Page 21 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)

TWENTY ONE

Aubriella’s cottage

Blackheath, England

21 May 1819—Mid-morning

Dash growled low, a rumble rolling through his chest.

Roxina snapped her head up, her pulse stampeding and the air cramping in her lungs.

The scent of newly turned soil and crushed mint mingled with the morning air, carrying the sun’s warmth. A blackbird darted between a pear tree’s budding branches, its glossy feathers catching the light, while a wren flitted lower through the tangled honeysuckle, singing a morning melody.

At the garden’s edge, a hare the color of autumn wheat crouched, ears rigid, whiskers twitching. Dark, glistening, button-like eyes locked onto hers, its trembling body poised to flee.

Relief loosened the tightness binding Roxina’s ribs.

She no longer needed to fret.

Desmond could no longer threaten her.

“Dash, you silly dog. It’s only a hare.”

Rising before dawn, Roxina had already baked bread and gingerbread, both of which cooled on the kitchen table. She worked the rich earth since before the sun peeked over the horizon, pressing her fingers through thyme, mint, and rosemary.

Dew clung to her worn blue-gray gown’s hem, the damp fabric cool against her skin. But the sun’s caressing warmth had already settled over the land and heated her shoulders and spine.

The little garden thrived beneath spring’s gentle touch and her diligent care.

Last week, Roxina planted carrots and potatoes, along with parsnips, leeks, strawberries, peas, and cabbages. Soon, their tender green shoots would emerge in neat rows, lined up like disciplined soldiers.

Beyond the low, moss-covered stone wall, distant fields stretched toward the tree line, and morning mist lingered in the hollows where the sun had yet to reach.

Peace infused her, and she formed a closed-mouth smile.

Yesterday, a letter arrived from Matilda, chock-full of updates and a smidge of speculation too.

Georgine remained confined to her sickbed at Fernleigh, the doctor refusing to release her to go home, as the lead ball had chipped a bone, and she had not mended enough to warrant carriage travel. The confinement made Dear Georgie restless, uncharacteristically irritable, and—to no one’s surprise—constantly at odds with Robyn.

Georgine, normally the embodiment of etiquette and decorum, clashed with him in a way that defied reason, according to Matilda.

They sharpen each other’s tempers like whetstone against steel. I’m not one to speculate, mind you, but I vow there is something more between those two than mere hostility, whether either recognizes it. Truthfully, I have noticed an odd glint in my brother’s eye when he observes Georgine, and I bet my best bonnet that glimmer is not dislike .

Dash growled again, the sound vibrating through his ribs like distant thunder.

He did not lunge or bark but instead stood firm, his dark, scraggly fur bristling along his spine. No longer starving, his coat had thickened, and his body’s once-gaunt lines had filled out. A steady food supply—and perhaps her company—had settled him. His dark brown eyes, once wary, now held an attentive gleam and unwavering devotion.

She ran a hand over his head, smoothing the rough fur at his nape. “You’re becoming quite handsome, my scruffy lad.”

Flopping down beside her, Dash heaved a great sigh, crossing his paws on the freshly turned soil. He had become a quiet, constant companion, shadowing her steps with a loyalty that filled an emptiness Roxina had not even acknowledged existed until he filled it.

Roxina shifted on her heels, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face as she worked another weed loose and considered Matilda’s letter again.

Matilda wasn’t wrong about Robyn and Georgine.

Sparks didn’t fly that hot and often unless something sizzled beneath the surface.

Roxina had witnessed it firsthand—Georgine, eyes flashing, chin lifted in defiance, and Robyn, his usual easy-going, carefree manner, hardening into something sharp whenever she baited him.

And it wasn’t like Georgine to taunt, raise a fuss, or throw a spoke into the wheel.

Would either Aubriella or Roxina?

Absolutely.

But not steady-as-an-eight-day-clock Georgine. She had never been one to fly into a pelter or been given to miff-maffs.

Matilda said it seemed like Robyn and Georgine couldn’t help themselves. The slightest provocation sparked a verbal battle of wits between them.

And yet…

There had been that moment at the Christmas house party last year.

The one Georgine had likely forgotten, but Roxina had seen the fleeting but unmistakable exchange. Had witnessed the sudden, tension-filled hush when Robyn and Georgine’s disagreement ended too abruptly.

The way Robyn had glanced at Georgine’s lips before dragging his attention away.

Georgine might not yet know it, but something simmered between her and Robyn, and it was only a matter of time before the bubbling rattled the lid loose and the contents boiled over.

Roxina had half a mind to write Matilda and say as much, though she suspected her friend had already come to the same conclusion.

Matilda also mentioned that Aubriella and Claire had called at Fernleigh House twice since the garden debacle. They had written Roxina too, their messages full of warm inquiries. She had yet to respond, though foolscap lay atop the small writing secretary addressed to each.

What would Roxina say?

I’m a coward.

I’m so unsure of my feelings that I could not face you or Shelby.

I am overcome with guilt for endangering the lives of those I love the most.

Other than Mrs. Beale, no one had called on Roxina in Blackheath.

Though not unexpected, that stung more than it ought to.

Did her friends sense Roxina needed time alone to sort through whatever had her at sixes and sevens?

Or had they taken offense at her abruptly departing without saying farewell?

Surely, Aubriella, Georgine, Matilda, and Claire understood.

Roxina raked the earth before her, unwilling to let the latter thought take root.

Sighing, she pointedly turned her thoughts elsewhere.

The Ladies of Opportunity weekly meetings had paused since that dreadful afternoon in the garden, but Aubriella had suggested the society resume gathering next week. After all, they had a business to oversee, and women relied upon the organization.

Naturally, Georgine would not attend, but Matilda would.

Roxina welcomed Aubriella’s, Matilda’s, and Claire’s company to distract her from her musings.

The ladies would have questions, of course.

Why had Roxina left so brusquely without a word?

How could she explain what drove her away?

Even now, her stomach flopped, and her blood turned to ice in her veins when she recalled Desmond leveling his pistol at Shelby. Followed almost instantaneously by an epiphany, so profound that a lightning bolt strike would have stunned less.

Roxina loved Shelby.

I love Shelby .

The realization had sent her fleeing, heart thundering, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, exhilaration, fear, and bewilderment.

I have for a very long time .

Though precisely how long, Roxina couldn’t say for certain.

The night after she’d fled Fernleigh House, in the cottage’s peaceful solitude, she had stared at the ceiling above her bed, the rough beams crossing the uneven plaster, their edges softened by age and whitewash. A fine crack snaked across the surface.

With Dash curled beside her—a rare indulgence—Roxina made a secret stake—a gamble with fate, or providence, or destiny—whatever one wanted to call it.

Except this wager had no written record, no witnesses, no spoken words across a piquet or whist card table, binding the bet—nothing tangible to risk except her heart. Nonetheless, she had placed everything: her future, her happiness, and her well-being on the table in a winner-takes-all bet.

This hidden wager existed in her heart alone, and it comprised three paltry words.

Shelby will come .

Just as he always had.

He would come to her because he loved her.

This time, Roxina would not let uncertainty or pride hold her back. She would tell Shelby she loved him too, and if he would have her, despite her many faults, she wanted to build a life with him.

But the days stretched on, long and lonely. One day bled into another, becoming a week, and then a fortnight.

Shelby had not come.

Neither had he sent word.

In fact, Matilda said her cousin had left Fernleigh House the same day Roxina had, and no one had heard from him since.

I lost .

Her secret spinster’s stake had not resulted in a winning hand.

Roxina had wagered on love—and lost.