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Authors: Candice Proctor
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jingle of harnesses.
Not quite knowing why she did so, Bryony slipped from her pallet and crossed the room to the casement window that faced the front of the inn. The fire on the hearth had died down, and the room was cold. She slid quickly onto the window seat and drew her bare legs up under her thin shift. Wrapping her arms about her knees for warmth, she peered down at the street below.
It had stopped raining, although low-hanging clouds still obscured the stars and moon. But in the pool of lantern light in front of the inn she could see quite clearly the elegant town carriage drawn by a team of four blood bays that was just pulling up to a stop.
As she watched, a liveried servant jumped forward to open the near door and let down the steps. She heard a murmur of voices. A man's tall figure, enveloped in an elegant evening cape and wearing a chapeau bras set at a rakish angle, appeared in the open door of the carriage.
Ignoring the steps, he jumped down lightly. Behind him, a pretty young woman in evening dress and pearls leaned out the open door to say something to him. He turned back to her and laughed. The light from the lantern fell full on his face, but Bryony had already recognized Hayden St. John.
The young woman laughed, too, and laid a hand on St. John's arm. She was a fair young woman, probably no more than eighteen. She looked flushed and excited, flown on masculine compliments and the headiness of what had probably been one of her first grown-up dinner parties. Bryony tried to remember what it felt like to be so young and innocent and carefree...
And failed utterly.
Looking down at the other woman's shining smile, she suddenly felt old. Old and worn-out and utterly desolate and alone. So very, very alone.
The woman laughed again. Perched above them on her cold window seat, Bryony unconsciously reached out to press her fingertips against the wavy glass of the windowpane, as if by so doing she could reach out and touch the scene below. It was like glimpsing a tableau from another world. A world she'd once moved through and taken for granted, but from which she'd now been banned. Forever.
Then the scene below shifted. Hayden St. John stepped back to allow the footman to put up the steps and close the door. The driver started his horses, and the carriage moved slowly off into the darkness. But long after the last rattle of wheels had been lost among the other night sounds, Bryony sat where she was, on the window seat, her feet drawn up beside her, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her cheek pressed against her knees.
CHAPTER SIX
Bryony stepped out the front door of the Three Jolly Fishermen to find that last night's wind had swept away the clouds. Above her arced a clear sky, a vast blue dome that reflected off the sparkling waters of the most beautiful bay she had ever seen. It was as if they intensified each other, sky and bay, blue on blue, deeper and deeper, until the color was so vivid it almost hurt.
A fresh, golden light drenched everything around her— not just the sky and the far-flung inlets and coves of the bay, but the whitewashed houses and the grass-covered slopes and the seemingly endless forest that stretched to the west. The very air vibrated with a bright, clear light more intense than anything she'd ever experienced.
It was a sight that couldn't help but lift even the most oppressed of spirits. She stopped and gasped in delight. "It's beautiful."
Gideon glanced back at her and laughed. "Aye, that 'tes. You act like you've never seen it before."
Bryony shifted Simon to her hip and followed Gideon down the still-muddy street. "I haven't—at least, not really. It's been raining ever since we sailed through the Heads."
Not that she would have noticed even if it hadn't been raining, she thought. Not with Philip sickening.
They crossed the long street that ran along the top of the ridge. It was wide and lined with fairly impressive stone and brick buildings, but the street itself
Not quite knowing why she did so, Bryony slipped from her pallet and crossed the room to the casement window that faced the front of the inn. The fire on the hearth had died down, and the room was cold. She slid quickly onto the window seat and drew her bare legs up under her thin shift. Wrapping her arms about her knees for warmth, she peered down at the street below.
It had stopped raining, although low-hanging clouds still obscured the stars and moon. But in the pool of lantern light in front of the inn she could see quite clearly the elegant town carriage drawn by a team of four blood bays that was just pulling up to a stop.
As she watched, a liveried servant jumped forward to open the near door and let down the steps. She heard a murmur of voices. A man's tall figure, enveloped in an elegant evening cape and wearing a chapeau bras set at a rakish angle, appeared in the open door of the carriage.
Ignoring the steps, he jumped down lightly. Behind him, a pretty young woman in evening dress and pearls leaned out the open door to say something to him. He turned back to her and laughed. The light from the lantern fell full on his face, but Bryony had already recognized Hayden St. John.
The young woman laughed, too, and laid a hand on St. John's arm. She was a fair young woman, probably no more than eighteen. She looked flushed and excited, flown on masculine compliments and the headiness of what had probably been one of her first grown-up dinner parties. Bryony tried to remember what it felt like to be so young and innocent and carefree...
And failed utterly.
Looking down at the other woman's shining smile, she suddenly felt old. Old and worn-out and utterly desolate and alone. So very, very alone.
The woman laughed again. Perched above them on her cold window seat, Bryony unconsciously reached out to press her fingertips against the wavy glass of the windowpane, as if by so doing she could reach out and touch the scene below. It was like glimpsing a tableau from another world. A world she'd once moved through and taken for granted, but from which she'd now been banned. Forever.
Then the scene below shifted. Hayden St. John stepped back to allow the footman to put up the steps and close the door. The driver started his horses, and the carriage moved slowly off into the darkness. But long after the last rattle of wheels had been lost among the other night sounds, Bryony sat where she was, on the window seat, her feet drawn up beside her, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her cheek pressed against her knees.
CHAPTER SIX
Bryony stepped out the front door of the Three Jolly Fishermen to find that last night's wind had swept away the clouds. Above her arced a clear sky, a vast blue dome that reflected off the sparkling waters of the most beautiful bay she had ever seen. It was as if they intensified each other, sky and bay, blue on blue, deeper and deeper, until the color was so vivid it almost hurt.
A fresh, golden light drenched everything around her— not just the sky and the far-flung inlets and coves of the bay, but the whitewashed houses and the grass-covered slopes and the seemingly endless forest that stretched to the west. The very air vibrated with a bright, clear light more intense than anything she'd ever experienced.
It was a sight that couldn't help but lift even the most oppressed of spirits. She stopped and gasped in delight. "It's beautiful."
Gideon glanced back at her and laughed. "Aye, that 'tes. You act like you've never seen it before."
Bryony shifted Simon to her hip and followed Gideon down the still-muddy street. "I haven't—at least, not really. It's been raining ever since we sailed through the Heads."
Not that she would have noticed even if it hadn't been raining, she thought. Not with Philip sickening.
They crossed the long street that ran along the top of the ridge. It was wide and lined with fairly impressive stone and brick buildings, but the street itself
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