torn-and turned inside out. Taking the basket from Mrs. Broom and summoning a weak smile for her from somewhere, he passed the basket straight to a groom and looked back at Catriona.
Only to see her smile evenly. 'Good-bye.'
For one instant, he hovered on the brink-of refusing to accept her dismissal, of hauling her into his arms and refusing to let her go, of telling her straitly how things would henceforth be between them-
Her steady smile, her steady eyes-and the black cloud of inevitability-stopped him.
Faultlessly correct, he inclined his head, then turned and strolled nonchalantly down the steps.
Catriona watched him go and felt her heart go with him. Knew to the depths of her soul that she would never be the same-be as strong-without him. He paused to speak to his coachman, then entered the carriage without a backward glance. He sat back and Worboys shut the door; the carriage lurched into motion and headed, gathering speed as it went, down the drive and into the park.
Raising a hand in farewell, one he couldn't see, Catriona murmured a benediction. She watched, silent and still at the top of the steps, ignoring the people trooping past her, until the carriage disappeared into the trees.
Then she went inside, but didn't join her household at breakfast. Instead, she climbed to her turret room, opened the window wide-and watched the carriage carrying her husband from her, until it had passed from the vale.
Chapter 14
'Oh, no!' Catriona focused on the curtains shielding her window through which she could see light seeping, and groaned. It was morning-
Falling back on her pillows, she stared at the canopy; she had meant to go to the circle this morning, to atone for yesterday's absence, but it was too late now. Drawing in a tight breath, she glanced at the bed beside her. It was a disaster of tangled sheets and rumpled covers-just as it had been the morning before. The cause, however, was quite different.
She hadn't been able to sleep; only as night was fading had she fallen into a restless doze. Which hadn't refreshed her in the least, hadn't prepared her for the day ahead.
Yesterday had dragged; nothing had gone right. She was still as far from finding good breeding cattle as she had been two weeks ago. Two months ago, and more. She needed to find some reasonable stock soon, or miss the chance of improving the herd through the coming season's breeding-an opportunity the vale could ill afford to miss.
But that wasn't what had kept her awake.
The empty space beside her had done that.
Forced her into a neverending round of thinking if, perhaps, she'd done something different, he might still be here, a warm weight beside her-the comfort of her heart. Senseless, useless repetition of their words, her thoughts, her conclusions.
It changed nothing-he was gone.
She sighed, then grimaced, recalling the transparent joy that had transformed Algaria. Ever since Richard had appeared on their horizon, Algaria had been worried, then withdrawn. His departure had more than pleased her-yesterday, she'd been reborn. Yet Catriona was sure he had done nothing to deserve Algaria's censure, or even to rattle her, or confirm her in her views. Other than to be himself.
That, apparently, was enough. Hardly a rational response. Algaria's attitude to Richard now worried her even more than it had. Perhaps there was some deeper purpose behind his leaving, one only The Lady could know.
The possibility didn't make his absence any easier to bear.
The emptiness around her weighed heavily on her heart, making breathing difficult. Dragging in some air, she sat up-and wished she hadn't. For one long instant the room spun, then slowly settled.
Forcing herself to breathe evenly, to concentrate on that, she waited, absolutely still, for the queasiness to pass. She had, it seemed, more misery in store for her than a simple broken heart. When the room had steadied and the hot flush had died, she slowly, carefully stood.
'Wonderful,' she muttered, as she crossed to the wash-stand. 'Morning sickness as well.'
But she was still the lady of the vale-she had a role to fill, decisions to make, orders to give. She dressed with as much speed as she could muster, then, detouring via the stillroom for some soothing herbs, headed for the dining hall.
Herbal tea and plain toast was the most she could manage-the aromas rising from the plates of others nearly made her gag. She nibbled and sipped, grateful for the warmth of the tea, and tried to ignore, blot out, the smells and sounds around her.
Algaria, of course, noticed. 'You're pale,' she said, beaming brightly.
'I'm
'It's only to be expected.'
Catriona turned and met Algaria's black gaze, then realized Algaria was referring, solely, to the consequences of her pregnancy. Algaria wouldn't accept-or even recognize-that Richard's departure was her principal woe. Looking back at her cup, Catriona gritted her teeth. 'Don't tell anyone-not until I make the announcement.'
'Good heavens-why?' Algaria gestured about them. 'It's important news for the vale and the manor- everyone will be delighted.'
'Everyone will be
Algaria raised a shoulder. 'As you wish. Now, about those decoctions…
She hadn't thought it possible to miss him more than she had last night-but she was wrong.
By the end of the day, as the light faded from the world, Catriona huddled at her desk, fretfully tugging two shawls about her shoulders.
She was cold to her bones-a cold that came from inside and spread insidiously through her. It was the cold of loneliness, a bone-deep chill. Throughout the day, she'd been rubbing her arms; at lunchtime she'd fetched the extra shawl. Nothing helped.
Worse, she was finding it hard to concentrate, finding it hard to keep her usual serene mask-the face she habitually wore in public as the lady of the vale-in place. Summoning the brightness to put into her smile when she greeted McArdle and the others was very nearly beyond her. Energy was something she no longer had, not in any quantity.
And she needed energy to make her lips curve, to disguise the deadness inside, but supporting her usual sunny disposition was more than she could do. Unfortunately, being the lady of the vale, she couldn't even invent a fictitious malady to account for her state-she was never ill, not in the general way.
Pushing aside the ledgers she'd been studying-the breeding records for the past three years-she sighed. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes. How was she going to cope?
She lay in the chair in the darkened room and opened her senses. But no help came-no suggestion of how she might manage popped into her tired mind.
When she finally opened her eyes and sat up, the one thing she did feel sure of was that the situation was going to get worse.
Dragging herself to her feet, feeling as if the child she carried was seven months older than it was, she straightened, stacked the ledgers neatly, then, setting her shoulders back, lifting her head high, she headed for the door.
While washing and changing for dinner, she grasped the opportunity to lie down-just for a minute.
One minute turned into thirty; by the time she reached the table, it was late. Out of breath, wanting nothing
