Cumberland, England, December 1803—twelve-years ago
Bracing herself against the frigid winter air, Mary sorrowfully strode down the snow-covered cobblestone street in the town of Carlisle.
Pulling her cape closer together to ward off the cold and adjusting the heavy basket on her arm, Mary huffed a sad, misty breath, the air curling and evaporating before her eyes. She strode through town, the morning sun hiding behind grey clouds, as she purchased items that her father had put on his list. She had already paid a visit to the local produce vendor, and she was on her way to buy meat and milk, when a sight halted her in her tracks.
Her pulse sped as she watched Gabe from across the snow-dusted street. He was with his mother outside the confectionary speaking to Mrs. Smithe and her three daughters.
Mary had not spoken to Gabriel since his father’s funeral, though even that had been brief, as his uncle, Lord Winning, deemed it below his nephew to associate with a poor crofter’s daughter.
Captain Ashley had been laid to rest in the family’s cemetery a sennight ago, having passed away while at sea. Poor Gabriel had not seen his father for several months before the Captain had died.
In the eight years that Mary had known Gabriel, she had only met the Captain once, but he seemed an affable sort of man, certainly one who loved his wife and son very much. And for that, Mary had adored him.
But while the Captain’s passing was indeed sad, it was not what affected Mary’s mood so drastically. It was Gabe. She was unsure what had caused it—perhaps it was his time spent at school or his changing maturity—but whatever the cause, he had become distant with her. No longer did she spend hours in the kitchens of his uncle’s estate watching Gabe cook, and gone were the days engaged in playful banter, cloud-watching, alfresco luncheons, and rousing tricks on unsuspecting neighbours.
It hurt a great deal more than she could ever have imagined. She very much feared that she was losing her best friend, the boy with whom she’d shared her first—and only—kiss, and the boy that held her heart.
Mary had tried to retain Gabe’s interest, but while he had behaved normally with her, she had gotten the distinct impression that he was bored with her company.
Her eyes sharpened on Gabe as he stood in close conversation with the two handsome young women.
The Misses Smithe were closer in age to Gabriel than Mary was; he at nineteen and they at eighteen, seventeen, and fifteen. Not only were they more mature and distinguished than Mary, but they were a great deal prettier, as well.
Mary was only fourteen, and with her auburn hair, freckled cheeks, and still-childish figure, she worried that other girls would garner Gabe’s attention before she could repair their friendship.
Gabriel laughed at something one of the girls said and Mary frowned, jealousy burning hotly in her gut. The need to know what they were saying warred with prudence in her heart.
He laughed again.
Damn prudence, anyway.
Making her way stealthily across the cobblestoned street, she carefully avoiding a carriage that rattled by. She hid herself between two buildings, keeping herself deep in the shadows.
Their voices carried to her from their position in front of the confectionary a few paces away.
The Misses Smithe were not only beautiful, but they were handsomely attired as well. All had pale blue walking dresses that poked out beneath navy cloaks over sturdy boots. Their blonde ringlets framed their rosy-cheeked faces and were topped with wide-rimmed periwinkle bonnets that brought out the colour of their eyes. One might think they were triplets if they did not know them.
Mary looked down at her own attire and felt another surge of envy. She wore her mother’s old brown day dress and black cloak, hemmed to fit Mary’s height, and her bonnet was simple straw, personally embellished with sprigs of holly.
“So, it is true, then?” The eldest Smithe daughter was saying. “You are moving to Scotland to be with Mrs. Ashley’s family?”
A hoarse shout caught in Mary’s throat, unable to be released. No!
“I am afraid it is,” he replied, his voice low and rumbling and entirely devoid of his Scottish accent.
Tears welled in Mary’s eyes. Gabe was leaving? It couldn’t be! It just couldn’t! Why had he not told her? Mary bit her lips together to keep a soul-deep sob from escaping. What was she going to do without Gabe?
“We have spent the past fortnight preparing for our departure,” he was saying.
Mary’s heart thudded sickeningly in her chest, her stomach knotting uncomfortably. He knew? Gabe had known for a fortnight that he was leaving and yet he hadn’t told her?
“Do tell us, Mr. Ashley, who will you miss the most?” The middle Miss Smithe batted her long blonde eyelashes over her crystal blue eyes.
Mary hated her immediately.
She hated Gabe’s overconfident, proud smile even more. “I cannot claim to miss one of you fine ladies more than the other; you will all be dearly missed in my heart.” He placed one of his broad, gloved hands over his chest. “I do not know how I shall go on without you.”
Mary forced herself to roll her eyes with a nonchalance that she most certainly did not feel. Oh please. What drivel! Hurtful drivel.
The Misses Smithe tittered behind their hands, the youngest sporting a pretty blush. Mary never looked pretty when she blushed; she just turned blotchy.
“What of that skinny, freckled, ginger crofter’s daughter you always seem to hang around with? Will you miss us more than her?” The oldest Miss Smithe said, her reddened nose wrinkling.
Mary closed her eyes at the insult. She was not a ginger. Her hair was more brown than red, for pity’s sake! And certainly not orange. And as Papa said, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it if it were red.
She waited expectantly for Gabe’s response. He would leap to her defence, she was certain. They had been best friends for eight years, after all.
“Most assuredly, Miss Smithe,” he said.
Mary’s mouth dropped open, her breath fogging the air in front of her, then dissipating, just like her hope. He could not have said what she just thought she heard.
“Miss Wright was pleasing enough to run about a meadow with when I was a young lad, but she is not at all refined like you fine ladies; far too interested in the theatre,” he said with a modicum of distaste. “Alas, she is still but a child in leading strings with a head full of fancies.”
He could not mean it! She peeked her head around the corner of the building to assure herself of his jest…but one look at his face and she knew he was in earnest. Foolish hope.
One trembling, gloved hand rose to cover Mary’s chest, just above the heart that now lay shrivelled beneath. He had slain her. Broken her heart just as easily as performing his morning ablutions. As though it were just another part of a rather ordinary day.
Mary pressed her back against the cold brick of the confectionary building, one arm still hooked through the basket of food for her papa. How could Gabriel say such an awful thing? Did he truly believe what he said about her? Oh lord! Did he always talk about her thusly when she was not around to defend herself?
Embarrassment mingled with the pain in her chest. Did everyone believe her to be a lost puppy following the older fellow around?
Suddenly the ache in her chest was too much. Turning on her heel, she hurried through the narrow alley and out onto the next street. The moment she was free of the confining alley, she picked up her skirts with her free hand and ran, ignoring the biting cold air that rushed painfully into her lungs and the heavy weight of her basket on one arm.
What did she need with Gabriel Ashley, anyway? His uncle, his school, and the pressure of society were all telling him that he was too far above her station to give any further notice to her. He would grow to be a gentleman, and she would always be the daughter of a poor crofter on his uncle’s land.
“Bah!” she shouted, her voice carrying on the icy wind behind her.
A sob escaped her as she ran, and fresh tears wavered before her eyes. Damn Gabriel Ashley! He was moving to Scotland and she would never see him again, so what did it matter what he thought?
But it does matter!
She loved him, and he had broken her heart! The scoundrel! The cad! The rogue! He had not even told her that he was going to move away! Damn Gabriel Ashley! Damn him, damn him, damn him!