The rest of the season passed quietly. Sir Henry did not make a return to Middlethorpe and Ruth heard that he had returned to London. She had felt more than a twinge of pain at this news, but had swallowed it down. Doubtless in the future, she would hear his name, hear details of his career, perhaps receive news of his marriage, but she would have to grow used to it. Their lives were no longer to be connected; she had made sure of that.
The most difficult part of the situation, after her conversation with Edward, had been explaining to Lady Radford what had happened. Her godmother had looked at her, wide-eyed with surprise for several moments, and then, presently, had taken both of Ruth's hands with her own and squeezed them very tightly. "Oh, my dear child, I am so very sorry."
Tears pricked Ruth's eyes. "Then you aren't… angry, ma'am? Angry that I refused him? It would have been a very good match, after all."
Lady Radford tutted with disapproval. "Only if he had loved you as you deserve, my dear. Why should I be angry that you have been courageous enough to recognise your feelings for what they are and act upon them? But are you quite sure that Sir Henry only feels friendship towards you?"
Ruth nodded. "Yes. He's a very kind, very honourable man, and when Rosalind told him about the offer from the Harrises, I expect he wished to… help, in some way. To marry him would have been unspeakably unfair to both of us."
Lady Radford sighed. "Perhaps you are right, then. So you are intent upon leaving here, then?"
Her goddaughter smiled and stood up, smoothing out her skirts. "I am. Especially now, after what has happened. How awkward it would be, to live so close to Middlethorpe and be constantly in society with Sir Henry! I am glad he is gone back to London!"
And if she was not being entirely truthful, she was the only one to know.
Miss Evershed departed Kieley on the second of January, 1813, at barely seven o'clock in the morning. Indeed, Lady Radford was still abed - Ruth had had to send Gibbons, her ladyship's abigail, in to wake her in order that she might bid her farewell. It had been a rather despondent few minutes; neither lady was wholly pleased at the events the day would bring, but nor was either of them admitting this fact. Lady Radford had extracted a promise of correspondence from her goddaughter and kissed both her cheeks warmly, and now Ruth waited downstairs, on the house steps, as John assisted the coachman in loading the remainder of her luggage.
"Miss Evershed."
She jumped, and turned in the direction of the drive. It was the last voice she had expected. They had not spoken to each other since Christmas Day, after all. Whatever was he doing here, so early? "Sir Henry! I thought you to be in London." She dropped him a brief curtsey and busied herself in watching the loading of her portmanteau onto the roof of the carriage. He stepped up beside her, but did not reply for a long time, and when he did, it was not in answer to her question.
"So you are leaving then, ma'am," he murmured quietly.
She turned and nodded coolly. "Indeed, sir." Then, she reached for the small parcel she had placed inside her reticule. She had intended to ask Mr Wynn-Jones to deal with it, but Sir Henry himself was here now; there was no need to involve another in the matter. She held the package out and he took it automatically. "Sir, I feel I should return this book," she explained. "It was given in a spirit of friendship which I do not imagine you still to feel."
Instantly, he passed it back to her, his face white. "On the contrary, ma'am, I should be very unhappy to ever have it in my possession again."
The words sunk into her head slowly and painfully. Then, he could not bear to have any reminder of her in his house. He wished to forget her completely. Fleetingly, she wondered what she would have been doing at this moment, had she accepted him. They would have been making wedding plans. He would have, she felt sure, continued to treat her with the kindness and courtesy which had thus far characterised their relationship - and she would have been trapped in a cycle of helpless gratitude and guilt. "I see," she whispered, at last. And then, numbly, "Goodbye, Sir Henry."
He took her hand and kissed it, lips cold and impersonal through the leather of her gloves. "Goodbye, Miss Evershed." He led her to the carriage and handed her up into it. "Thank you," she murmured, but he had already turned away. She sat down and shut the door. A moment later, she heard him speak to the driver and the wheels clattered beneath her as the coachman whipped up the horses. Miss Evershed sat back in her seat and turned her head away, avoiding the sight of him.
He watched her carriage until it was out of sight. Lines of a song floated unbidden into his head and he murmured them through numb lips - a promise to be kept. "And fare thee weel, my only Luve, and fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, tho' it were ten thousand mile."