Free Lord Clayborne's Fancy by Laura Matthews

destructiveness of storms, and somehow ended up complaining of the condition of the roads, a transition which her audience did not perhaps follow but whose obscurity was not commented upon.
    With a glance at the sky, Clayborne rose first from the meal. “The storm is closer now. We should have everything packed away quickly.”
    To have the first excursion she had planned for her sister so abruptly brought to a halt was distressing for Rebecca. It might be days before she got the nerve to solicit his attendance at another such expedition, and she did not want Meg to be bored after her busy London season. The darkening clouds were still some distance away and she made a face at her husband and lingered, finishing her tart and wine. But she did not ignore the glare he sent her, and rose shortly to join the others in their preparations. “I had hoped we could gather some periwinkle and columbine,” she said wistfully. “You see those clumps? Well, perhaps another day,” she conceded, as she helped Miss Turnpeck pack the last of the food in the hamper.
    They arrived at Gray Oaks just as the rain came, large drops spattering the dusty ground where the carriage stopped. The three women reached the house with muddied boots and hems, and repaired to their rooms to change, while the storm grew wilder outside. Fires were hastily lit in their rooms, as the day grew dark and chill after the earlier heat.
    Rebecca huddled in a chair near her fire, while the wind lashed rain against the mullioned windowpanes and the thunder and lightning rocked the world outside. She assured herself, as she had many times before, that her fear of storms was irrational, but she had once been pinned under a lightning-struck limb and had not been found for an hour, soaked, chilled and in shock. Regardless of how she tried she could not seem to overcome the shivering which thunder and lightning precipitated in her. She was about to seek out Meg for comfort when the door from her husband’s room opened and he stood there staring at her.
    “I trust you will now wish to acknowledge the justice of our early return home,” he said coldly.
    “Please leave me alone, Jason,” she murmured through chattering teeth.
    “I am waiting.”
    “Well, wait somewhere else,” she said with some asperity. She saw the muscle in his jaw tighten and said dutifully if exasperatedly, “Your pardon, sir. I fear I do not enjoy thunderstorms. I am grateful that we are safe at home and I regret delaying us.”
    “I accept your apology.”
    “Most kind of you, I am sure,” she retorted.
    Thunder rolled outside and there was almost immediately a rending crack as lightning struck some nearby tree. She gasped and failed to conceal the shudder which shook her.
    In a moment he was at her side, exclaiming, “I didn’t realize you were afraid of storms. Why hadn’t you said so?” But of course he already knew the answer, so he took her icy hands in his large warm ones and she felt immeasurably comforted.
    There was a soft rap on the door, as Meg called softly, “Are you there, Becka? I thought you would like company.” Clayborne gently returned Rebecca’s hands to her lap and opened the door to Meg.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here, Jason. I won’t stay,” Meg mumbled, embarrassed.
    “No, don’t go. I am sure your sister will welcome your company, and I should see what damage has been caused by the lightning.” He looked at Rebecca and asked gently, “You will be all right now?”
    “Yes, thank you. I think the storm is beginning to pass,” she replied. He bowed to the two of them and departed.
    Meg pulled up a chair and chatted soothingly to her sister until the storm died away.
    Though Clayborne went outside to survey the damage, his mind kept returning to his wife. How many storms had she suffered through alone in her room while he had been away from Gray Oaks? How many times had she sat shivering with no one to comfort her? God, what a mess he