“Sebastian will notice,” Elias said. His excuse seemed ridiculous, for the party charged ahead without regard for his and Josephine’s delay.
“Not for a while,” she pleaded, her nose reddening.
The desperation in her voice gutted Elias, for he’d felt similar emotions the day Lord Welby sent him to Eton. It was a desperation that confirmed his life didn’t belong to him. He was trapped between expectations, responsibilities, and his own need for acceptance. That same desperation had caused him to break down in the upstairs hallway before the engagement dinner. It compelled him to hide behind closed doors to avoid Josephine. Indeed, he understood her pain, so he couldn’t say no regardless of what yes might cost them.
“Okay. What do you have in mind?”
Josephine tapped her heels against the horse’s belly and bolted toward a ridge shaped like a citadel. She rode hard and fast, her green tartan waving like a flag.
Elias joined the race. He grinned as they bolted across the moor, through wavy hair grass and crowberry clusters. He wanted to remember the moment until his dying breath, how golden plovers fluttered out of shrubs, the way hills rolled across the landscape like waves casted in clay. If possible, he would’ve made camp in the memory and dwelled there forever, with Josephine riding beside him. She was soaring, and his heart was falling. Being alone with her was dangerous, but anything else seemed impossible.
The horses snorted and huffed as they climbed a hill. Daylight had melted the frost, making the ground soft, a torment for hooves.
Josephine dismounted once they reached the pinnacle. She folded her mother’s shawl and placed it on a rock, then marched to the slope’s edge. “I need to roll down this hill,” she said with a nod. “It’ll make me feel better.”
“Are you mad?” Elias slid from his saddle. He couldn’t let her tumble down a steep drop. Sebastian would blame him if she got hurt, and what would people say if she returned to the estate with muddy clothes and a man who wasn’t her betrothed?
“Come on, Elias,” Josephine said as he crawled over boulders to reach her.
“No, no, you’ll break your neck—”
“I won’t break my neck.”
“Or I’ll break my neck, and you’ll feel terrible.”
She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the brink. “Look. It’s not that steep.”
Fifty yards below, the hillside eased into a crevice lined with gorse. No doubt the descent would hurt, but it appeared moderate, not the deathtrap Elias had first imagined.
“But I have terrible luck.” He looped his arms around Josephine’s waist and tugged her away from the edge. Their closeness violated several rules of conduct, but they were young.
They were friends.
“You need to roll down this hill too.” Josephine smiled and ruffled his hair, combing the dark curls over his eyes. “When the world seems dark, we must look for a bright spot, to be bright. We choose our joys.” She gazed at him for a moment, and her message became clear. The hillside was her happiness. It was freedom.
Elias nodded, a sigh rasping in the back of his throat.
“You’re going to roll down this hill with me, Elias Welby. And if we die, then . . . at least we died laughing.” Josephine nudged him with her elbow. “Are you with me?”
“I’m with you,” Elias breathed. He wanted her fingers tangled in his curls and his arms wrapped around her waist. Always. He wanted her. In this moment. Always.
He wiggled out of his jacket and tossed it aside. The cold air burned his skin, cutting through his waistcoat and shirt. Of course, Mrs. Capers would call him a fool once she heard about his actions. He might even agree with her, but for Josephine, he’d catch pneumonia, lose a toe to frostbite, or roll down a mountain. His feelings didn’t make sense. They were a mystery.
And the more he felt, the less he could explain.
Josephine put his overcoat with her shawl, then crouched on the hilltop. She gazed at the landing below, her face glowing with new colour. Did she fight her emotions like Elias battled his? Oh, how he ached to scoop her into his arms and tell her brokenness wasn’t a crime. Sometimes that was all a person needed—permission to fall apart and a safe place to rebuild.
“On the count of three,” Elias said with a huff.
“Three!” Josephine flung herself down the slope. She tumbled sideways, rolling like a spool of thread, her squeal echoing across the heathland.
“Wait, Josie . . .” Elias crossed his arms and dove headfirst, which seemed a poor decision as the world spun around him. He bounced down the incline, whirling with sensations—dirt in his eyes, bile stinging his throat, and a dizziness so violent, he saw stars.
The hill would flatten soon. He needed only to last a few more seconds. But the pain grew stronger, the knocks and blows more extreme. He cried out and gasped for air. He choked on a mouthful of sod. If this was a fistfight with the mountain, the mountain was surely winning.
Elias went limp. A fuzzy blackness filled his eyelids like ink, and when it subsided, he found himself sprawled at the hill’s base, surrounded by gorse and heather. He groaned, an intense ache pulsing through his body. The fall had bruised him from head to toe. He likely wouldn’t be able to get out of bed the next day, which wasn’t the worst fate. Mrs. Capers would insist on a remedy of white soup, warm blankets, and plenty of rest.
“Josephine?” Elias sat up with a start. He spotted her an arm’s length away, her clothes painted with mud and trampled grass. “Are you all right?”
She clutched her stomach and laughed, tears streaming her cheeks. “No, but I can’t stop smiling. I can’t unfreeze this horrible grin. I want to show just how not all right I am, but my body is too broken . . . or perhaps it’s
