#skw2020d6

It doesn’t end suddenly, in a violent clash of wills the way she expected. Rather it is a slow death, painful and exhausting. It drains her of all joy. The skin under her eyes darkens from sleepless nights and her body thins from her lack of appetite. No matter what spices she uses, everything tastes like ash in her mouth. Then one day, when Kagome can no longer stand it, she leaves.

He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t try to stop her. He just lets her walk out. And walk she does. Kilometer after kilometer until the sun sets and the moonlight casts an eerie glow on the dirt path stretched before her. 

She has no destination in mind yet her feet continue to carry her along the road. The burden of what everyone will think does not cross her mind. Kagome doesn’t consider how her absence will affect her friends. It will only make the ache in her chest that much worse. Instead, she buries her guilt along with the broken shards of her heart. The delicate pieces remind her of the jewel she wished gone from existence.

Life is ironic that way.

Kagome passes through towns and meets villagers who remind her of what she’s left behind. She sees herself in the youthful faces of the girls preparing for marriage. She connects with the healers who wear their wisdom on their wrinkled faces. She values the light in the eyes of the children she finds running through the fields. Yet, she belongs to none of these groups. She is like them, but not.

So she strolls onward.

On the third day, when she can walk no further, she takes refuge under a broad tree. The thick roots support her like a chair. She closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and rests. The cocoon of sleep feels like a precious balm, blocking the pain.

A demon approaches from the west. Her reiki prickles along her skin in warning. Kagome ignores it. She’s too weak to fight anyway. If the traveler wishes to kill her, she’d consider it a kindness. Eternal sleep sounds preferable to the constant agony she feels.

This is how he finds her— curled up at the base of the tree, alone and utterly defenseless. Kagome hadn’t even thought to grab her bow before she marched out of their hut.

He makes a soft tsking noise as he scoops her up. It isn’t difficult. She hardly weighs anything.

Her eyes flutter open as his familiar scent— fresh grass, mountain air, and coppery blood —fills her nostrils.

“Sesshomaru?”

His response is as unforgiving as the scowl on his face. “Foolish woman.”

Those gold eyes, metallic and hard, are the last thing she sees before she succumbs to the blissful dark.

For one thing, the gossip would be much more abundant were he in London.

And at least his new appearance and the dark glower he had adopted was making everyone give him a wide berth.

There were no eager young misses coming to flirt with him in the hopes of acquiring the attention of the heir to a dukedom. No curious men or women wishing he’d regal them with heroic stories of the war.

No, he was left quite alone, and that was how Sesshoumaru was most content; in the sole company of his wine glass.

And then, just as that thought had flitted through his head, someone did approach.

Sesshoumaru gripped the stem of his glass so tightly it bit into his skin.

Lady Bentham stopped in front of him and dipped into a curtsey. 

“Sesshoumaru, how are you? It has been so long since I last saw you.”

The words were polite enough, but they set Sesshoumaru’s teeth on edge.

What was she doing here? How dare this woman address him with such familiarity? 

Bad enough that she was speaking to him out in public.

“I am as well as can be expected,” he replied stiffly. And in deliberate slight, did not enquire after Lady Bentham’s wellbeing.

But she did not take the hint, merely smiled at him.

“I am glad you have come back to England unharmed. Your father was quite beside himself when you bought your commission.”

Sesshoumaru bristled at the mention of his father.

It was true that the duke had been furious when Sesshoumaru had decided to purchase a commission. He had not wanted his only heir to go off fighting in the war, risking both his life and the continuity of their esteemed line.

And if truth be told, Sesshoumaru’s main motivation behind his decision had been to spite his father. After the scandal the duke had wreaked in the London society, Sesshoumaru had little respect left for him.

He wanted to lay the blame at Lady Bentham’s door. 

Everyone in town – in much of the country – was aware of the affair.

But no matter how convenient assigning the blame would have been, Sesshoumaru could not find fault in Lady Bentham. It had always been clear to him that Lady Bentham’s affection towards his father was genuine. And truthfully she was the more innocent party – Lady Bentham had been, and still remained, a widow. Unlike his father, she was not beholden to any marriage vows that their liaison might violate.

“Unharmed?” Sesshoumaru scoffed, all too aware of the half-empty sleeve of his dress-coat, carefully pinned to place earlier by his valet. “Hardly.”

“Unlike so many soldiers, you have come back and that is all that matters,” Lady Bentham insisted.

Sesshoumaru might have taken comfort from those words, had it been anyone other than Izayoi who had offered them.

“And why are you in Bath?” he asked instead, unable to withhold his curiosity. 

As far as he knew, Lady Bentham preferred to stay in London, in the expensive apartments Sesshoumaru’s father provided for. And Somerset, after all, was much too close to Cornwall.

“A dear friend who’s taking the waters here invited me to come and visit. And the Duchess was curious to know how you have been faring,” Izayoi replied.

Sesshoumaru turned to stare at her.

“The – my mother has been corresponding with you?” he asked, scarcely believing the insinuation.

Lady Bentham shrugged delicately. “We came to an understanding long ago.”

Discomfited by this new information, Sesshoumaru turned away from Izayoi.

Wishing for a distraction, he let his gaze wander around the ballroom.

And that was when Sesshoumaru’s world came to a stop.

The eyes that met his held his gaze for a lingering second. Then, there was a smile – soft, a little shy, but most importantly, honest.

Sesshoumaru was struck by it, and he turned back to Lady Bentham.

“That young miss across the room in the yellow dress – do you know her?”

Lady Bentham peered across the room and frowned.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen her before… But the lady she’s with… I believe I might be acquainted with her.”

“Excellent.” Sesshoumaru drank his remaining wine and set the empty glass aside. 

Then, he offered his arm to Lady Bentham, who was eyeing him curiously. “You can introduce us.”

“Gladly,” Lady Bentham said, offering him a smile before lightly placing her hand on his arm.

It was a curious set of circumstances, Sesshoumaru reflected, to be escorting his father’s mistress across a ballroom. He’d always contrived to keep as much distance from the woman as he could – especially in public. But now it appeared Izayoi’s presence would help him gain something very valuable indeed.

They stopped at a short distance from the pair of women. Izayoi took a step toward them, while Sesshoumaru stayed still, studying the young lady who’d caught his attention.

“Lillian? Is that you?”

The older of the two women smiled and stepped forward to meet Lady Bentham.

“Izayoi! What a lovely surprise, seeing you again.”

“Indeed it is. I must apologise that I never did write to you. Many times I intended to pick up the pen but that never bore any fruit.”

“There is no need to apologise, dear Izayoi. That is long past, and life has conspired to bring us together again.”

“To our luck and my delight,” Izayoi agreed.

“Lady Bentham and I used to be dear friends in our youth; we debuted the same year, you see,” Izayoi’s friend explained to the young woman Sesshoumaru was still intent upon. “This is my daughter, Kagome.”

The young woman in a yellow dress – Kagome – bobbed into a curtsey. 

“Ah yes, where are my manners tonight. Lillian, please allow me to introduce the Earl of Westerley. My lord, this is my dear old friend, Miss – oh, wait, you are married now, aren’t you, Lillian?”

“I was, yes. I’m pleased to meet you, my lord.” The woman curtseyed. “I’m Mrs Highbridge. And this is my daughter, Kagome.”

At last.

Sesshoumaru bowed; the soul of courtesy. Most of the time, he did not care one whit about the impression he might make, as he cared very little about the opinions of other people. 

But this time he was fully invested and wished the young Miss Highbridge to regard him well.

“Mrs Highbridge, Miss Highbridge, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Once again, he met Miss Highbridge’s eyes – and now, being at much closer a distance, he saw they were a vibrant, cerulean blue. 

So thoroughly enchanted Sesshoumaru was by this woman, that when the first strings sounded the beginning of a waltz, he almost asked her to dance.

The words were already waiting on his tongue when he remembered.

He was unfit to hold a woman in his arms, disfigured as he was.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles whitened as his only remaining hand balled into a fist.

She was smiling at him.

Sesshoumaru stared at the sweet, kind girl and wondered why he had crossed the room to her in such a haste, why he had wrangled an introduction out of Izayoi.

His station might have been the higher one, but it was suddenly so clear that a girl like her deserved so much better than a deformed and embittered earl like him.

And then Sesshoumaru was jolted out of his dark thoughts when help arrived from an unlikely source.

“Now that I do have a chance, I would very much like to catch up with you, Lillian,” Izayoi said, clasping her hands.

“I feel the same,” Mrs Highbridge replied with a smile, “but I’m afraid such accounts would bore our young companions.”

“Perhaps Westerley might take Miss Highbridge to view the gardens? Lady Sutton’s gardens have such glowing repute.”

“I would be delighted,” Miss Highbridge spoke, “but I would not wish to impose.”

Blast it all, even her voice was sweet.

“I would be honoured,” Sesshoumaru replied – which, after all, was the truth. 

The smile Miss Highbridge gifted him with was both shy and hopeful, and Sesshoumaru had no choice but to offer her his arm. 

She laid her hand on it, the light yellow kid glove matching her ball gown bright against the grey sleeve of his coat. 

Sesshoumaru escorted Miss Highbridge to the other side of the ballroom, where the doors leading out to the lantern-lit garden outside stood open. 

Stepping out into the cool evening air was a relief even as Sesshoumaru’s shoulders remained tense. 

Much as he had desired to be in Miss Highbridge’s company he found himself unnerved by the current situation. She was sweet enough a creature, but Sesshoumaru wasn’t sure he was much of an escort.

After the past two years spent on various battlefields, could he still play the part of a gentleman, and escort a young lady in the appropriate courtly manner? Or had the scars from the war rendered him a right boor?

There was only one thing of which Sesshoumaru was certain: soon enough, Miss Highbridge would tire of his dour disposition.

“It is so much nicer out here, don’t you think, Lord Westerley?” she said into the reigning silence. 

“It is, yes. Such a relief to get away from the crowd,” Sesshoumaru replied truthfully. 

“Truly! I couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable,” Miss Highbridge confessed. “I’m not used to such high society.”

“You did not look at all discomfited to me,” Sesshoumaru said, a little taken aback by Miss Highbridge’s admission. “Your mother said she had her season with Lady Bentham?”

“Yes. My mother is a daughter of a peer; my grandfather is Baron Lymington,” Miss Highbridge said. “But most of my life I did not know my grandfather at all. He wished her to marry well and that is why he wanted her to have a season. Instead, my mother fell in love with a clergyman.”

Sesshoumaru nodded, understanding too well that an ambitious baron would not have approved of a marriage to a clergyman, likely the second son of some landed gentry. The match had been below Mrs Highbridge and would have brought no prestige to her father.

But, he supposed, it could be forgiven if it had truly been a love match.

“And now it’s my turn,” Miss Highbridge said.

It was the slight tremor that caught his attention, the way her fingers clenched on his arm that belied her distress.

“Your turn, Miss Highbridge?” he asked, gentling his tone.

“My father passed away last year,” Miss Highbridge said.

“My condolences,” Sesshoumaru said, belatedly realising he should have guessed from the manner of Mrs Highbridge’s dress that she was still in half-mourning and understood the implications of what that would mean for Miss Highbridge. 

Just one more indication of how unfit he was for society in his current state. 

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice soft. After a moment of silence heavy with sorrow, Miss Highbridge drew a trembling breath to continue. “Since then, my grandfather has reconciled with my family. I suspect the fact that my younger brother stands to inherit his title probably spurred this change of heart.”

“Most likely,” Sesshoumaru agreed, pleased by Miss Highbridge’s perception.

“I’m no longer a clergyman’s daughter but the sister of a future baron. As such, my grandfather has decided that I, too, should have a season.”

“I see. That does seem like a logical suggestion,” Sesshoumaru said. 

“I suppose,” Miss Highbridge sighed. “But I am not looking forward to it. If just this one ball in Bath plays on my nerves this much, I can only imagine how out of place I will feel in London. What if I make a fool of myself in front of the Queen?”

“Your mother should be able to prepare you well enough as she was presented herself. Is your family staying in Bath?”

“Yes, my grandfather has been coming here several years now for his health. We are returning to Hampshire in October.”

Sesshoumaru inclined his head. “Although I have been away from civilisation the past few years and as such am not the best person to offer any kind of guidance to you, I still wish to make the offer to you, Miss Highbridge. Should you require any assistance navigating the society during your stay here in Bath, I would be honoured to offer you my services.”

Her fingers squeezed his arm and a brilliant smile lit up her features as she turned towards him.

“Oh, I would like that very much,” she told him. “I’m sure it would be most helpful.”

“I’m glad,” Sesshoumaru said, the corners of his own lips quirking up. “Now, let us return to the ball before the tongues begin to wag in our absence.”

“If we must,” was Miss Highbridge’s resigned reply.

As they walked back to the ballroom, the scent of roses heavy in the evening air, Sesshoumaru’s heart felt lighter than it had in years.

  After two weeks in Bath, Kagome still felt very much like a fish out of water.

She was not made for a life in the city and missed Hampshire with her whole heart.

Closing her eyes, she could see the vicarage she’d grown up in, with its back garden. 

The winding country lanes she had so often walked along with. The stretching green grass bowing to the summer wind, rich with the scent of wildflowers from the meadows. The canopy through which the sunlight streamed, as the branches of the trees lining the road reached across it overhead. The cattle peacefully grazing out in the pasture.

In the city, there didn’t seem to be all so much do to help fill her days.

The social events were the highlight of the city life, and in the past two weeks, Kagome had only been to a handful of those, even though her grandfather left the house nearly daily to see his friends at the famed Assembly rooms. 

Kagome was only glad he had thought it best for Kagome and her mother to stay behind. She’d heard the balls and other evening activities were popular enough to veritably crowd the rooms. 

Because her mother was still in mourning, and because Kagome still hadn’t had her season and made her debut, it had been agreed to limit the social engagements they took part in. 

Kagome was glad for the excuse, even if she did not fully agree with it.

She was a couple of years older than most young women making their debut were, and had been of a marriageable age for a while now.

More importantly, she had not grown up in a world where a London season would be expected of her.

In fact, had she chosen differently, she might already be married now – maybe even a mother in her own right!

But she had turned down the proposal from the young, local man who had been paying suit to her a few years earlier and because of that decision, was now facing the dreaded marriage mart.

Now, by nature, Kagome was a social person. She certainly preferred to keep company to being alone.

But she was painfully aware that even with the upbringing her mother had given her, even though she had lived comfortably as a daughter of the gentry, she did not possess the peerage of the people her grandfather, as a peer himself, associated with. 

Suddenly thrust among folk much finer than herself, she was deathly afraid of making a mistake, making a fool of herself, unwittingly insulting someone or causing some sort of a scandal.

And while it would be embarrassing to be the talk of the town, she was more concerned as to how her behaviour would reflect on her family.

Her mother had certainly suffered enough.

And her grandfather… Well, they had mended the fences and he did mean well, Kagome was certain… but their entire arrangement was still new and thus vulnerable to any possible blows it might suffer.

Honestly, without the kindness of Lord Westerley, Kagome would be totally lost.

Since Lady Sutton’s ball, he had been at every social engagement Kagome had attended – which was no surprise, as surely no one would deny him entrance, even if he hadn’t received an invitation. 

On their second meeting, Kagome had been rather shy at first. 

After getting home from Lady Sutton’s ball, her mother had informed her that Earl of Westerley was merely the young man’s courtesy title and that he was, in fact, the heir to a dukedom! 

Knowing that her companion was in possession of such high prestige and status, she had been veritably tongue-tied.

He had coaxed her into a conversation, though, and soon enough she had completely forgotten herself. And then apologised, her cheeks flaming, because she’d suddenly realised she’d been prattling and recalled how her grandfather said that she talked too much.

But Lord Westerley had brushed her apology aside and said that he enjoyed her conversation. 

There was just something about him that set Kagome at ease – which, given their vastly different social backgrounds was odd.

Still, by Lord Westerley’s side, Kagome felt self-assured. He helped her feel like she actually belonged. 

The drawing room door opened, snapping Kagome out of her thoughts.

Guiltily, she glanced down to her lap, at the embroidering she’d been neglecting, being too busy daydreaming about Hampshire and pondering the enigma of Lord Westerley.

Her mother, sitting on the settee by the window, offered her a smile.

Then, they both looked up, as Baron Lymington, Kagome’s grandfather, entered the room, leaning on his cane.

There was an unusual spring to his step, and Kagome wondered at what had put him in such a good mood. Had the waters today been particularly helpful with his pained joints?

She soon discovered the reason behind his cheer, as after her grandfather had taken his seat, she found herself the sole holder of his attention.

“My friend today told me the most remarkable thing,” he said, his shrewd eyes steady on Kagome. “He said that you, my dear girl, had been seen several times in the company of the Earl of Westerley. Is that true?”

Kagome blinked, then blushed. She had not been aware that people had paid attention to the fact that they had been keeping each other company.

“It is,” she admitted, fighting not to fidget under her grandfather’s scrutiny.

“They were introduced at Lady Sutton’s ball,” her mother added.

“Were they indeed?” her grandfather chuckled. “Excellent! Perhaps if we are lucky, there will not be a need for you to have a season, after all, Kagome.”

This time, Kagome could not help squirming in her seat. Her cheeks warmed, and deep dismay plunged into the pit of her stomach like a heavy stone. 

Lord Westerley had offered her his company and help out of kindness and gentlemanly virtue. To suggest any ulterior motives – even of the romantic persuasion, which was a preposterous notion in itself – was absolutely slanderous and Kagome felt insulted on Lord Westerley’s behalf.

And to suggest that she and Lord Westerley might marry – Well! 

She knew her grandfather was wishing for an advantageous match, but someone of the likes of Lord Westerley was well above Kagome’s station.

Perhaps Kagome’s mother sensed her unease, for she spoke into the stretching silence. 

“I do not think Lord Westerley’s conduct so far is enough to hold on to hope that he might intend to pay court to Kagome,” she said.

Baron Lymington harrumphed. “He has never shown much interest in any young lady, yet he has sought out Kagome’s company on several occasions. That is indication enough, I should think!”

“But only at social events,” Kagome’s mother pointed out, slanting Kagome a quick, reassuring glance. “He has not come to call to us here, nor ventured to seek Kagome’s company outside the social engagements we’ve attended.”

“A matter that will be remedied,” Kagome’s grandfather said with a decisive nod. “We shall host a dinner party and extend him an invitation.”

Kagome bit her lip to hold in the string of objections teeming in her throat.

“Father, I really do not think –” her mother tried, in vain. 

“Enough. You will see it done, won’t you, Lillian?”

Kagome’s mother sighed. The quick glance at Kagome was apologetic.

“Yes, father. I’ll see to it.”

Kagome stared down at her forgotten embroidery, her heart heavy in her chest. The cold trickle of fear slid down to her stomach and she fervently hoped that her grandfather’s lofty aspirations would not spoil the tentative friendship building between her and Lord Westerley.

 The invitation to dine with the Highbridges and Baron Lymington, when it arrived, was a surprise. Not only because it was something Sesshoumaru had not been expecting, but because instead of his usual ire, he found himself smiling down at the card.

Of course, he knew that it was very unlikely that Miss Highbridge herself was behind the invitation, but the promise of being able to see her was enough reason for Sesshoumaru to accept and so he had.

At the dinner party, to which Lord and Lady Sutton and their daughter had also been invited, it swiftly became evident that Baron Lymington was most keen to enhance his granddaughter’s prospects and to encourage Sesshoumaru to pay court to her.

It was equally obvious to Sesshoumaru that Miss Highbridge herself was utterly mortified by this idea.

In fact, while Sesshoumaru had been escorting her to the dining room, she had profusely apologised for her grandfather’s assumptions in a hurried whisper. In a low voice, Sesshoumaru had reassured that he did not feel insulted.

And that was true enough. Usually, such obvious attempts from his fellow peers to throw their daughters and granddaughters at him in hopes that one of them might drag him to the altar were met by sneers. 

But this time, the familiar irritation was curiously absent.

Sesshoumaru pondered on this abnormality throughout all the three courses served. At dessert, he had reached the conclusion that, short as their acquaintance had been, he did harbour some affection for Miss Highbridge. 

The world seemed brighter when he was in her presence, which was something he could confidently say no other young woman before her had accomplished. 

He had not been considering marriage, to anyone – especially since after coming back from war disfigured and embittered. As the heir to his father’s title, he knew that marriage and, following it, continuing his esteemed line was a duty he would be eventually expected to perform. But all that was something Sesshoumaru had always thought of in the abstract; a faraway thing he would not need to worry about for several more years.

But, perhaps, should his prospective bride be Miss Highbridge…

He met her eyes briefly, warmed by the small smile she offered him. 

Yes, perhaps with the right choice of bride he might be persuaded to contemplate the merits a matrimony would bring.

Later, sitting in his carriage on his way back from the city to his estate, with the cold and rainy summer evening causing a dull ache to creep up where his left arm had once been, Sesshoumaru’s glum mood returned.

He would be disappointing Lord Lymington and his high expectations.

It would be best, for everyone involved that he only admire Miss Highbridge from afar. Even should he develop any intentions towards her, he certainly should not divulge them and burden her with them. 

He respected Miss Highbridge enough to admit that she deserved much better a husband than Sesshoumaru could offer her.

She deserved someone whole, someone who could give her the kindness and care she needed. Someone who not only could enjoy the light and the sweetness she exuded but to give fertile ground for them both to grow.

Sesshoumaru could provide her with none of that.

The admission stung and Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, leaning against the wall of his carriage and willing his emotions away.

  To Kagome’s relief, her friendship to Lord Westerley remained intact despite of her grandfather’s antics. 

He treated her with his usual courtesy after the dinner party, seemingly not offended at Kagome’s grandfather’s blatant engineering towards a potential match.

Of course, just like Kagome had known, the invitation had not encouraged him, either.

His behaviour had stayed perfectly gentlemanly after the dinner party. They’d continued spending time together at the social engagements they were both attending, but they had not seen one another outside of them. Not once had Sesshoumaru come to call in the townhouse Kagome’s family has leasing. 

And while Kagome was glad of it, since something like that would only spur her grandfather on, a part of her also wished she could see Lord Westerley more often.

It wasn’t just because of his silent support or the way he made her feel.

Their conversations were always fascinating, and though he did not always say much, the words he did offer stayed with her even days after.

A couple of times, Kagome had even caught herself composing a letter to Lord Westerley in her head, just detailing her day’s events or to discuss with him a topic that just occurred to her.

But of course, no correspondence between could ever take place.

She would not bring shame to her family in the form of a scandal.

That day was like many others, and once again Kagome was missing her old home in Hampshire most keenly. 

She was bored and the walls of the townhouse were starting to close in. She needed to get out. 

Kagome informed her mother that she would go visit the shops and promised to take Rin, the serving girl, with her. In short order, she had donned her jacket, bonnet and gloves.

When she did step out onto the street a moment later, Rin following after her, Kagome was already breathing a little easier.

Once she reached the book store and walked in through the door, she was smiling.

Kagome soaked in the peaceful atmosphere of the book store, observed the customers in the store, and lost herself browsing the poetry books. 

She ended up buying two books and decided that she would spend a while just walking around before returning to the townhouse her family currently resided in.

Kagome walked along the streets of Bath, looking at the stone facades of the buildings lining it. After a little bit of coaxing, she managed to get a nice conversation going with Rin. 

It was a pleasant day, and Kagome’s mood had been greatly lifted. The sun was warm but not too hot, she had two new books to entertain herself with, and the serving girl was chatting happily as she trailed after Kagome’s steps. 

The smile playing on her lips, however, pulled into a frown when there was a commotion from behind them, yells and the hooves of a horse clattering on the cobblestone street.

Kagome glanced behind them and with a gasp grabbed a hold of the serving girl’s arm. She dashed to the side of the street, dragging the poor, stumbling Rin along. 

Kagome’s heart was beating wildly and her breath was still lodged in her throat as a phaeton driven by a young man and pulled by two horses sped past them with a clatter.

For a moment, the two young women just stood there and trembled, catching their breaths.

Then, Kagome turned to Rin.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, miss,” she replied, her eyes still round. “That really scared me!”

“Me too,” Kagome said. “What an irresponsible driver. I suppose we had better head back home then.”

“As you say, miss,” Rin agreed.

They came to a halt soon enough, when it became obvious something was awry.

“Miss?” Rin called out hesitantly, then winced. “I think I’m not all right after all.”

“What is it?” Kagome asked, immediately concerned.

“I must have twisted my ankle, miss. It hurts when I walk.”

“Oh, how terrible! Come, Rin, lean on me and we’ll make haste back home. Can you hold out until we can send for a doctor?”

“Oh, miss, it isn’t as bad as that, I’m sure I can walk –”

“Nonsense, just lean on me now,” Kagome encouraged, wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “It’s my fault from pulling you like that without warning.”

“Not at all, miss,” Rin replied, appalled. “There was no fault, I –”

“Miss Highbridge?”

The familiar deep voice had Kagome’s shoulders slumping in instant relief.

She looked up, a smile already returning to her face.

“Lord Westerley! Good day to you.”

He inclined his head, and sitting atop a horse looked even more gallant than usual; every inch the earl he was.

“Good day, Miss Highbridge,” he replied. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh, well, I –” Kagome stammered, flushing. 

And before she managed to give any proper answer, he was already sliding down from his saddle and striding towards them.

Somehow, Kagome found her tongue.

“A young gentleman was driving his phaeton rather recklessly so we had to make way to be safe,” she explained. “In our haste, Rin’s ankle was injured.”

Lord Westerley shook his head, scowling. 

“Reckless drivers have no business being a menace on the city streets,” he opined. Then, gentling his tone, he said: “Please, allow me to be of assistance.”

“You are most kind to offer, my lord,” Kagome said, a small quiver to her voice. “But we don’t wish to impose.”

“It is no imposition, Miss Highbridge, to render aid to those who are in need,” Lord Westerley replied warmly. 

“In that case, we would be most grateful,” Kagome said, overwhelmed by his kindness and generosity.

And the concern he showed towards an injured serving girl was a most welcome surprise.

Warmth swelled in her chest, seeing this wholly new side of her friend.

And something small and tentative sent tickling tremors all the way through to the pit of her stomach.

  It was most inconvenient of him, Sesshoumaru lamented glumly, but it had become evident that his feelings towards Miss Highbridge had grown beyond admiration.

The chance encounter on the street, finding her alone with only an injured fourteen-year-old serving girl in tow had sent such surge of protectiveness through him that he had not had any choice but to make sure she would get back home safely with her servant.

And after that, of course, he had been obliged to stay and let Miss Highbridge serve him tea to show her gratitude. 

The whole ordeal had only made it painfully clear of how high regard he had for the young woman.

Weeks had passed since then and the memory still warmed him.

He had been of help to the two women. He had been needed.

It was a feeling which Sesshoumaru had not experienced too often after the war had ended.

But that day, at least for Miss Highbridge’s flustered serving girl, he had made a difference.

Of course, he was now more adamant than ever not to let his feelings show in full. Miss Highbridge did not deserve to be burdened with them. 

She would go to London and have all the young men there eat out of her hand, of that Sesshoumaru had no doubt. And not because of any intentional use of feminine wiles, since that wasn’t at all in Miss Highbridge’s nature.

It would be her innate brightness that would draw the young men to her like honey did flies. She would be able to have her pick among all the suitors she was sure to attract.

He knew she would pick well. She would end her season engaged to a suitable, respectable man.

And though it made Sesshoumaru’s blood boil, to imagine Miss Highbridge wedded to another, he knew he had to conquer those irrational feelings.

Miss Highbridge wasn’t his to have.

But some days, it was hard to remember that.

The day both Sesshoumaru and Miss Highbridge attended Viscountess Greenwood’s ball was one of those days. 

As they’d so often done, they had been standing to the side of the ballroom, engaged in an animated discussion under Mrs Highbridge’s watchful eye. 

Eventually, however, Miss Highbridge had expressed an interest to go for a walk in the gardens. They had not done that since the night they’d met at Lady Sutton’s ball, but the Greenwood estate was at enough of a distance from the city to allow more generous grounds. And the rose garden, especially, was Viscountess Greenwood’s pride and joy.

Sesshoumaru had looked to Mrs Highbridge to see if she might object to such an excursion, but after she’d given them her blessing, he’d been willing to oblige Miss Highbridge.

The dusk was sweeping across the land as they walked across the lawn.

The roses were of various colours and they were well-tended, the scent of them heavy in the air around them.

At the back of the garden there was even an arbour built, the roses climbing, twining and blooming across the white lattice arch, forming a living canopy. 

It was beautiful, though the beauty of the plethora of blooming roses could not hold the candle to the brilliance that was Miss Highbridge, wearing another pale yellow gown. 

She was like sunlight made life. 

It was no wonder he was completely helpless before her.

Smiling, she turned to him.

“Do you dislike dancing, Lord Westerley?” she asked.

“I do not,” Sesshoumaru replied, instinctively. “I mean, I do not have great fondness towards it, but I don’t dislike it, either. I did not used to, in any case.”

He saw Miss Highbridge’s gaze flick to his left arm, but she did not stare at it or offer any kind of comment about it, simply shrugged her shoulders.

“I was just curious. Because I realised that in all of these balls we’ve attended, I’ve never seen you dance.”

“You haven’t danced that often yourself, Miss Highbridge,” Sesshoumaru pointed out.

“That is true,” Miss Highbridge said. “Perhaps we ought to rectify that.”

Sesshoumaru started and turned to stare at her. Humour sparked in her eyes but together with it there was a small glimmer of something more.

Hope.

“While we still can,” Miss Highbridge added, with a whisper.

“What do you mean while we still can?” he asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse to his ears. 

“My grandfather told us this morning that we’re going back to Hampshire in a fortnight.” 

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes as a tangle of emotions washed over him. His heart was in conflict, but one thing he knew for certain.

Sesshoumaru couldn't deny her.

He couldn’t deny himself.

So with a bow, he offered his gloved hand to Miss Highbridge.

Surprised, and just a little hesitant, she took it.

She stepped into him, tentatively setting her hand on his left shoulder. 

For a moment, he simply looked at her, able to forget about the arm that wasn’t there to wrap around her slender back. 

She left him breathless. His heart was full of yearning. He would have loved nothing better than to lean in close and taste her lips.

After a brief struggle he won against that impulse. And then, starting to move to the rhythm of a waltz only he could hear, swept Miss Highbridge into a dance.

  It was the day before they’d leave Bath, and Kagome wasn’t sure how to feel.

She would be glad to leave the city, but though they would return to Hampshire, they wouldn’t be returning to the vicarage that had been her home for all her life.

Instead, they’d take residence on her grandfather’s estate.  

It would probably suit her personality better than the city life did, Kagome suspected. 

But still, she was heartsick.

She missed her childhood home. She missed her father. 

And now, she was going to miss Lord Westerley.

A poetry book sat in her lap, forgotten, as Kagome was composing yet another letter in her head. She didn’t want to leave before bidding him goodbye and thanking him for his friendship.

And a letter would be a much safer option than offering those sentiments to him in person. She wasn’t sure her poor heart had yet recovered from that waltz in Viscountess Greenwood’s rose garden. 

The drawing room door opened, and Kagome started, trying not to look guilty.

The butler stood in the doorway and cleared his throat.

“Lord Westerley is enquiring if you are at home, miss,” he said.

Kagome’s heart jumped into her throat and she hid the trembling of her fingers by clutching her book.

“Show him in, please,” she told the butler. “And please send for tea.”

He nodded, and left.

Kagome smoothed the front of her gown, in a vain attempt to soothe her nerves.

All too soon, Lord Westerley strode into the room.

He came to a quick stop, obviously taken aback.

“Miss Highbridge,” he greeted her, inclining his head. “I did not expect to see you alone.”

“My mother has gone to do some last-minute shopping and has taken my brother along. My grandfather is taking in the waters. Please, take a seat.”

He did so, and a silence fell.

They had always found it very easy to hold a conversation, so it was most unusual that now they were both simply sitting there, at a loss for words. 

His eyes also kept tracking the room, carefully avoiding her.

Understanding that Lord Westerley was just as nervous as she was, hope sprang to life in Kagome’s chest. 

Could it be that his reason of being here was…?

The hope was now a keen ache, accompanied by giddy excitement.

Kagome couldn’t hold back her smile.

“I understand you’re leaving tomorrow,” Lord Westerley said, breaking the silence at last.

“Yes, we will return to my grandfather’s estate,” Kagome replied.

“I wish you have a safe trip.”

“Thank you.”

“I…” Lord Westerley hesitated. “I wished to see you, before you left. Miss Highbridge, I wish to tell you –”

Whatever Lord Westerley wished to tell her was interrupted, when Rin arrived with the tea tray.

Somehow, even though Kagome was close to quivering, she managed to pour and serve the tea.

Once Rin had offered smiled and curtseys and left Kagome alone once again with Lord Westerley, she tried to steer the discussion back to its previous track.

“What did you wish to tell me, Lord Westerley?”

Their gazes met and held. In those eyes, so light brown they were almost golden, the words lived unspoken; words Kagome could almost make sense of. 

Then, something shifted and his face changed, the emotion draining out, leaving only politeness behind.

“I just wished to reassure you, Miss Highbridge, that you have no cause to be nervous about your season. I am certain you will find both success and a husband in London,” he said, his tone bland.

For a moment, Kagome couldn’t draw a breath. Her stomach felt heavy and cold, and the hurt of the implications of Lord Westerley’s words squeezed her heart.

“What?” she asked dumbly.

“Your charm will no doubt attract a number of suitors, and I am certain you will be able to pick wisely from among them,” Lord Westerley said.

He was trying to sound reassuring, Kagome was sure, but each word was a barb that only burrowed in deeper.

And where the hurt was spreading, anger now sparked.

“Is that all you wish to tell me?” she asked, her voice trembling, setting her tea down on a side table forcefully enough that the cup and saucer clattered against one another.

Something flashed in Lord Westerley’s eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was carefully even.

“What more is there to tell?”

Unable to contain herself, Kagome lunged up from her seat and paced for a few steps before whirling around to face him again.

“I may be young,” she began, her words now spurred by the anger throbbing within, “but I am not wholly ignorant, my lord. I may also be prone to the same malady most young women as susceptible to, but I refuse to believe that everything has merely been fanciful notions crafted from my own imagination.” She paused, her chest heaving. “Tell me truly, Lord Westerley, that I am not mistaken, that there is at least some regard you have for me.”

Lord Westerly’s expression now looked pinched, almost as if he was in pain. 

That was good. Kagome much preferred it to the mask he had attempted to wear before.

“I regard you most highly, Miss Highbridge,” he replied in a quiet voice.

“And yet you sit there, telling me I will be able to find myself a husband in London! I have to say I’m most disappointed, my lord, for I never took you for someone who would place so much value on class,” Kagome spat.

“I beg your pardon?” Lord Westerley said, sounding more perplexed than annoyed.

“I know I would not make a good match, I know well how much you are above my station,” Kagome said, her cheeks reddened both from her anger and her embarrassment. “Why should the heir of a dukedom stoop so low as to marry a clergyman’s daughter?”

“Your peerage or the lack thereof has never been a concern of mine, Miss Highbridge, that I can assure you. Neither do I care of what the ton might think,” Lord Westerly replied. “You have it all rather backwards.”

“Backwards? How come?” Kagome asked.

“It is I who would not make a good match for you,” Lord Westerley said, meeting her eyes.

The familiar longing was there, as well as pain that echoed Kagome’s own.

And beyond them, eclipsing both, a dark gleam of bitterness.

Speechless, Kagome stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head. “That is the most absurd thing I have heard you say so far, my lord. Why on Earth would you think that?”

“You need just look at me, Miss Highbridge. My inadequacies are on a constant display,” Lord Westerly said, his tone weary.

Kagome blinked. Of all the objections, this one she had not expected.

“You can’t mean…? Do you think me so vain I would refuse a man because he has been injured in a war?”

“You would not, with such a kind heart as yours. I think you are the best of women, which is precisely why you deserve a better man,” Lord Westerly said. “A whole man. A man that –“

“I deserve a man I love,” Kagome said, silencing him. “And who will love me in return.”

She glared at him, trying to gather her courage.

The foolish man! The foolish, impossible man!

“You tell me you have high regard for me, and that I will be able to pick my husband wisely. Does that not imply that you trust my judgement, Lord Westerley?”

“I trust it and respect it, Miss Highbridge.”

“Do you?” Kagome asked, her hands on her hips. “For I think there is no need at all to go seek a husband in London. My choice is already made. What is yours?”

Lord Westerley set aside his tea with a clatter. He stood up and in the next moment had knelt down before her and taken her hand in his.

“I had convinced myself you were not mine to have, but I cannot – indeed I wish not – convince you of the same, Miss Highbridge. If you will have me, I shall not deny you. And if you do me the honour of becoming my wife, I will promise to cherish you for the rest of my days.” Then, he quirked his eyebrow. “Does that satisfy your demand, Kagome?”

“It does,” she replied, a smile blooming on her lips.

“Good. Then we are engaged, for the better or worse,” he said, standing up.

“For the better, surely,” Kagome admonished him. 

He cupped her cheek, his fingers warm and gentle against her skin. Then he leaned in, drawing Kagome into a kiss that was so tender and sweet that for a moment Kagome feared her heart might burst.

“You are correct, my love,” he whispered as he pulled away. “It is certainly for the better.”