She left the room and walked out through the kitchens. The servants stared at her, wide-eyed and silent. News traveled faster than water on a sloped roof. They knew what she had done.
Norah walked out the back door onto the gravel path that led away from the estate and toward the village. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she was never going back.
She had made it perhaps a quarter of a mile down the shaded oak-lined avenue when she heard the sound of approaching hooves. She didn't stop. She moved to the side of the road to let the rider pass. The horse slowed, the crunch of gravel loud in the quiet late afternoon. A large black gelding stepped into her peripheral vision and stopped.
Norah stopped. She looked up. Henry, the Duke of Rothford, sat in the saddle. He had rebuttoned his coat. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled the oak leaves above them.
"You are leaving," Henry said finally. It wasn't a question.
"I am fired, Your Grace," Norah replied. Her voice was steady, though her hands, hidden in the folds of her dress, were shaking slightly from the lingering cold. "It saves time to depart before the carriage is called to throw me out."
Henry dismounted. He moved with a fluid, heavy grace. He tied the reins to a low branch and turned to face her. In the dappled sunlight, she could see the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes.
"She pushed you," he said.
Norah stiffened. She expected a reprimand. She expected him to demand a retraction to protect his fiance's honor. "I know what happened, Your Grace. If you have followed me to demand an apology on her behalf, you can save your breath. I have nothing left to lose, which means I have no reason to lie."
"I didn't ask for an apology." Henry took a step closer. He was much taller than her, casting a long shadow. "I saw her shoulder drop. I saw the angle of her elbow. I know she pushed you."
Norah blinked. The absolute certainty in his voice threw her off balance. "Then why are you here? Go back to your garden party. Go back to your bride."
"My bride," Henry repeated. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He looked away, staring down the long empty road. "My bride threw a woman into a lake because she thought I looked at her for two seconds too long."
"A valid concern, clearly," Norah snapped, entirely out of patience. "Since here you are, alone on a road with a disgraced companion."
Henry's eyes snapped back to hers. A faint, bitter smile touched the corner of his mouth. It transformed his face, making him look suddenly dangerous. "You have a sharp tongue, Miss Lynfield. I suppose nearly drowning washes away one's manners."
"Manners are for people who can afford them." Norah tightened her grip on her satchel. "If you'll excuse me, Duke, I have a long walk to the village."
She tried to step around him. He shifted, blocking her path, not threateningly, but immovably. "Where will you go?" he asked.
"That is none of your concern."
"You have no money, no references. The Penhalagons will ensure you never find employment in this county or the next." His voice was blunt. He wasn't being cruel. He was laying out the tactical reality of her situation. It was the same math Norah had been doing in her head.
"I will manage." "You will starve." "Then I will starve honestly!"
Norah's voice finally cracked, the anger flaring hot and bright. She stepped into his space, tilting her head back to glare up at him. "What do you want from me? Did you come out here to mock me? To alleviate your own guilt? You are marrying a monster. You know exactly what she is, and you are marrying her anyway because her father has land you want. You are no better than she is. Now get out of my way."
She braced herself, waiting for the aristocratic rage. Men of his station did not tolerate being spoken to like that. But Henry didn't yell. He didn't strike her. He looked at her with a profound, terrifying intensity. The cynical armor he wore at the party was entirely gone. He looked at her wet, braided hair, her pale, furious face, and the rigid, unyielding line of her spine.
"You're right," Henry said quietly.
Norah froze. "What?"
"You are exactly right." Henry stepped back, running a hand over his jaw. "I am marrying a monster for land. I have spent the last 5 years playing a miserable, suffocating game, smiling at people I despise, ignoring cruelty because it is polite to do so." He looked back at her. The gray in his eyes was like storm clouds. "Then I watched you climb out of that water," he said, his voice dropping low. "I watched you stand dripping in the mud and refuse to cry. You shattered the entire illusion in 30 seconds. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
Norah's breath hitched. She tightened her grip on her bag, her knuckles turning white. "You are mad."
"Perhaps." Henry untied his horse. He didn't mount. He stood holding the reins, looking at her across the dirt road. "I am riding to the village. I will secure a room for you at the inn. I will pay for it."
"I don't want your charity."
"It isn't charity. It is a delay." Henry swung himself up into the saddle. He looked down at her, and for the first time, he looked entirely alive. "Stay at the inn, Miss Lynfield. Do not leave the county. Give me three days."