Page 72 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“Leaving to go where?” she stammered.
“I have not a clue! He is headed to Norwich because he feels he’s no good for you and he would not tell me how long he intends to stay away. If you have any regard for him, you will get your feelings in order and stop this, Cecilia.”
Edward knows.
Cecilia looked between her brother and Daphne, but her friend had nothing to offer but a blank stare. Cecilia was not going to try and pretend that nothing was happening between her and Raphael when Edward so clearly knew, but she had no idea why his outrage was so strangely directed at Raphael’s departure.
“You will ask so I will say this now,” Edward declared, numbering his pointswith his fingers. “Yes, I know about the affair. No, I am not happy about the lies, but yes, I will support you if I can. Someone in this God forsaken family deserves to be happy! Now, I’ve just had this conversation with Travers and I refuse to repeat it with you. Will you please—” He gestured at the door.
“Stop, Edward,” Cecilia pleaded. It was too much to take in all at once. “One thing at a time. Tell me what has happened with Mr Travers.”
Reluctantly, her brother stepped into the room. “All right, all right. I suppose I should tell you what I know.”
Chapter 25
The door to Raphael’s cottage was open. From what Cecilia could tell, though she was certainly no locksmith, something had broken the lock. On her guard she entered his home, calling out for him. When no answer came, she stepped inside.
Raphael’s home felt altogether different now. After her talk with Edward and all she had learned about her lover, it was impossible to look at him in the same way. Raphael was the nephew of a baron. He had been used by women of the ton. He had worked his way up from nothing, and now Peter Pincher was threatening to rob him of everything he had accomplished.
Cecilia should have been scandalized, but instead she only felt more love for him. Nothing she had learned changed the way that she felt. If anything, she only admired him more. When she fell in love with Raphael, she did not do so on the condition that he was perfect . . .
She needed to let him know that. She needed to get him back.
When it became clear to her that his cottage was empty, his sleeping room having been all but ransacked, she knew where next she needed to go. By the time she reached the stables, a light drizzle of rain had settled over Berilton. She pulled her riding hat more tightly over her head, having had the foresight to dress for disaster.
The stable boy was kind enough not to question her ride in the rain. He tacked up Nelly and wished her good luck, informing her when she asked that Mr Travers had left in a carriage fifteen minutes ago for Norwich.
Cecilia might not catch up with Raphael in time, but she had to try. She would lose him in town if she did not catch him at the solicitors. Chaperones be damned.
As she rounded the corner onto Norwich Road, the drizzling above her turned into an all out storm. Lightning clapped across the sky, clouds encroaching by the minute and veiling the world in grey. Her riding dress was soaked through in seconds, her saddle slipping from beneath her. She held on to Nelly’s reins with all her might, encouraging her mare to ride harder! To ride faster!
They galloped past Raphael’s cottage, and Cecilia smiled. “I am coming, Raphael!” she shouted into the rain. “I am coming, just wait for me!”
Thunder bellowed in the distance as the road grew unfamiliar. Cecilia had been driven between Norwich and Berilton more times than she could count, but navigating the road in the rain, on horseback, was a different beast.
She recognized the walnut tree in front of Hether Farm, from which Antony and Edward had once stolen its yield. Then came the turning that led either to Norwich or to Wymondham, where her mother took tea with the Marchioness of Townsend on occasion.
These landmarks made up the patchwork of her home along with so many others, a thing twenty years in the making. She would not be ousted from it, not by Radcliff, not by her father.
Cecilia almost thought she imagined it, a spot of shadow at the end of the road. She blinked the rain out of her lashes and discerned a coach. Ithadto be Raphael. She would not allow it to be anyone else.
Spurring the horse on, she worked to close the distance between them. The rain was a blessing and a curse; the road was clear, the coach was driving slowly, and Cecilia could hardly see a thing.
Riding on the wind, she came so close to the carriage that she could touch it. The family crest was painted on its door. In an act of folly, she leaned over to tap the roof. The carriage began to slow, and she sidled up beside the driver, pleading with him to stop.
The thoroughbreds trotted to a halt, and Cecilia breathed a sigh of relief. She rode a little further on, stopping in front of the carriage to thwart any attempt at a getaway.
The passenger door swung open. Raphael stepped out.
“Cecilia?” he cried frantically, but she swore there was pride in his voice. He shielded his eyes from the rain. “Cecilia, is that you?”
Slipping off Nelly, Cecilia almost fell to the ground, her legs like jelly beneath her. Raphael met her halfway, looping an arm under her shoulder to keep her steady. Lightning flashed above them, and Cecilia crumpled into his arms.
“I rode,” she panted, “as fast as I could. I—” Shereallycould not catch her breath. “This feels like dying, but it is you.” She gazed up into his face. A sob ripped through her as she saw the bruises that bloomed along his jaw.
Sinking against his chest, she grabbed hold of the lapels of his coat. Raphael suggested the driver seek shelter in the carriage’s box, and from the sounds of a door opening and closing, he had agreed.
“That should give us a modicum of privacy,” Raphael said. He grabbed her face and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Why did you do this, Cecilia?”
