And still, she thought of him. Of his future.
Of her own.
And of how they would differ.
She had to leave.
She could not stay. Not if he was here.
Isabel lifted her nose to the air. “Ooh . . . do you smell apple tarts?”
The question shook Juliana from her reverie. This was a carnival, and all of Yorkshire was in celebration, and she would not let the future change the now. There was enough time to worry about it tomorrow.
“Shall we have one?” she asked her sister-in-law with a smile.
They set off down the long line of stalls in search of pastry, as Isabel said, “You are warned, once I start, it is possible I shan’t stop until I have turned into an apple tart.”
Juliana laughed. “It is a risk I shall take.”
They found the stall and purchased tarts before a young woman stopped Isabel to discuss something about uniforms for the Townsend Park servants. Juliana wandered slowly, lingering in the stalls nearby as she waited for the conversation to finish, watching as the greensward grew dark, the only light at the center of the square coming from candles that people held as they chatted with their neighbors and waited, presumably, for the bonfire to be lit.
Everything in this little village had been distilled to this simple moment of conversation and celebration. The air was crisp with the smell of autumn, the leaves from the trees around the greensward were falling on the breeze, and there was no worry in this moment . . . no sadness. No loneliness.
Here she was in the country, where life was rumored to be simpler. She had come for this. For bonfire night and children’s rhymes and apple tarts. And, for one evening, she would have it.
She would not let him stop her.
She paused outside a booth filled with dried herbs and flowers, and the large woman manning the stall looked up from the sachet she was tying. “What’s your pleasure, milady?”
“My pleasure?”
The woman hefted herself from her stool and made her way to the high table where Juliana stood. “Children? Money? Happiness?”
Juliana smiled. “Plants can give me those things?”
“You doubt it?”
She gave a little laugh. “Yes.”
The woman watched her for a long moment. “I see what you want.”
“Oh?”
I want one evening of simplicity.
“Love,” pronounced the shopkeeper.
Far too complicated. “What about it?”
“That’s what you want.” The woman’s hands flew over the collection of herbs and flowers, faster than someone of her size should be able to move. She pinched a tip of lavender, a sprig of rosemary, thyme and coriander and several things that Juliana could not identify. She placed them all in a little burlap bag, tying it up with a length of twine in a knot Odysseus himself would not be able to undo. She handed the pouch to Juliana then. “Sleep with it under your pillow.”
Juliana stared at the little sachet. “And then what?”
The woman smiled, a great, wide grin that revealed several missing teeth. “He will come.”
“Who will come?” She was being deliberately obstinate.
The woman did not seem to mind. “Your love.” She put out a wide hand, palm up. “A ha’penny for the magic, milady.”
Juliana raised a brow. “I will admit, that does seem a bargain . . . for magic.” She dropped the herbs into her reticule and fished out a coin.
“It will work.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure it will.”
She turned away resolutely and froze.
There, propped against the post at the corner of the stall, arms crossed, was Simon, looking as little like a duke as the Duke of Leighton could look.
Which was still extraordinarily ducal.
He wore buckskin breeches and tall, brown riding boots, a white linen shirt, and a green topcoat, but there was nothing elaborate about the clothes—his cravat was uncomplicated, his coat simple and unassuming. A cap rather than a hat was pulled down over his brow and, while he was wearing gloves, he did not carry the cane that was required in town.
This was Simon with a nod to the country.
A Simon she could love.
Then she would give him up. To his reputation and his propriety and his responsibility and all the things she had come to love about him.
But tonight, they were in the country. And things were simpler.
Perhaps she could convince him of it.
The thought unstuck her. She began to move.
Toward him.
He straightened. “Are you buying magic potions?”
“Yes.” She tossed a look over her shoulder at the woman, now standing just outside the stall.
She smiled her toothy grin. “You see how quickly it works, milady?”
Juliana could not help but smile. “Indeed. Thank you.”
Simon looked uncomfortable. “What did she sell you?”
She met his gaze for a long moment.
It was now or never.
“What if I said she sold me one evening?”
His brow furrowed. “One evening of what?”
She gave a little shrug. “Simplicity. Ease. Peace.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I would say, let’s buy a lifetime of it.”
Juliana thought about the conversation long ago, when they had discussed the perfect Leighton lineage—the reputation he protected, the honor he valued. She recalled the pride in his voice, the heavy responsibility that was understood.
What must it be like to bear such a burden?
Difficult enough to be tempted by a night of freedom.
Juliana shook her head. “We can’t have a lifetime. Just one evening. Just this evening.”