Page 21 of Atone, Adonis

And then, without another word, he turned and strode out the door. The cold air rushed in behind him and all Julianna could do was stand there, alone with the ghost of her mother and the damned sick nurse, the sound of her brother’s labored breathing above her head.

Fred had not intended to return to Farrow Cottage that evening. He’d taken out his favorite horse, a truly beautiful Irish Hunter, on the idea that a ride—no matter how blasted cold it was—would ease his mind.

He had no reason to return to the cottage. The matter between himself and Thomas had been settled, the diagnosis from the physician procured, and the nurse installed. Every arrangement was already in motion. And yet, here he was, Farrow Cottage already in sight.

He tried to stop himself, but not very hard. Because the nurse may not have settled in as she should and he ought to check. And because, despite her excellent references, she might just be a charlatan. Or Thomas could have certainly taken a turn for the worse in the last few hours since he’d been here. There were plenty of reasons that it was his duty to visit, weren’t there?

Or so he’d managed to convince himself by the time he’d dismounted and tied his horse to the gate. Ahead of him the cottage windows glowed faintly with lamplight and smoke curled from the chimney. Someone was awake. He hoped more than was appropriate it was Julianna and not Thomas nor the nurse.

At the last moment though, as he stood with his gloved hands resting on the gate rail, he came to his senses. What in Christ’s name was he up to, creeping around Farrow Cottage at night? It might have been the setting of his best childhood memories but that did not mean he was welcome there now. The way Julianna had only barely withstood his company this afternoon should have been enough to teach him that.

He turned around. He re-mounted his horse. But he didn’t leave, even though he should. The Irish Hunter danced for a bit, eager to be gone if they were leaving or to continue nudging the frozen ground for any sort of available grass if they were not. He leaned forward and stroked the side of her neck to calm her.

“Go away,” Julianna called from the door he hadn’t seen her open. “Or come inside if you must. But please do not continue to sit outside my home and skulk.”

Fred felt an entirely unacceptable heat creeping into his cheeks. He considered if there was still time to wheel his horse around and pretend he’d never been here at all.

He knew there wasn’t. Especially not after she stuck her head out of the cottage door and called, “Well? What will it be?”

There was nothing to do then but dismount again and follow the warm scent of butter and woodsmoke inside. There was something else too, some earthy and delicious smell he could not immediately place. To his utter embarrassment, his stomach rumbled.

“Does the coaching inn not feed you?” Julianna asked.

“I’m at the Manor now. The London staff arrived today.”

“And they did not feed you?”

He frowned at that. “Never enough.”

“Well, it’s fungi for dinner here. I’m certain it will be below your standards but you’re welcome to it if you’d like. The nurse and Thomas are already abed and I’ve lost my appetite.”

Fred removed his gloves and his greatcoat and sat at the wooden table in the little kitchen. The firelight highlighted the planes of Julianna’s face when she turned to ladle something into a bowl and set it down in front of him.

She looked even more tired than the last time he saw her, the shadows beneath her eyes deepening to the color of bruises. He accepted the dish and asked, “Jules, are you alright?”

“No. I’m not. Why are you here, Fred?”

He stirred the contents of his bowl…were those truly the mushrooms they had gathered? They looked a great deal like clods of dirt surrounded by cream. “I came to see if Mrs. Sykes was to your liking.”

“None of this is to my liking. Which you know well enough.”

“I’m sorry, Jules. I really am.”

She turned away from him and faced the fire. “I don’t care that you’re sorry or that you’ve changed or that you’re re-paying a debt.” Her voice was quiet but he knew she meant every word. “I’ll do this for Thomas but I will not like it.”

“I haven’t,” he said.

“You haven’t what?”

Changed. He hadn’t changed at all. He was still a coward with a guilty conscience who ran instead of confronting the truth. Running and hiding was what he did best. Hell, he’d almost just done it again. He probably would have had she not caught him lurking.

Fred took a bite, finally. It seemed easier than saying anything more. And he was shocked to find that the mushrooms were good. Earthy and warm and far better than anything he had eaten at the inn or prepared for his own dinner at the Manor.

His face must have shown as much because she said, “I told you they were good.”

Silence settled over the kitchen then, except for the fire snapping in the hearth. And the sound of him eating every last piece of mushroom and slurping the cream sauce from his spoon.

“When did you last sleep?” he finally asked when he’d nearly licked the bowl clean.