Engraved (A Private Collection), page 12
I love you, Adam Blackwood.
A pair of startled black eyes came back to her. “When did you…”
“When you left it behind at my cottage. I took it into Middleton later that day.”
If she wasn’t very much mistaken, his eyes were rather damp about the edges. She didn’t mention it, for men didn’t like to be seen crying.
“I thought one day you would read that and remember me, wherever you went, whatever happened.”
“I never looked,” he admitted, sounding bewildered. “I only ever looked at the time.”
“Yes I know,” she replied dryly. “Perhaps in the future, you won’t look at that quite so often.”
He smiled slowly, relief lightening his face.
“Because we have all the time in the world,” she added, lifting up to plant a kiss on his lips.
“Now, Mrs. Phillips,” he drew her onward across the lawn, “there is a certain horse running tomorrow in the two o’clock at Newmarket. I wonder what you think of his chances?”
“Better than yours of disengaging from Miss Matilda Hawkesworth unscathed.”
He winked. “She’ll be out of here within the hour, high-tailing it to the Carbury Hotel and by morning back to London.”
“Really? And just how will you achieve that, my darling?” she remarked drolly.
“I’ll just tell her I’ve been consorting with witches, won’t I, my sweetling?”
He had a habit of leaving her wondering how much he knew, how much he saw when he looked into her eyes and held siege to her heart. How much he believed in fairy tales.
After all, there was many a true word spoken in jest.
The End
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Fresina, Jayne, Engraved (A Private Collection)
