The Deaf Earl’s Silent Love (Preview)

Prologue

Three Years Ago

The expansive gardens of Carenwood Manor were alive with excitement; lanterns casting a warm glow over the gathered guests. The familiar melodies of string instruments floated through the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the soft hum of conversation. It was the grandest celebration of the year—his father’s birthday, a night of joy and spectacle.

Alexander stood near the magnificent stone fountain, the sound of water cascading behind him. He took a deep breath, appreciating the scene unfolding before him. His eyes scanned the crowd, briefly meeting his father’s proud gaze as the older man shared a toast with guests near the banquet table. Tonight was meant to honor him, and for once, Alexander felt the weight of his father’s expectations lift slightly in the atmosphere of merriment.

In the distance, Catherine’s familiar laugh caught his attention. His younger sister glided through the crowd, her pale blue gown rippling with each graceful step. Her golden hair shimmered in the glow of the lanterns, giving her an ethereal appearance as she moved toward a quieter section of the garden. She was always happiest away from the center of attention, just like him.

He watched her for a moment, she had always been his responsibility—someone to protect, guide, and shelter. Even now, as she strayed from the lively throng of guests, Alexander felt an instinctive pull to follow. He had always been her protector, though she had never asked for it outright.

Turning on his heel, Alexander moved toward the garden’s secluded paths, catching up to Catherine just as she approached the hedges. “Escaping already?” he teased lightly, his voice carrying the familiar warmth only she could coax out of him.

Catherine turned, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I needed a moment,” she replied softly. “It is all a bit much tonight. Father’s friends are relentless with their questions.”

Alexander chuckled, nodding in understanding. “They are only doing their duty, asking when you will be married off like the rest of the young women in society.”

Catherine rolled her eyes dramatically. “As if that is my sole purpose.” She linked her arm with his, leading them both down the lantern-lit path. “Honestly, I would rather be anywhere else.”

“I know the feeling,” Alexander agreed. The two of them often sought out the quieter moments amid the grand events their family hosted. “But tonight is important. For Father.”

Catherine sighed, her gaze softening as she glanced back toward the manor. “I know. I just—”

A sudden, deafening blast tore through the air, cutting off her words. The ground shook beneath them. In the distance, the clatter of screams replaced the garden’s peaceful ambiance. The once festive atmosphere twisted into chaos, the world slowing in Alexander’s horrified gaze as the fireworks display went horribly wrong. Errant sparks, wild and uncontrolled, arced through the air, igniting the delicate decorations draped around the garden. The sudden roar of flames devoured the vibrant colors of lanterns and bunting. A hellish glow cast over the crowd. 

Laughter turned to panicked screams. Music fell silent, replaced by the shouts of guests scrambling for safety. Tables overturned as people rushed to escape, their elegant gowns and suits forgotten in the frenzy of survival.

Alexander’s head snapped toward the source of the explosion, horror sinking into his chest as he saw flames rising from the pavilion near the main lawn.

“No,” he muttered, his heart pounding. His father had been near there moments ago.

Without thinking, Alexander pulled Catherine behind him as they rushed back toward the manor. Smoke billowed into the night sky, the once-celebratory atmosphere now shattered by the chaos of fire and confusion. Servants and guests ran in every direction, shouting for help, trying to douse the flames.

“Father!” Catherine’s voice trembled as she struggled to keep up with Alexander’s longer strides.

Alexander’s mind raced. He had to find their father. He had to make sure Catherine was safe. As they neared the pavilion, the heat from the fire became unbearable, the crackling of wood collapsing under the inferno echoing in his ears.

In the chaotic sea of bodies, Catherine’s hand was ripped from his own. He fumbled to find her, to see a glimpse of her blue gown as she was pulled further away from him. He had to make a choice. Search for his father or search for his sister. He knew the choice that Father would insist that he made. It was not truly an option. He turned, seeking his sister as she attempted to dislodge herself from the herd of people dashing across the lawns to rush away from the fireworks.

“Catherine!”

Her terrified cry pierced through the cacophony, and everything else faded from his mind.

Without hesitation, Alexander plunged into the inferno, adrenaline surging through his veins. The heat seared his skin instantly, the blistering air choking his lungs with thick, acrid smoke. His eyes watered, but he forced himself forward, pushing through the sweltering haze. Debris rained down, fiery fragments of wood and fabric, but none of it mattered.

All that mattered was finding Catherine.

“Catherine!” he shouted, his voice rough from the smoke, but there was no answer. The world around him felt like it was collapsing, the crackle of flames and the crumbling of burning structures deafening. Fear gnawed at his chest, threatening to overtake him, but he shoved it down. He had to stay focused. He had to find her.

Finally, through the swirling smoke and ash, he spotted her. His stomach lurched at the sight.

Catherine lay on the ground, trapped beneath a fallen ornamental arch. Her pale blue gown was smeared with soot, dirt, and blood. Her eyes were wide with fear, her arms stretched out in vain attempts to push the heavy arch off her body. She was pinned, struggling to breathe as flames edged closer.

“Alex…” her voice came out in a rasp, the terror in it unmistakable.

“Hold on!” Alexander yelled, racing to her side. He dropped to his knees beside her, the heat unbearable as the flames crept closer with every passing second.

His hands found the arch, and he gritted his teeth against the searing pain shooting through his arms as he grasped the hot metal. His muscles strained, adrenaline flooding his body, giving him strength he didn’t know he possessed. Inch by inch, he lifted the arch, grunting with effort.

“Move, Catherine! Get out!” he shouted through the haze of smoke.

She whimpered, using what little strength she had to wiggle free from beneath the structure. The moment her body slid clear, Alexander dropped the arch, the weight crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

But there was no time to waste.

He scooped her into his arms, her small frame trembling against him, and he stumbled back through the burning garden. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one more painful than the last, the smoke tearing at his throat.

They were close. He could see the outline of the manor through the smoke.

Just a little further.

But before he could reach safety, another explosion ripped through the night—closer this time. The force of it hit him like a battering ram, throwing both him and Catherine backward. He twisted, using his body to shield her from the blast, but the impact drove the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, Catherine’s soft cry of pain muffled beneath him.

The force threw them forward. Pain exploded in his head, sharp and searing, and the world… stopped. The sounds of crackling fire, screams, and the chaos of the garden vanished in an instant, replaced by an all-encompassing silence, save for a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

He hit the gravel path hard, the impact jarring him to the bone. Catherine’s fragile frame was limp against him, and for a terrifying second, he feared the worst. But then she stirred weakly, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

Relief flooded through him, but the ringing persisted—growing louder, sharper, drowning out everything else. Alexander tried to call for help, his voice rasping from the smoke, but… nothing. His own voice didn’t reach his ears.

The ringing was suffocating, and fear crept into his chest. He blinked, his vision swimming as faces came into focus above him—his mother’s tear-streaked face, her lips moving as she screamed his name, but no sound reached him. The family physician was there too, rushing forward with his medical bag, but everything felt distant, muted.

Alexander forced himself to stay awake, to stay present. His head throbbed with unbearable pain, but something else caught his eye—a figure in the distance, amid the wreckage of the garden.

His father.

Lying still, motionless, collapsed in the middle of the burning pavilion.

A cold dread seeped into Alexander’s veins. He tried to sit up, to scream, to demand someone check on his father, but the world spun violently, and his limbs refused to move. His mouth moved, but he couldn’t hear his own voice.

The ringing never stopped.

It only grew louder.

Chapter 1

Alexander Caldwell, Earl of Carenwood, was thrown from a fitful sleep for the fifth time that week. He awoke with cold sweat plastering his white linen shirt to his torso, his trembling hand clawing at his chest in an attempt to steady his racing heart. 

The nightmares were truly starting to get the better of him. 

Sweat beaded along his forehead as he groggily reached toward his bedside table. The room surrounding him was the same as ever. There was no storm raging outside of the window, no bolts of lightning to blame for waking him abruptly. No, the terrors lived only inside of his own mind. The one place that he could not escape no matter how hard he tried. 

It was not as if he would have been able to hear the storm raging outside anyway. 

Pushing his weary body up the bed, he rested against the headboard and used his bent legs as a desk, placing his worn leather journal atop of them. The candle he had left burning before drifting to sleep was still burning just low enough that if he struggled, he could barely make out the words that he was scratching into the paper of his journal. It was the same every night. This practice was the only thing that soothed him, that stopped the nightmares from clinging to him after he left that liminal space between awake and asleep. 

The very act of putting pen to paper was soothing, and he poured out everything in his mind that he could. Every detail of the dream and the way that it made him feel. There was no rhyme or reason that he applied to his ramblings. He simply opened up his mind and poured everything that he could fit onto the page. 

When his heart started to slow, and the thoughts began to calm — only then did he start to divert to the comforting prose of his favorite poems. A blend of his own words and those that he had read over so many times that they had long since been committed to memory. 

Anything to stop the memory of the flames, and the screaming. 

 

***

 

It is an ironic sort of funny, the sounds that he missed. For the longest time, Alexander could hear nothing but ringing in his ears after the accident. Then, there was simply nothing. He could not hear the sound of his feet shuffling down the stairs as he headed into the breakfast room to meet his mother. There were no distant sounds of birds chirping or insects waking in the morning, nor Mother sipping her tea noisily or the hum of the house as the staff puttered around. 

Of course the loss of greater sounds, his mother’s voice, listening to music, or even hearing his own self talk once more was something he mourned. But he tried his best not to feel sorry for himself. 

His mother, Lady Elizabeth, straightened as he walked into the room, waving brightly to him in greeting before signing good morning to him. Their gestures were still rudimentary, at best. He had only been without his hearing for three years. He doubted if he was ever going to fully grasp the way that some were able to speak so quickly with their hands. Even if he could express himself in that way, interpreting the meaning of others when they moved too quickly was an art that he did not have talent for. Reading lips was even harder. 

Fortunately for him, his mother had the patience of a saint. 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, shaking the sleep from his voice. It was always so simple to forget that he did not lose the ability to speak when he lost his hearing, simply because when he spoke now, he could not hear himself. “Good morning, Mother. The scones would be fine, thank you.”

Mother passed the plate with scones and the small bowl of clotted cream in his direction as one of the servants poured him a cup of tea. 

Invitation, Lady Elizabeth signed. For three days’ time.

She pushed the invitation toward him with a bright smile. 

I already accepted, she continued. He waited, his gaze lingering on her hands until he was certain that she was finished speaking to him before turning his focus to the invitation. 

It seemed like just another ball to him. Yet another place that he did not wish to be. He might have been a fair and fine dancer once upon a time, but in his current state, if the music was not loud enough, the vibrations could not properly be felt through the floor, and he ended up making a fool of himself. Too many people would look down upon him. Poor Alexander, robbed of his hearing at twenty-nine and forced to readjust to everything in his whole life. 

Three years later and it was still a constant learning process. 

He simply no longer saw the point in attending social events like that, given that it was so unlikely for any of the eligible young ladies of the ton to still have interest in him now that he was damaged goods. It mattered not what his mother said by way of encouragement, he did not feel like a catch. He might have the title of earl, with a fair fortune — but that would only get him so far. 

But, if Mother had already accepted, there was not going to be any way for him to change her mind. The muscle in his jaw feathered in irritation as he turned his focus back to his mother. She waved her hand in his direction to ensure that she had his attention before continuing. 

Your sister is going to attend with her husband. Elizabeth continued to sign. Catherine wrote this morning.

Alexander’s hands tightened into fists where they rested on his lap. Any appetite that he might have had, evaporated immediately. 

It had been over a year since he had seen Catherine in person. 

With very good reason. 

A now familiar and unwelcome sort of panic started to crawl up his spine. A dread that could not be silenced or lessened gripped his chest and squeezed tightly, as his mind was instantly catapulted into the memory of the night that plagued his nightmares. 

It always started the same—the screaming. So much screaming. 

Alexander blinked, pulling himself out of the memory’s suffocating grasp. The acrid scent of smoke and the blinding heat of the flames faded, replaced by the soft flicker of sunlight filtering through the windows of Carenwood Manor. He focused on his mother’s face—lined with concern, her brows slightly furrowed as she spoke.

Elizabeth’s hand squeezed his gently, grounding him. Her lips moved in slow, deliberate words, careful to ensure he could read them.

“Catherine is eager to see you, my dear. The house party will be the perfect opportunity for a family reunion.” She smiled, her eyes searching his for any sign of agreement.

Alexander nodded, reluctant but understanding the necessity. The idea of enduring guests, of pretending to be the same man he was before the accident, stirred unease in him. He could already anticipate the whispers, the uncomfortable glances and pitying stares that would surround him once his condition became more apparent.

He glanced down, watching the way his mother’s hand rested in his. She was always so strong, so composed. The weight of that night—the night that had changed everything—settled heavily on his shoulders once more. The loss of his hearing, his father’s death… it all felt as raw now as it had then.

His mother squeezed his hand again, drawing his attention back to her. Her lips curved into a soft, comforting smile, but there was no hiding the worry in her eyes.

“We will get through this,” she said with her hand, her expression firm.
He gave her a small, strained smile, nodding again. He understood the need for family and appearances, for maintaining the legacy of Carenwood. But beneath it all, the weight of his memories and his loss pressed down on him, ever-present and inescapable.

Was he even truly ready for a family reunion? 

They claimed that they did not blame him, and constantly said that he should not burden himself with such guilt over his father’s death. But how could he not? He would have traded places with his father if he could. 

It was such a strange dichotomy of being resentful over the loss of his hearing, and thinking that it was not nearly a high enough price to pay for not being fast enough that night all of those years ago. 

After breakfast, Alexander found himself in the window of his study, gazing out over the gardens of Carenwood Manor. The breeze rustled through the massive oak tree down near the gardens. The beehives that his housekeeper so helpfully kept just beyond that swarmed with activity. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could remember how all of those things sounded. Yet, every memory where he attempted to recall his hearing, it was always overlain with the bitter flashes of that night. 

Sometimes he almost missed the ringing. 

Alexander startled when a hand brushed his shoulder, adrenaline spiking momentarily as he spun to face whoever had intruded upon his solace unannounced. Benjamin Thornton, his oldest friend and brilliant architect, held up his hands in surrender and apology for startling him. The man was sweet enough to have a small slate board and chalk in his hand that he quickly scribbled the word ‘sorry’ on. 

Alexander shook his head. “No, I am sorry.” 

Benjamin winced away, rubbing at his own ear. 

Volume control when he could not hear himself was also often an issue. 

“Apologies again,” Alexander said, hopefully, more softly. 

Benjamin grins and wipes the board clean before writing anew. I wanted to say ‘hi’ before starting work.

Ah, that made perfect sense. His friend was an architect and had been doing quite a lot of landscaping work on Alex’s behalf. Mother liked to throw parties, and he was not going to allow any more mishaps to even be in the realm of possibility as far as he could help it. Honestly, Alexander would have likely gone mad quite some time ago were it not for the constant support of his friend. 

I had a thought, Benjamin wrote. About adding some new life to these halls.

“Anything that you suggest,” Alexander answered. He trusted his friend’s eye, and knew that he was not going to be taken advantage of. 

Yes, but this would cost quite a lot, Ben continued. 

Alexander arched a brow. They both knew that the cost was unlikely to be a factor. As an earl, he was frugal and that helped to stretch his wealth considerably. Besides, it was not as if Benjamin was going to be exuberant. 

I want to commission a painting, Ben wrote, and then started large gestures with his hands, to explain exactly what he was thinking in regard to where in the house it would be best suited. 

“A painting?” Alexander asked. It seemed a silly diversion, but at least it would give him something to discuss with Catherine when she was in town. Anything that he could use as a distraction would be most welcome. 

When I’m finished, come to town with me? Ben wrote with a wry smile. 

It felt as if he were up to something more than just investigating local artists.

“No, I cannot. I am far too busy.”

Ben leveled him with a skeptical look. They both knew that it was a lie. Alexander would keep himself away from society and holed up here in his Manor until the end of his days if he had a say in it. 

Do not allow this Manor to be your tomb, my friend, Benjamin wrote. 

While his friend would not ever force him to do something that he did not wish to do, he also knew that he was not going to stand by and allow himself to watch Alexander waste away. 

Had he truly been absent from the world too long? Did he even wish to rejoin it? The least he could do would be to humor Ben, he supposed. It was the least that he could do for all of the support that Ben had constantly offered. 

After a long moment, Alexander dipped his head in agreement. He would go, and that brought about a whole new set of worries. 

Ben squeezed his shoulder firmly with a reassuring smile before heading out of the room to start his work, leaving Alexander to attempt to remember how to be a normal member of society.

Chapter Two

In the village, Adelaide walked beside her cousin the honorable Miss Harriet Lawson, the two strolling through the narrow streets. Adelaide’s hands were steady as she carried her newly completed landscape painting, its vibrant hues still fresh. The sunlight glinted off the frame as she adjusted her grip, careful not to smudge the oils.

Harriet’s cheerful voice filled the air, recounting some fond childhood memory, but Adelaide’s mind drifted, slipping into the quieter corners of her past. Her cousin’s laughter seemed distant, drowned out by the weight of her own thoughts.

Mercifully, Harriet was always more than happy to uphold the whole conversation on her own. Most days, Adelaide was perfectly content to listen to her cousin’s sweet voice for hours. Harriet had such a lovely way with words. She was a naturally gifted storyteller. But today, Adelaide could not seem to focus on her cousin’s words. It seemed that every shop window that they passed managed to snag her focus and attention despite her best efforts. Her mind was a mess. It kept jumping from memory to memory. She wanted to blame it on the fitful sleep that had been troubling her lately, but she could not fathom the cause of it no matter how hard she tried. 

Adelaide’s memories pulled her back to the isolation of her early years, the frustration of growing up unable to speak in a world that did not know how to listen. She could still feel the bewildered stares, the way others stumbled over how to communicate with her. But the deepest cut was the loss of her mother when she was just ten years old—a loss that left a permanent hollow in her heart.

Her father had never been the same after that. The man who once smiled and laughed became cold and distant, retreating into his grief. Adelaide, too young to fully understand his pain, had tried to reach out. But the silence between them only grew, until he sent her away to live with her aunt.

Today’s painting was hopefully going to cheer him. She had made sure to use bright, happy colors with the hope of infusing some sort of positivity into the easily frustrated older man. 

Art had become her only comfort. She remembered how her mother’s gentle hands guided hers, showing her how to hold a brush for the first time. That small act had given her a voice when words failed her. The memory of her mother’s soft voice reading poetry each night still lingered, its cadence wrapped around every stroke of her paintings. In those tender moments, her mother had been her world—her protector, her friend, her everything.

The warmth of those memories clashed with the ache of her loss. Her mother’s death was a wound that never fully healed. Even now, Adelaide could feel the sharp sting of grief, as fresh as it had been all those years ago. The solitude that followed—the absence of that steady presence—was a shadow she still carried.

Most days, Adelaide could carry on with her life as normal, but the darker days like that particular day—not even painting could soothe her mind. She simply needed to power through it. 

Focus, Adelaide.

Harriet’s voice broke through her reverie, bright and carefree. Adelaide blinked, pulling herself back to the present. She offered her cousin a soft smile, grateful for Harriet’s companionship, though the weight of her thoughts lingered.

The village bustled around them, but in Adelaide’s heart, there remained a quiet place—a sanctuary of memories, where art and poetry filled the silence her voice could not.

“…and do you remember the summer we spent at Aunt Edith’s estate? You were so quiet, but I knew you were listening.” Harriet’s bubbly laugh filled the air. “I think you were painting that whole time. Oh, and that picnic by the lake! That was the day we tried to catch tadpoles, and you ended up with your dress soaked! I can still see Aunt Edith’s face—she was horrified, but you just smiled. I swear, I have never seen you happier than when you were sitting there, covered in mud, painting the water lilies like nothing else mattered.”

Harriet laughed softly, her voice brimming with nostalgia as she continued. “Honestly, I think that was the moment I realized how much art meant to you, Ade. Even back then, you saw the world in such a unique way. I have always envied that about you, you know?”

She paused to glance at Adelaide, who nodded and smiled faintly, holding her painting close. Harriet linked her arm with Adelaide’s as they approached the street, completely unaware of their surroundings. “We should have another summer like that soon—maybe at your new cottage. You can show me more of your paintings! You have been holding out on me, I know it.”

As they reached the edge of the road, Harriet turned her attention toward the bakery across the street. “Oh, look! They have put out fresh lemon tarts today. We simply must—”

As Adelaide and Harriet prepared to cross the narrow village street, Adelaide cradled her painting tightly against her chest. The afternoon sun bathed the scene in warmth, but her thoughts remained clouded by lingering memories. Harriet, still animated from their conversation, gestured excitedly toward a small bakery on the other side of the road, unaware of the approaching figures from the opposite direction.

Two men on the opposite side of the street seemed to snag Harriet’s attention, as her words cut off and she gasped softly. Harriet had always been a bit obsessed with the opposite gender. It mattered not that they had debuted many years ago. At age three and twenty, they were both technically on their way into spinsterhood. And yet, a handsome face was more than enough to send Harriet into a tizzy. Were they to smile at her? It would be the topic of conversation for weeks.

Though, this time, she might have chosen her object of obsession well. The two gentlemen walked with an easy stride, their presence commanding attention even in the bustling village. One taller than the other, dark and slightly unruly hair sat wavy on his head. Well-defined features and a sharp jawline. The other was only a couple of inches shorter than him, and fairer haired. He had freckles across the bridge of his nose and seemed to spread over the sides of his neck before disappearing into his collar. Both were handsome, but it was the taller one who caught Adelaide’s eye. He had a pensive look about him, and not so much as a hint of a smile on his features. It was such a lovely day out, what could he possibly be unhappy about on a day like this?

Just as the two groups neared one another, a sharp commotion broke through the village calm. A horse, wide-eyed and frantic, burst free from its handler, bolting down the street with wild abandon. The animal’s hooves pounded against the cobblestones, kicking up dust as people scattered in every direction. The sound of panic echoed all around, but for Adelaide, the world fell eerily silent.

For a moment, just a moment, Adelaide’s gaze locked on the striking deep blue eyes of the pensive-faced man before spinning to look at the commotion. The stallion was charging right for her. Ice replaced the blood in her veins as her body seemed to turn to stone. She willed her feet to move. She wanted to run—to dive across the street, painting be damned. Yet, she was stuck there—clutching the painting in her hand and staring down the wild horse as he charged toward her. 

Her wide hazel eyes flickered from the onrushing horse to the man, helplessness washing over her like a wave.

Adelaide’s feet felt like they were rooted to the ground, her body frozen in place as the deafening thud of hooves echoed through the narrow street. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she could not move—could not even think of moving. Time seemed to stretch out impossibly, as though the world had suddenly slowed around her.

She watched the massive horse, its eyes wild with panic, barreling straight for her. Its mane whipped back from the wind, and its nostrils flared, every muscle in its body straining as it charged forward with a force that made the ground beneath her tremble. Her breath caught in her throat. The painting in her hands, her lifeline to her art, her only voice, felt insignificant now, a fragile shield against the power surging toward her.

Her mind raced, but her body refused to respond. Move. You have to move. The thought flickered and vanished as quickly as it had come. Her muscles were locked in place, as if the fear had seeped into her very bones.

I can’t move. Why can’t I move?

She could feel the rising panic in her chest, but there was no release. Her throat tightened. She could not scream. The soundless world she had known all her life now felt more suffocating than ever, trapping her in silence when she most needed to cry out. 

Her lips parted in a futile attempt to shout, but no sound escaped. Her gaze darted toward Harriet, who had stumbled back in shock, but no one seemed close enough to help. She was utterly, terrifyingly alone.

Adelaide’s heart clenched with the bitter irony of it all. She had survived the crushing loneliness of her childhood, the loss of her mother, the alienation of being mute in a world that valued voices. She had found solace in her art, her way of speaking without words. But none of that will save me now. The thought was sharp, almost cruel in its clarity.

And then, in the chaos, her eyes locked onto a figure moving toward her. His expression was one of pure determination, his body a blur of motion as he raced through the street, dodging terrified pedestrians. For a brief second, hope flickered in her chest, but it was dulled by the crushing weight of her fear. Could he reach her in time?

The horse was too close now. She could see the wild whites of its eyes, hear the desperate snorts, smell the sweat and fear radiating from the animal. It bore down on her with unstoppable force, and still, she stood frozen, the painting clutched tightly to her chest like a lifeline. 

This is how it ends. I can’t scream. I can’t move. I can’t stop it.

Her vision blurred, a haze of fear and helplessness clouding her senses. The world seemed to narrow, everything outside the frantic pounding of hooves and the gentleman’s determined face becoming distant, fading.

Is this it?

With a burst of speed, the man reached Adelaide just in time. 

Time seemed to stretch out as his arms wrapped firmly around her, pulling her out of the horse’s deadly path. In a split second, he spun them both to the side, his powerful momentum sending them crashing to the ground. The impact was jarring, but the man instinctively curled his body around hers, cushioning her from the brunt of the fall.

Adelaide’s world spun as she hit the cobblestones, her breath knocked from her lungs, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. Her painting slipped from her hands, flying into the air and landing face-down in the thick, muddy street with a sickening thud. A piece of her, ruined. But the horse, the massive, terrifying beast, thundered past them, missing them by mere inches. She could feel the earth trembling beneath them, the sound of hooves fading as the danger passed.

For a moment, they lay there on the hard ground, chests heaving, hearts pounding in unison. The street around them faded into a blur, the chaotic murmur of bystanders growing faint. All Adelaide could focus on was the weight of the man poised almost indecently above her, his warmth and strength, the way his arms had shielded her from harm. His breath came in heavy, ragged bursts as he lifted his head, his dark eyes immediately scanning her face with a look of urgent concern.

Adelaide blinked up at him, still in shock, her thoughts racing. She could hardly process what had just occurred, but one thing was certain—this man, this stranger, had risked everything to save her. Her throat tightened as her heart swelled with overwhelming gratitude, the words she could not speak catching in the back of her mind. 

He saved me. He did not hesitate. He risked his life for me.

Their eyes met, and in the space of that moment, the world stood totally still. His gaze was steady, intense, and filled with a depth of emotion that took her breath away. Adelaide felt a strange connection forming between them, an understanding that did not need words.

As the dust settled and the danger passed, a small crowd of curious onlookers began to gather, their murmurs and whispers filling the air. Adelaide remained on the ground, dazed, still trying to piece together what had just happened. The man’s hand was warm and sturdy as he gently helped her to her feet, his touch firm yet careful.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice filled with concern.

But Adelaide could only stare at him, her emotions too overwhelming to respond. His eyes were even more entrancing up close. A deep blue with flecks of yellow around the iris. Her thoughts whirled around the fact that this man had risked his life for her, a complete stranger. She wanted to thank him, to express her gratitude, but the words—any words—remained locked inside her.

Suddenly, Harriet rushed over, her face pale with worry.

“Ade! Oh my goodness! I—oh my, I thought that was it! Oh! But you are all right?! Are you all right? You must be! Oh my goodness!” Harriet gushed, her hands floating over Adelaide’s form without actually touching her as she attempted to examine her for any obvious wounds. 

Other than being thoroughly shaken, she was all right. 

The same could not be said for her painting. 

Adelaide gave a small, reassuring nod, trying to calm her cousin’s panic, but her hands stayed still, trembling slightly as she tried to gather herself.

The man watched, confused by the exchange between the two women. His brow furrowed in bewilderment. He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped, seemingly unsure of what to say. His eyes darted around, clearly struggling to understand the situation.

Noticing his confusion, Harriet turned to him, her lips moving as she spoke quickly, “Thank you sir, I do not know what we would have done without you! She cannot express her gratitude to you, but I assure you we are most gracious.”

Harriet wrapped a protective arm around Adelaide’s shoulders, pulling her close against her side. 

“Is there anything that we can do to repay your kindness?” Harriet asked, batting her long lashes at the handsome stranger. 

In another circumstance, Adelaide might have mocked her. But she wanted the man’s focus back on her like she had never wanted anything before. 

The man said nothing—merely blinked at the pair of them as if he did not know what Harriet had said. At her side, her cousin fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The pair of women exchanged curious glances, unsure how to move forward if he would not say anything to them. 

At that moment, the shorter man appeared at the first’s side, his face calm but alert. Taking in the scene with a quick glance, the second reached for his slate and began writing rapidly. After a few moments, he tapped the first on the arm and handed him the slate.

The pieces started to slip into place. Were she capable, Adelaide might have laughed. 

“Of course, it was the least that I could do.” Her rescuer said in the same deep voice from before. Such a rich, full sound, even if he did speak a touch more loudly than he ought to. 

Adelaide lifted her hand to her lips, touching softly and gesturing forward to sign thank you to him, with a pretty smile. 

Their eyes met in understanding, and her heart fluttered in her chest. 

“My cousin was not blessed with the ability to speak, I am afraid.” Harriet repeated for the sake of the new man, who wrote as much on the slate, and showed it to his friend. What a pair they made. 

“Perhaps it would be best to take this conversation somewhere indoors?” The second man offered, smiling brightly at Harriet. “There are enough eyes on us as it is. Give me just a moment.”

Adelaide’s focus drifted to the ruined painting, tempted to pull away from her cousin to retrieve it. So many hours, tossed away just like that. 

The second man, noting the growing crowd and the potential for gossip, stepped forward with a commanding presence. His calm, authoritative voice cut through the low hum of murmurs surrounding them.

“Everyone, there is no cause for alarm,” He announced, his tone steady and reassuring. “Thanks to Lord Carenwood’s swift action, no one has been harmed.”

Lord Carenwood? That name felt so very familiar to her. Perhaps it was all of the excitement, but she could not recall from where. 

The tension in the air seemed to dissipate as the second man’s words reached the ears of the onlookers. His confidence and composed demeanor soothed the gathering, allowing people to take comfort in the knowledge that the danger had passed.

A few curious glances lingered on the grouping, particularly on the young woman Lord Carenwood had saved. Adelaide felt the weight of those stares, her cheeks warming under the scrutiny. Despite the buzzing of whispers that hung in the air, the man’s management of the situation worked its magic. Slowly but surely, the crowd began to disperse.

Most returned to their daily lives, satisfied that the excitement was over, though a few remained on the fringes, casting occasional looks in their direction. Adelaide could sense their curiosity, but she was grateful for the man’s intervention. The incident, as dramatic as it had been, would soon become just another story circulating through the village.

Her pulse began to slow as the crowd thinned. Perhaps it was for the best that her painting had been ruined. Now it accurately reflected the mood that she had been in earlier this afternoon. At least, before she had her little brush with death.