a fool, girl. A stupid fool. Tears stung, distorting her vision. They fell in a hot, salty stream as she stumbled along, her skirt snagging on a stand of thistle taken hold along the path.
Distracted, she failed to notice a tree root arcing across the path in time to evade it. Her foot caught and she hurtled to the ground.
“Rachel!” shouted Dr. Edmunds.
Her hands bled from where she’d scraped them along stones and scattered branches. Quickly brushing off the gravel stuck to her palms, she pushed herself up onto her knees and tried to scramble to her feet.
“Wait, don’t get up,” Dr. Edmunds commanded, throwing down his hat and dropping next to her, taking hold of her shoulders to keep her from rising. “You might have hurt yourself.”
“I am fine. You can release me.”
“You will stay here until I’ve determined that you can get up.”
She shimmied free of his hands and planted her feet on the ground, intent upon rising. Her left ankle protested with a razor-sharp twinge of pain.
He noted her grimace. “If you attempt to walk on that ankle, Miss Dunne, you’ll only injure it more.” He reached beneath her skirts and examined her ankle through her half boot.
Rachel slapped off his hand and flicked her skirts back into place. “My ankle is fine.”
“Don’t be stubborn.”
She had every intention to be stubborn. “Is the ankle swollen, Dr. Edmunds?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I can walk.” She pressed her palm against a nearby stump and stood. The ankle throbbed and she bit her lip. She would not wince and she would not rely on him to help her back to the house, let him put his arm around her waist or the crook of her elbow Not when the simple brush of his fingertips made her crave more than he could ever give.
“At least lean against me so I may guide you back,” he said.
“I shall make my own way.”
“Rachel, really—”
“My name is Miss Dunne. In case you have forgotten that I am not a servant.”
He frowned. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
She lifted her chin and turned away, headed for the house. With every step, her ankle throbbed. It was worth enduring, she told herself, though she had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out in pain. The ache was the price she would simply have to pay for salvaging her pride.
“She’s a right pretty one, sir. I’d ’ve chased after ’er.”
James turned to face the voice. A shepherd with a battered tricorn hat crooked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth rising with it. His dog, flopped at his feet, looked up at James with the same amused, expectant expression.
A local and his dog were smirking at him. How appropriate. “Do you work for the steward of Finchingfield House?”
“No. Fair View, sir.”
“Good thing for you.”
Undeterred, the shepherd jerked his head in the direction of Miss Dunne’s limping form, now past the edge of the fields and halfway across the lawn. “She’s not got too far. You could catch ’er yet.”
And do what? Apologize for wanting to hold her close, feel her tucked against his chest, her lips on his? Or apologize for knowing he had nothing more to offer her than a hasty embrace and a kiss?
“I believe you have sheep to tend to,” said James, his frown deepening.
“That I do.”
The man doffed his hat and whistled for his dog to follow, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he strolled away.
James slapped his hat against his thighs, scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and started back toward the house. Even impulsive fools like him still had responsibilities to attend to. Apologies, however, would have to wait until he figured out exactly for what he was repenting.
CHAPTER 19
James evaded Miss Dunne until she and Mrs. Mainprice left for London. His conscience, however, was far more difficult to evade. There was only one thing for him to do—humbly ask Miss Dunne’s forgiveness and tell her she could leave his employ early, if she wished. He would pay her the totality of the salary he had promised, help her find suitable lodging, and understand if she left immediately.
The prospect sat heavy as a lump of sour cheese in his stomach.
James went through the motions of preparing for his own return to London. Peg was left behind to help ready the house. James mounted his horse and turned it down the lane for town. London approached quickly—more rapidly than he desired—the city swallowing the countryside in small bites until the fields and hedgerows were