Page 35 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

E veryone in the carriage groaned with that special frustration long travel instilled.

Anne, the children, their governess, and the three McNab brothers had traveled to Brighton from London as Mr. Dantes McNab had to get to Vivian before she married someone else.

Then, once they arrived, the worst storm Anne had ever seen unleashed upon the seaside town.

The rain was so bad, the children and governess decided to wait it out at the station while Anne and the three McNabs went on ahead.

Vivian was expecting Anne’s arrival but was not expecting the brothers.

Unfortunately for the four, just as the carriage turned up the long drive to Summerwood, one of the wheels sunk into the mud.

During their multi-hour trip, Anne had spent most of the time thinking about Bernard, knowing she would face him here.

It would be their first time seeing each other since their separation months earlier.

She recalled the many nights over the years where he hadn’t come home and left her unable to sleep, wondering where he was, or wondering what could possibly been more enticing to him than coming home to his wife and small children.

She recalled the stacks and stacks of bills she’d found shoved into the back of a drawer at his desk, unpaid and ignored.

When she’d given birth for the second time, Bernard had left the house and disappeared for many hours, returning late and reeking of alcohol.

To this day, she still didn’t know where he had gone.

That night, when she’d been left alone in pain, trying to nurse a wailing baby who’d refused to latch, had been the moment she’d known their marriage would never be one of love. She had been duped into hell.

There was one thing she had control over, to some degree.

She vowed to never let him touch her again.

At first, she thought he would put up more of a fight. For a time, he did try to whine and guilt. Surprisingly, he didn’t force it.

But he had found the attention he wanted elsewhere, instead.

That had been five years ago. Five years ago, their marriage had died. And a few months ago, it had all but ended in the only way it could: by separating. Neither of them wanted to be in this marriage, but there was nothing they could do about it, either.

Anne would never be free until one of them died.

Feeling hopeless, Anne pulled her focus away from Bernard and onto her gloved hands. Something odd had happened today, and she kept trying not to think about it.

During their trip from London to Brighton, Anne, the children, and governess, along with the eldest Mr. McNab had become separated from his younger brothers. She’d ended up sharing a train compartment with Mr. McNab.

She knew Mr. McNab, of course, and had met him a few times before thanks to Vivian and Mr. Dantes McNab’s budding romance.

He was quiet but seemed nice despite the fact that he always looked rather dour.

Secretly, Anne thought Mr. McNab was the most dashing gentleman she had ever set her eyes upon.

There was something about that dark dourness to him that fascinated her.

And those green eyes—oh, those green eyes!

They haunted her in her sleep, and she swore she could feel it when he looked at her.

Not that she would ever admit any of this aloud, of course. That wouldn’t help her situation at all .

She’d been feeling rather down about seeing Bernard again and may have had a bit too much to drink during the train ride.

Not one to usually imbibe, the governess Miss Stewart had thankfully distracted the children by taking them to the dining car, leaving Anne and Victor alone for a majority of the train ride.

Mr. McNab had taken pity on her pathetic self and listened as she’d drunkenly told him some of the stories of Bernard.

He hadn’t said more than maybe three words the entire train ride, probably spending the entire trip thinking about how stupid she was.

Because she was stupid. She had gotten herself wrapped up in the charms of a scoundrel and married him.

Now look at her life. If only she had known better as a girl!

Sober once again, Anne was now feeling a bit foolish at opening herself up to the pub owner.

Surprisingly, he’d seemed genuinely interested in listening to her as a good friend would, even though she knew he’d probably thought her foolish.

But every time she was around him, she felt more and more comfortable with him.

Now she felt she could slouch if she wanted to or say a curse word without judgment.

It was, admittedly, nice to let her guard down a bit around someone.

To tell someone about Bernard who already knew how awful Bernard was and knew she wasn’t embellishing her stories.

She felt like herself around him. There were other friends she felt comfortable around, yes, but none to the level of comfort she felt with Mr. McNab.

Which was mad. He was a he! But she had no interest in flicking his friendship away. She liked him—as a friend only— and her husband would simply have to deal with it if he ever voiced an issue with it. He had done far worse, thousands of times over.

But knowing Bernard, he would never notice.

The four sat in silence in the carriage as the rain loudly pelted the roof. The driver was long gone. The moment their wheel sunk into the mud he’d jumped off and run to take cover under Summerwood’s covered porch.

As she looked out the window to judge how soaked she would get walking to the home—finally deciding she would be soaked to the bone—Anne spotted Bernard jogging up toward their carriage to offer help, clearly not realizing who was inside.

Something inside of her cracked.

Without saying a word, she jumped out of the carriage, causing the McNab brothers to shout in alarm, and began running through the downpour toward Bernard, her fists clenched tightly, anger pounding through her veins.

Bernard’s eyes went wide upon seeing the white-hot fury in his wife, and he spun around and started sprinting across the sprawling lawn back to the house.

Anne shouted after him. “Get back here, you blasted coward!” She was furious at everything he’d put her through.

All the pain he had caused over the last decade, all of the lies and deceit, the distrust…

Anne had finally reached her limit. And this had led to her chasing Bernard through a downpour, thunder and lightning cracking above.

But she didn’t care at all. It felt brilliant!

Bernard slipped and fell into the mud with a splat, staring up as she loomed over him, drenched to the bone. Her chest heaved with exhaustion.

“I hate you, you bloody bastard!” Anne shouted as years of pent-up tears streamed down her face, camouflaged by the rain.

“Why did you treat me like that? Why did you run around on me? Why did you drink so much, gamble so much? Why didn’t you pay our bills?

Why? Why the devil did you marry me if you can’t stand the sight of me? ”

But Bernard didn’t answer any of her questions, and he likely never would.

Instead, he rolled in the mud to his side, jumped back up to his feet, and began sprinting toward the house once again.

Anne’s chest heaved desperately, but she began running again too, lifting her lead-heavy, soaking-wet skirts.

But he was too fast, and she was too slow from the heavy clothes, and then she slipped and fell in the mud, too, with a loud splat herself.

But unlike Bernard, she stayed there, bawling with anger into her hands. Anne didn’t bother getting up. She couldn’t get any more soaked at this point, couldn’t fall any further. She had finally reached rock bottom, quite literally in the mud. Could she ever recover from this?

“Lady Litchfield.” That deep, comforting voice was right beside her. Her hands fell away from her face and she was startled to find Mr. McNab crouching next to her, his face over hers, the rain making his black hair stick in strings to his face.

“I’m so…” She sobbed. “I’m so tired!”

He didn’t say anything, but he stared at her with intensity, evidently waiting for her to continue.

“Why did he do all of that to me? Why did he sneak around behind my back, get drunk and scare me? Why, Mr. McNab?” They were impossible questions to answer, but she wanted to ask. She wanted to know what Mr. McNab thought. For some reason, it was important to her.

“Because he’s stupid, my lady. He’s a stupid, arrogant, greedy, sinful, foolish, idiotic man. A bloody bastard of the highest order. And he always will be.”

The tears began to fall again, but she surprised herself by laughing a bit through them.

“Forget him,” Mr. McNab said, still serious. “Forget him. Please.”

She searched his kind, green eyes. Her heart began to race even faster, realizing how close he was in the moment.

She had never met anyone like Mr. McNab before.

And in such a raw moment, he didn’t judge her at her lowest point, didn’t think her a joke of a woman.

She felt a pull to him. “I haven’t loved Bernard in a long time. ”

Mr. McNab simply stared into her eyes as he held out his hand. Anne took it, and he helped her sit up. They held each other’s hand for a brief moment before letting go.

“It’s going to be hard.” She didn’t know what, exactly, she meant by that. And yet, he nodded, as if understanding perfectly.

“I know,” Mr. McNab replied.

The rain continued to pour. “It could be a long time.” Anne swallowed. Something about this moment—it felt like she was baring her heart to him.

But she was, wasn’t she? She cared for this man—oh, it was stupid to keep denying it! And he cared for her. But there was nothing either of them could do about it. And, maybe, there never would be a chance to.

“I don’t know how long.” Anne’s voice cracked. “But it could be a long time.”

“That’s all right.”

“What if it’s years? Decades?”