The Desperate Love of a Lord Read Online Free PDF Page B

Violet’s shoulders like a second cloak, as she walked on through the people busy shopping in the market square, away from the inns. She had a desire to seek a more silent place to sulk and suffer her heartache.
    This was so foolish. She’d made this choice for good reason. Her hand touched her stomach. It was not her way to mope. She forced a smile and tried to lighten the mood in her heart, walking on down a side street. Then she turned left at the narrow cobbled ford which crossed to a row of cottages on the far side. She looked at the stepping-stones but instead decided to turn left and carry-on up the hill where the cottages grew sparser.

    Violet laughed suddenly, remembering how she’d accused Barrington of toying with Jane. Barrington would laugh now if he saw how far Violet had tumbled from her pedestal.
    Reaching a wooden gate at the entrance of a field, where a deep cart rut was cut in the meadow, from hundreds of loads and horses passing through over centuries of use, Violet leaned her elbows on the top bar and looked out across the long grass.
    Another wash of pain and misery swept over her in a wave as she thought of Geoff.
    ~
    Geoffrey arrived in Lacock in time for a late luncheon. He ate in the Black Horse Inn. His stomach growling as the serving maid set down his meal. He’d eaten far too little these last few days.
    He looked up as the plate touched the beer stained table. “Do you know Mrs Meyer who has recently moved into the Village?” The name the agent had given him, felt foolish on his tongue. There was no feeling in his chest when he said it.
    The maid shook her head. “Will you ask the other staff in the inn if they have?”
    She nodded, as Geoff picked up his knife and fork. When she walked away he began to eat, merely filling his stomach to start his search again. He had no appetite.
    When the maid returned to collect his empty tankard and plate, he said, “Has anyone heard of her? Do they know where she lives?”
    “No, sir. No one’s ‘eard of ‘er.”
    Had he come chasing after a ghost? What if Mrs Meyer wasn’t even Violet? “Thank you.” Tossing a couple of coins onto the table, in a gesture of gratitude, he stood, and then left.
    As the door dropped shut behind him, he faced the street uncertain what to do. He’d had a hard ride through the fog to get here. He’d set out at daybreak. Now he’d never have known it had been foggy. The sun was bright.

    He saw another inn along the street, The King’s Head. Perhaps someone at that inn might know of Mrs Meyer. When he walked in he leaned on the bar and asked the man behind it, “Do you know where Mrs Meyer lives. She is new to the village.”
    “No, sir. What can I get you?”
    “Nothing. That is all.” Again he dropped some coins on the counter and then walked out.
    At the next three inns the answer was the same. No one had heard the name.
    He did not ask in the shops. It was common place to ask questions at an inn, but not in a shop. He was not here to destroy her character. He did not wish to draw attention to her if she was hiding from something here. If it was her? But what reason did she have to hide?
    As he walked about Lacock, he alternated his gaze between the houses and the people passing. Where the hell was she? There were at least a dozen houses of a size Violet might rent. Which?
    He looked through windows, trying to see who was in the rooms, but the sunlight reflected back and made that virtually impossible.
    His eyes scanned the faces of the women walking past him, and those across the street – Violet’s was not among them.
    He looked at the women with their backs to him, judging their height and figure. But none of them resembled Violet.
    As he completed his fifth circuit of the village he stopped in the market place and slid his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat. Come on, Vi, where are you? In the privacy of his pockets his fists clenched and unclenched. He took a deep breath. Damn. A few people