weight of their unspoken words settling between them as the steam from the fresh tea curled softly in the air.
She lifted her cup, set it down again, then folded her hands.
His lordship finally spoke. “I am not certain how to begin.”
Cecily nodded once. “Neither am I.”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment and then opened them again and met the earl’s gaze. He looked just as unsure as she felt, and somehow that reassured her.