The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe by Sabrina Darby Page A

syllable to make certain John understood. But enunciation wouldn’t make him understand. The meaning of the words was incomprehensible. Inconceivable.
    Why?
    And so abruptly, without a word?
    â€œThank you, Mr. Garrett,” he said perfunctorily before leaving. Before making the other mile-long walk that was 45 degrees radially from the path to the castle. The walk to the manor and to the stables.
    He could catch up to a farmer’s cart easily.
    A s he crossed the curved cobblestone drive of the manor house, the front door opened and his mother stepped out, waving to him. As if she’d expected him, had been waiting by the windows for him to show up.
    â€œGeorgie! What a delightful surprise!”
    â€œJohn, mother. Please,” he said reflexively, even as he passed her. He could hear her scurrying to catch up with him. Frustrated, he slowed his pace.
    â€œYou were named George for a reason, dear, like your father.”
    â€œActually, you named me Hubert, but neither of us prefers that moniker.”
    â€œWell, that was simply to appease your grandfather. What a wretched man. He always refused to be happy for your father and me. In any event, I am so happy you are here and I don’t have to hunt you down at that dreary pile of stones. I am having a dinner tomorrow night and I would like you to attend.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGeorgie!” He could hear that tone in her voice. The one that signaled impending tears. His younger sisters had always been able to ignore it, but he never could. “I rarely ask anything of you!”
    He threw open the door to the stables, into the scent of animal and fresh hay. The stable boy jumped out from the stall he’d been mucking. The groom, Charlie, was nowhere in sight.
    â€œSaddle Hal.” The bay was the fastest in the stable. And at the moment, he valued speed over stamina.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    Finally he turned to his mother. She looked the same as she always did, a pale patterned cap over her curls, a style she had worn for the last decade.
    â€œFor a ride.” To stop the desperation that had circled around him ever since Garrett had said Angelina was gone.
    â€œForgive me, John ,” his mother said with an arch edge that startled him, “but you haven’t been on that horse in three months. Today, that woman leaves Auldale and you suddenly want to take a ride . . .”
    â€œDoes everyone know?”
    She laughed. Then cut the sound short.
    â€œYou didn’t know she was leaving?”
    He was not having this discussion with his mother. He glanced to the stable boy, who was taking an excruciatingly long time to do a simple task. One that John should have done for himself. He pivoted on his heel, strode toward Hal, who was standing patiently as the boy took his own sweet time about saddling the horse.
    â€œIf she didn’t tell you she was leaving, don’t you think she had her reasons?”
    Yes, he damn well hoped Angelina had excellent reasons. He wanted to know them. Needed to.
    Stroking the horse’s head, he gestured to the boy to step aside.
    â€œJohn!”
    The bay lifted its head toward the noise. John moved to the stirrups and adjusted their length. Why wouldn’t his mother go away?
    â€œYou cannot go after her.”
    â€œI can.”
    â€œAnd do what? Bring her back to stay? Forever?” He rubbed his thumb down the raw edge of the leather straps. “It’s one thing to have an affair, dear, but to flaunt it in front of everyone in Auldale?”
    Stay. That morning, forgetting all the restrictions of society, he had asked Angelina to stay.
    He dropped his hand to his side. There was no point in his going anywhere.
    This was her answer.

 
    C HAPTER F OURTEEN
    L ondon had changed. Somehow in the handful of weeks that she had been away, the city had shrunk, become more crowded, more stifling.
    As if there were no place for her any longer.
    Not at the